Thursday, 21 April 2011

Vomit warfare - my current weapon of choice

Mummy’s been getting a bit too cocky for my liking recently – she’s able to get us both up, dressed, fed and out the door before lunch, AND we both have brushed hair.  She even managed to paint her toenails last week!  Time to bring her down a peg or two – after all, I wouldn’t want her getting any funny ideas about having another baby, seeing as she’s coping so well!
She thought the other day that, with the sun shining, she would dig out a summer dress from the depths of her wardrobe. Aha!  A golden opportunity, too hard to pass up!  She’s been living in black since I was born – she says it’s because baby puke doesn’t show up so much and you can just rub it in (gross!) and not because she’s mourning her old life, although she often looks like someone’s died.
This little, floaty number is very pale blue, and baby puke shows up a treat!  I don’t know what they put in baby food, but it is very stubborn and won’t come out again!  Indelible carrot, mmmm.    I timed the barfing to perfection, even if I say so myself; we were in the bank, she had her hands full, and her important “telephone voice” on, talking to the painted lady behind the screen.  I’d screamed with such passion that I couldn’t see that Mummy had lifted me up to try and avoid a scene. 
The thing I love about hurling on grown-ups is the succession of expressions; the initial surprise, like you’ve sat on something unexpected, that morphs into mild unpleasantness as the sick soaks in (or rolls down Mummy’s back, as happened in the bank) that in turn becomes discomfort as it goes cold and sticky, and complete horror as they spot someone’s clocked them and they have to think about how to handle the situation.  I can’t help but grin at that point.  And when the smell gets them!  Triumph!
Mummy’s pretty good these days at being able to counter an attack with wipes and muslins always within easy reach, but I figure that’s about as far as she can go – she’ll never be able to predict the next strike, so with that, I have the upper hand.  A gentle reminder that I’m in charge around here.

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