The Vom-ometer and counting ones chickens

At 4am on Saturday morning my husband was woken with the sentence "she's done exorcist vomit again...you take her, I need to change!" Dazed husband dutifully obliged whilst I effected a full change of clothes and wet wipe decontamination... however when I offered him a wet wipe to clean 'exorcist' baby's face, he complained that this was a step too far for his morning comprehension and aptitude. All this after my 10pm assertion that I we hadn't had an exorcist moment for some days..and the suggestion she might have outgrown this phenomenon....clearly I spoke too soon.

'Exorcist vomit' is the somewhat extreme term that we have coined to describe the unpleasant sight, and sound, of milky spittle exploding simultaneously from multiple orifices on our daughter's face. With practice she is now attaining progressively new levels of volume and coverage. As a non-watcher of horror movies, I do not know how this term genuinely relates to the original film....my own experiences of emetics ( to provide the scientific term) being confined to university (and post university) alcohol induced chundering, a la Gap Yaaa footage.

Extraordinarily our daughter often seems remarkably calm after such violent expulsions, although a repeat offense this evening seemed to catch even her by surprise as she reached new heights in distance and scale, culminating in all white face mask that coated her little eyes and eyelashes. She appeared bewildered by the experience, but her baby soft skin and eyesight remain intact, possibly even enhanced...perhaps this is something I should patent and offer to the same crazy beauty salons now offering the fish pedicure? Masque du vomit au lait anyone?

Anyway to my fellow parents a few points of advice: firstly...beware the little tickly cough that precedes such eruptions. Secondly, hone your cat like reflexes so that you can save ideally her attire (one less outfit change and stupid vest to go over their head).. Or even better, jump far enough out of reach to protect your own clothes AND duvet cover. 

Finally, if all else fails, let humour be your guide and turn it into a game. I'd like to call it the Vom-ometer. I imagine it as that bizarre fairground attraction where those with brawn and biceps pay to wield a mallet and continually whack an oversize button, which rises up a thermometer heat scale to hit a bell at the top. Last night's 4am episode didn't quite reach the bell, it was somewhere in the amber zone. At 3pm today, where vomit cascaded over the kitchen floor, it reached the red zone...call it 8/10. Then tonight, fully cleansed post bath, (obviously) we hit the jackpot...ding ding ding...we have a winner. Full on white face, bed clothes, her clothes and all of mine. I can just imagine the crowd going wild and the fairy lights flashing. In my imaginary fairground world I'd be going home with one of those giant neon cuddly toys...but in reality I've got a larger pile of laundry and another shower to take. Lucky me.