Vomit and other reminders I'm a parent

Yesterday was rainy, really rainy. I love rainy days, possibly because I don't live where it rains all the time. Rainy days here mean a reason to get on your rubber boots and go out for hot chocolate at an expensive bakery. Which is what I wanted to take Nora to do yesterday. It will never be up to LA Burdicks, but it'll do. They made her this cute little warm chocolate in an espresso cup and I also got us a croissant, perfect right? Nope. She wouldn't even taste the fucking hot chocolate. Once again I was learning the number one thing you learn from your child: fuck you and your expectations. Otherwise known as: Why do you always spoil everything? Well, I learned pretty well as she sat on my lap quietly and I congratulated myself on raising such a civilized two-year old. "So behaved," I thought "that I can take her out to a restaurant for hot chocolate." And in this self-congratulatory reverie I broke parenting rule number two: Just when you think you have them figured out, no you really, really don't. This was apparent on the drive home, when she began vomiting. I pulled over and and and just kind of held a towel under her as she retched. I took her out of her seat, don't ask me why. I guess I though she could throw-up in the gutter like other children. Instead she just stood there shaking and leaning her sticky smelly body against mine. When she seemed done. I had to put her back into her putrid carseat, complete with wet belts and buckles. Gross. I was dryheaving myself from the smell. Inside of ten minutes my vision of a nice hot chocolate had somehow morphed into trying to get home without calling my husband to come help me deal with my vomiting toddler. We did make it home. Though because of the rain I had to drive home with the windows up, yum. Here's hoping today is better, just to be safe we're having our hot chocolate here at home. And instead of hot chocolate it'll be tepid water and dry toast.