The Things We Forget

October 6th, 2010

Have you ever experienced the truly indescribable sensation of having baby spitup dripping down between your breasts? No? Then you’re clearly not a parent.

I, however, am a parent — twice over — and thus am well versed (more so than I’d like, truth be told) in the realm of baby spitup. Miss Mouse was a champion spitter/puker and we never fed her or even held her without draping ourselves in burp cloths so large they could easily be mistaken for tablecloths.

But somehow in the last year and a half — blissfully spitup free — I had forgotten just how prone to regurgitation a small child is. And so I have been caught unprepared on numerous occasions when Little Bear has chosen to share some of his last meal with me.

He’s a thoughtful boy, really, and I shouldn’t be complaining about this generous instinct of his. But honestly, I’d really love to go an entire day without having baby spitup on my clothes, on the couch, in my hair, or anywhere else!

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