Hurl

I was giving the girls some last milk before bed last night, the three of us in the chair together, sleepy and calm, when Elizabeth spit up a little bit of barf on her chin and sleep sack. I called out to Rachel to bring me a rag, but she was taking out the trash and didn't hear me. Miranda was basically asleep on my arms, and Elizabeth seemed didn't seem far behind, and I wasn't sure whether to try to move them, and then clean Elizabeth up in her crib, or what.

The choice was made for me a moment later, when Elizabeth let forth a massive vomit, coating her front, my legs, about a square foot of hardwood and carpet, and a good bit of Miranda's torso. It looked like about a quart of very milky cottage cheese, and it smelled exceptionally ripe.

Nobody likes to get spewn on, but as a Dad it comes with the territory. The one I felt worst for was Miranda, an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire.

It was another 45 minutes before they were asleep.