My daughter Abby (three and half) has an above average fascination with body fluids and all things that exit the body.
Today, just as we were finally sitting down to a glorious lunch of Cheerios, applesauce and peanut butter sandwiches, Ruby, our 135 pound Rhodesian Ridgeback, came down stairs and vomited. Abby yelled, “THROW UP! Ruby throwed up!” I explained that we were going to finish eating and then I’d clean the mess up. (From the silver-lining department, she did it on the hardwood floor instead of the carpet. Here’s a big shout-out to Ruby!!)
But Abby decided she wasn’t hungry. This had nothing to do with being sick to her stomach and everything to do with wanting to get over to the throw up and check it out. Gross? Yes. True? Yes.
So, as I’m stomaching my peanut butter sandwich, I hear,
“Henwy, Ruby throwed up.” (“Henwy”, a.k.a. Henry, is her seven month old brother.)
“Mommy, is Ruby sick?”
“Ruby throwed up a lot.”
“Mommy, why did Ruby throw up?”
“Do you want to heawr the throw up song?”
“Throw up throw up throw up.”
I asked her if she would stop saying throw up while I was eating. She said she’d try.
Then, after finishing my food and feeding the ever-hungry Henwy, (who also throwed up on me,) I announced that I was finally going to clean up the fascinating throw up.
Did I mention that our dog weighs 135 pounds?
I put on a disposable latex glove, grabbed the cleaner and paper towels and got to it. As I cleaned, I heard,
“Throw up throw up
Throw up throw up…” (Sung to the tune of Where is Thumbkin)
“Mommy, are you done yet?”
“Why is dis taking forever?”
“Can Ruby come back inside yet?” (Me, “No.”)
“Whyyyyyyyyyyyy??????” (She really wants me to say it, doesn’t she? Me, “Because Ruby threw up.”)
“Why is dere so much throw up? When I throwed up, it doesn’t take this long to clean up.”
“Ruby weally wants to come back inside.” pause. “Are you done?”
Yes, I’m finally done. And I haven’t even heard the word, or seen the stuff, for a full five minutes. Ahhhh.