It just keeps getting grosser...

I thought I had seen it all.

I thought after 17 months, I had handled every gross thing that had come my way.

• Spit up for 6 months? Yup.
• The colic for four months? Done.
• Bloody gashes on the side of the head? Check.
• An explosive code brown that forced me to sterilize the apartment? Been there.
• Four months straight of boogers? Finally past that.

But yesterday, Oliver brought gross to a whole new level.

I was knee deep in vomit and could not find my way out.

See I've never dealt with vomit. Not once.
Even in my college years I never hurled.

I was about to snap a pic of Oliver covered in chunks, but I thought that would be crossing the line.

I felt very badly for myself. My husband, on the other hand (who happened to be out of the state during the vomit assault), thought I should have felt worse for Oliver. But Oliver had no fever, no runny nose, no nothing. In fact the spunky little chunk-spewer spent the afternoon dancing his butt off and running wild through the apartment. So I thought I clearly won the "who-to-feel-worse-for" category hands down. After all, Oliver's wasn't the one who cleaned up the floor. He didn't have to rinse out his clothes. And he didn't wash his hair three times yesterday. I did. I did. I did.

After putting him to bed I bee-lined for the shower. There was nothing more I wanted to do than get the smell of Pedialyte chunk off my hands.

There is nothing, and I mean nothing, worse than vomit.

Now...I've seen it all.