On the morning of May 17, 2011 I sat down to my breakfast and coffee. It was my very favorite late spring breakfast — yogurt and granola with strawberries and blueberries. I lifted a bite up on a spoonful, put it in my mouth, and gagged. The whole concept of breakfast was making me want to hurl for the second day in a row. I drank some coffee. That seemed okay. I looked at my breakfast again and decided to throw it out before I actually did puke. I drank some more coffee. I thought.
On the morning of May 17, 2012, my not-quite-four-month-old son had his breakfast (or what passes for breakfast, and all your meals, if you are four months old) and promptly did throw up. Then he beamed. Then he spit up again. Then he looked terribly pleased with himself. Normal people (at least normal people in my experience) hate barfing, but this baby loves it. Throwing up is one of the highlights of his day, along with grabbing his toes, kicking, and reading the warning sign on his mobile.
It’s funny how life changes. I’m back to yogurt and granola and fruit for breakfast, although I keep thinking I’m going to have to give it up, or at least the fruit part, to save money. These days I usually eat it in my office after I get to work because I spend the rest of the morning feeding the baby and cleaning up his barf. For awhile there, I was considering marketing a new conditioner based on breastmilk, baby formula, and children’s Tylenol, pH balanced in an acid bath. But no one has really said anything about my hair looking great lately, and somehow I’m not really sure I could replicate the results anyway. I felt like puking all the time; my son does it all the time. But somehow it’s all worth it in the end.