Mom Gets Puked on at the Pool; Has Zero Reaction

Ask any mother if they’ve ever caught their child’s vomit in their hands reflexively, and they’ll probably tell you they have.

Yeah, it’s disgusting. It’s completely unnecessary and a generally ineffective thing to do. But we do it because we’re mothers. It’s some kind of weird parental instinct; a child’s vomit must never touch the floor for some unknowable, ungodly reason.

Kids throw up. A lot. At weird, completely inconvenient times. We all try to catch it, and sometimes, we totally fail at succeeding. Either way, we’re used to it and it’s no big deal.

When it comes to parenting, I think Johnny Depp said it best:

“It’s like hanging out with a miniature drunk. You have to hold onto them. They bump into things. They laugh and cry. They urinate. They vomit.” — Johnny Depp

That’s why when, in the viewing gallery at my daughter’s swimming lessons last week, a random child’s vomit splattered from the top row down to the unsuspecting head of another mother on the bottom row, not one single parent was fazed.

Not even the victim.

We all watched it happen; calmly. Serenely, even. We peered down at the slowly turning head of the mother below, who was now speckled with what I can only assume was regurgitated oatmeal, as she glanced up at the ashen-faced, pint-sized bomber above her.

“Oh…” she said calmly, not an ounce of disgust or mortification in her expression as the realization of what had just happened came to her.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” gushed the mother of the oat-bomber, torn between helping her child’s victim and soothing her toddler’s sudden and unexpected ailment, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment.

The beautiful, sick-coated curls of the unfortunate woman who had just been vomited all over shook slightly when she shooed them away. “No, no, don’t worry about it — you go help your little one!” she cooed softly, smiling knowingly at the distraught mother as she started to search her purse for tissues absentmindedly.

The needs of the sick child won out, naturally, and the poor little thing was whisked away by her muttering mother, tut-tutting as she buslted out of the gallery.

Offerings of tissues commenced; gentle directions with regards to the location of vomit on the mom’s head or back; a bit of assistance here and there to help her restore her dignity. There were quiet, but respectful chuckles among onlookers as our children collectively screeched with unadulterated joy below, unaware of the disaster above them.

“I have baby wipes!” I proclaimed happily, holding them out to her after I finally found them in my bag — tissues would simply not do in a congealed oatmeal situation such as this.

She looked as overjoyed about this news as I was and happily took them from my outstretched hand.

Chatter continued; people reverted to their phone conversations or returned to socializing with the parents next to them. The woman next to me, who was closest to the vomiting child, carelessly brushed a clumpy piece of oat-y goo from her pant leg as she watched her soap opera at such a volume that I wondered if she’d even noticed the incident at all.

No one cried. No one freaked out. No one held back their own vomit — even after the smell started to permeate the air. No one busted out masks or hand sanitizer.

Not a single person there was phased.

I sat and marvelled at the series of coincidences that had taken place prior to this incident: I’d come in late and planned on sitting in the bottom row to get a better view of my daughter, but it was mega packed so I stood for a spell in the stairwell.

Soon, a few people in the top row vacated their seats so I squeezed in there, happy to sit for the next half hour, rather than stand around awkwardly. I still had my eye on those front-row seats, though.

Then the father of the vomiting child pre-vomit sat directly next to me, bouncing the vomiter on his knee (bad idea in hindsight.) I recall thinking, wow covid must be super over in the minds of so many right now, since no one crammed into the small space seemed to care about distancing. I didn’t care either and the vomiter was a super cute kiddo who kept flashing me super cute kiddo smiles.

The next bizarre coincidence came when soap opera lady came in and, for some unfathomable reason, squeezed in between me and the soon-to-be-vomiter. I had to move over to avoid being hip to hip with the lady, but I assumed she was the mother. That proved not to be the case when the mother came in later on to take over for the father, so I’m not sure why she chose to squeeze in between two people when there was space on my other side.

In hindsight, I should send the woman a fruit basket. She saved me from vomit.

I’m still not done with coincidences yet! Once we were all settled, the prime seats I’d had my eye on when I came in miraculously came available — but at that point, we were all so cramped up top that it would have been a big pain for everyone to move for me just so that I could shimmy down to the bottom row. So I stayed put.

Then, the unfortunate woman who would soon be vomited all over came in, and she, seeing the empty seats down below, took the very seat I was eyeing, thus preventing me from being the target of airborne sick.

Gosh. So many bizarre coincidences that prevented me from getting a solitary piece of vomited oat on my person. Thank the heavens.

Coincidences aside, I marvelled at the quietness of the entire ordeal. It was so very calm and controlled.

Parents just get on with life, I think, when vomit happens. It’s just not a big deal after the millionth time.

I recall multiple bed changes with my oldest child once when she had the flu for the first time as a toddler. I very gently tucked her back in after she’d made a mess of her unicorn bedding, replacing it with freshly laundered sheets. She was out instantly, so I left the room. Set my tired ol’ noggin’ on the pillow of my bed for 3 minutes and 16 seconds. Then I heard it:

The unmistakable sound of wretching. The wet sound of splattering sick on carpet. Wailing.

After a few more times around the block that night, I stopped changing her PJs — she just slept in her Pull-Ups to make cleaning up easier. I stopped changing her sheets, too. We tucked blankets under her, removing a layer after each vomiting incident. It wasn’t ideal, but we had nothing left — literally and figuratively. She’d gone through all the sheets and PJs, and mine and my husband’s patience had worn paper-thin.

We were all so tired that none of us cared by then, anyway.

Now I know what to do with my kids when they’re sick like that, and we just get on with it. Vomit seems to happen around you a lot when you’re a parent, and that’s the way it is.

After a few thousand times, it becomes insignificant.

What I find amazing about the parents at the pool that day is the reaction we all shared, including the poor mom who got spewed on — we helped her with the situation and continued to be there for our kids.

(Okay, maybe not soap opera mom, but she seemed to be checked out in general.)

I think if there’s a moral to this story it’s that life carries on — there’s no sense freaking out about toddler vomit. I can almost guarantee that, for the mom who spent 20 minutes sitting serenely with another child’s sick in her hair as she watched her own kid bouncing around in the water, it wasn’t her first experience with airborne puke. She cared more about the kid who was sick than she was about having to go home and wash crusty oatmeal out of her hair — it probably wasn’t the first time she had to do that, anyway.

I mean, I remember my toddler throwing up directly into my mouth once. I’m sure I’m not the only parent who’s been on the receiving end of some supremely nasty biological functions.

Kids are gross.

Parents deal with diaper blowouts, snot, pee, and vomit all the time — that’s just life with babies. After changing approximately 4,000 diapers by the time your child is the age of two (yes — I did the math and I’m impressed, too) parents just aren’t phased by that level of human waste.

When you have kids, everything stops being about you. Your comfort, your needs — everything shifts to the comfort and needs of that little snot monster. I have a theory that parenting falls into the laps of those who need it most. Nothing erases a person’s otherwise selfish nature than a child who needs them.

To all of the parents who just carry on when there’s vomit or poop to deal with, who continue to support their children during boring swimming lessons, I salute you. You’re doing great. And we got you. We’ll be there with baby wipes and snacks, every time.

Oh, and word to the wise — never sit in the front row of the viewing gallery at the swimming pool. Consider yourselves warned.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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