5/27/03
"Those stoopid birds poop on the whole world."
That's one observation Allie made on the way to daycare this morning. A few minutes later she threw up all over herself.
2003 has officially become "The Year of the Yak" at our house. I can't remember a time when I've been confronted with vomit and the act of puking so often. Allie spit up a lot when she was a baby, but there was no retching and you pretty much knew that slightly used formula was the only thing coming forth. Now, with the three of us, there's coughing, guttural sounds, eyes rolling and lord knows what's going to spew out of our mouths.
Allie had been excited this morning. Jessica (Allie's regular care provider) closed her daycare in order to extend the three day weekend. So, we decided to send Allie to a school, that's affiliated with the company I work for, about a block away for my office. The idea of discovering a new place and going to work with Daddy was very appealing in theory. The reality of making such a trip was a different matter.
Apparently Allie isn't accustomed to riding for 40 minutes first thing in the morning. She kept telling me that she was a little sick. I thought it was just butterflies brought about by the prospect of something unfamiliar. Well those butterflies decided to stage a mass evacuation and flew out of Allie's mouth at jet speed. An interstate under heavy construction meant Allie was going to have to ride in vomit for another five or ten minutes. It was like watching war footage of a napalm victim (okay that's a little out there, but I was desperate to do something for my screaming, bile covered kid).
We finally got to the new daycare and the people there were very understanding. They granted me access to an area with a sink and bathroom. While I scraped Allie's breakfast off her clothes she marveled at how everything was just her size. The sinks, the chairs, the toilets were all shrunk to accommodate shorties like her. After we dressed her in her back-up outfit we explored the rest of the daycare. She stayed close to me as we looked at all the new toys, the computers, the snack tables and all the art on the walls. I pointed at everything and tried to be incredibly enthusiastic about all the new stuff her other daycare didn't have. I think my exuberance was helping but soon it was time for me to leave her.
She cried. She held on to my neck and told me that she would miss me and that she loved me. I was on the verge of tears and turned around to see if anyone was watching. Behind us were five kids stationed in a semicircle around Allie and me. They all were leaning toward us, wringing their hands with looks of great concern on their faces. It was apparent that they had not only witnessed a scene like this before, but they were in complete and total empathy. They were preparing to help one of their own.
To avoid a complete breakdown on both our parts I knew I'd better get out quickly. I introduced Allie to "Miss Megan and ran. As I left the woman at the front desk could tell that I had lost it a little. She said something encouraging but it wasn't much help. I should have told her I was crying because I had to go out and wipe the puke out of my car's interior. I don't think she would have bought my explanation.
I rinsed Allie's clothes and the car seat cover out in a sink at the office. A pair of wet Blue's Clues panties were spread out on my conference table for most of the day. I picked them up and showed them to a couple of my coworkers. I thought they were cute. I think my coworkers felt a little uncomfortable being confronted by a 250 pound, 36 year-old-man proudly exhibiting a pair of little girl's panties in the hall. In retrospect I can't say that I blame them.
I was more than a little distracted for the four hours I spent at the office. Finally it was time to pick up Alex. As you could probably guess, she had a good time at daycare. The woman at the front desk reported that every time she checked on Allie she was playing or exploring her new surroundings. As Allie and I prepared to go Allie saw another little girl leaving. "Good-bye, Ellie," she said.
"Daddy, I didn't throw up at this daycare."
The women working behind the desk giggled when they heard that.
Before we left, Allie got a new backpack with the name of the daycare on the back. Allie put her puke stained dolly in the pack thanked everyone for everything and marched out the building.
I took Allie back to work. We pulled in the parking lot and she asked, "You work here?" as if she couldn't believe whatever went on inside such a big building could have anything to do with her doofus Dad. We walked into the lobby and the receptionist asked me to sign my daughter in. The only reason I mention this is that Allie had to wear a visitor's badge which added to the excitement of the event.
As we made our way to the cafeteria I showed Allie how my ID badge caused the door to swing open by themselves. Suddenly the same badge she sometimes likes to play with after work took on a little more glamour.
Bringing your kid to work is like showing up at the office in drag. Some people are amused, others don't know quite what to make of it and some are horrified. Allie didn't scare too many people.
Out of all the choices she had: mini-pizza, chicken fingers, cheese toasty and others, Allie wanted a hot dog. We both ordered hot dogs. My boss came down for lunch and Allie gave her a hug. This was enough to get my boss to get some ketchup and mustard for our hot dogs. Not that she wouldn't be kind enough to do this anyway, but remind me to bring my kid to work closer to review time.
A kid at the lunch table at work kills conversation more effectively than a cloistered nun. All the off-center, slightly risqué conversations seem off-limits and people remain on their best behavior. Although everyone did their best to talk with Allie, she was tired and didn't really take the time to remove her thumb from her mouth unless it was to respond to questions with a coy, "I don't know."
We turned in Allie's visitor badge, drove home, bought cat food, washed the car (Allie insisted) and Allie took a long nap.
The end.