Have a child really reinforces this theory. Yesterday the lucky little bastard ate himself a nice hunk of chocolate cake at his aunt and uncle's house. He downed it in record time in a maneuver he could only have learned from Cookie Monster.

On the way home I smelled cake. My mind quickly discarded the smell, filed under "I'm Just Thinking About Cake Again". We drove on. It was past The Boy's bed time. I turned around to smile at his sweet, angelic sleeping little face. The face was there, all sweet and angelic like one would expect, except that it was sitting on top of an epic slip-and-slide necktie of cake greasy cake vomit. And the smell. It's funny how something can go from "hey, that kind of makes me want to eat more cake" to "hey, that kind of makes me want to puke my fucking guts out" in about half a second.

What do you do with a vomit covered sleeping child in a moving vehicle? Not much of anything. You sit and you dread getting home and havinng to unbuckle that vomit-covered harness and carry the vomit-covered child directly into the bathroom where you have to unbutton the vomity buttons of his vomit-ridden shirt and pull it off without covering his face and hair in too much vomit, or even worse, vomiting on your own shirt, or even more worse, vomiting on your child. That's what you do with a vomit covered sleeping child.

You can fight it all you want, but when that little bit of cake-puke gets on you it's just going to be all the more devistating. You may as well just dive in.

When he vomited up what appeared to be cottage cheese this morning (I have triple checked and NO ONE fed him cottage cheese) did I panic? Did I swear? Nope.