If you’re a fan of the movie, Ghostbusters, then you will no doubt remember the scene when Egon and Ray stumble upon Peter Venkman, writhing on the floor in a glistening wet pool of ectoplasm following his first encounter with a real ghost, and uttered those inimitable and prophetic words…
“He slimed me…”
I say, prophetic, because fast forward to today, my official first day as Stay-At-Home Dad after Mumma returned to work today, and as I just finished giving my son his mid-morning bottle of “Chard-o-mamma”, I found myself uttering that exact same phrase. A few mls short of finishing off the bottle, he turned his face away in the same way you can’t look at the screen whenever Tori Spelling comes on the TV. I asked him if he needed to burp, and as I placed him upright in my lap, it sounded like he’d just released The Kraken. A split second later, we met the Kraken. In the form of a projectile vomit that awarded him the gold medal at the Exorcist Olympics. And as we sat there, dripping from head to foot, we splutteringly looked at each other in disbelief.
“Oh my god, are you okay? What did you just…”
But before I could finish my sentence, he turned to me straight in the face as if to say, “In case you missed it the first time…BLUUUUURGH!!” Gunned down by torpedo number 2, like a rioter blasted by a water cannon. Our shocked blinking eyes, the only thing visible from beneath a symbiotic pool of dripping ectoplasm. I held my son in outstretched hands and immediately thought of Dr. Venkman. So, that was my baptism into my first day as a Stay-At-Home Dad. The how and why it happened, I can only surmise that maybe…(just maybe)…he might have drank too much milk, too quickly? I dunno. Is 2 gallons too much for a 6 month old? It seems just enough to get my car from the garage to the letterbox. I guess, being a Dad means to expect the unexpected, and anything short of a giant Stay Puffed Marshmallow Man breaking down the house, anything strange in my neighbourhood, I know exactly who I’m gonna call… Mumma!
you gave me a laugh, I remember my hubbys first day with bub and a bottle
Thanks, Jodie. Who had the bottle? Bub or hubby? I imagine too many instances of this kind could drive anyone to the bottle 😉
Sadly this situation is all too familiar with me. My wife has this uncanny ability to be able to hand bub back to me moments before bub spews. I’ve copped it three times in the last 24 hours…the perils of being a SAHD I guess.
Kudos to you also for working in a Tori Spelling reference – no blog post is complete without mentioning Tori Spelling.
I can see Tori reading this thinking, ” Damn…just when I thought I was out…they pull me back in.”
roflmao…too funny..maybe try a slower teat for the bottle..better luck next time..xo
Thanks for the tip, Nikki. That might work better than squeezing him like an accordion. (But I do like that sound). Seriously though, it was peculiar that he had the same amount in the afternoon with no probs whatsoever. I smell a conspiracy…at least, I think that’s what that smell is.
I could gloat about my Little not being a projectile vomiter, but you see, he was a projectile pooper, and he never once did it for dad, just a special something he kept aside for me. Awesome.
Now that’s something you definitely don’t want in the face 😉