Whoever coined the phrase ‘It's All Good!' was a big fat liar.
Because friends, it's not all good.
Let me give you an example.
Yesterday morning, we quickly rose out of bed to get an early start on the five and half hour drive to Atlanta to see family. After crying about having to get up early, loading the car, triple checking that I'd packed enough snacks, feeding the dog, locking the doors, charging the cell phone batteries, and making sure we had shut off all the lights, we were able to get on the road.
And just one hour into the six hour journey, Georgia let out a shriek.
I looked back.
She was drooling. And had a peculiar look on her face.
I knew what was about to happen.
‘She's going to throw up!' I said sternly.
And before I could get a tupperware under her chin, out it came. All over her. All over the carseat. All over the floor of the car.
Ya'll. It's not all good.
Throwup is no good.
There is nothing, I repeat nothing, good about vomit. I hate it almost more than anything in the world. The very thought of it brings chills to my soul and a dark cloud over my world.
By the way, it was shortbread cookies and bacon & egg souffle that reintroduced itself to the world. Not pretty.
So here we are…pulled over on the side of the busy interstate…Stuart is undressing Georgia out of her new Christmas pajamas that are now coated in dreaded goo…now she is naked on the side of the interstate…I am halfway out of the car, butt up in the air, trying to pull the carseat out of the door without spilling dreaded goo further in the car…washing it off with my bottle of water and a few baby wipes…
I tried to be strong for my poor Georgia baby. I comforted her and loved on her. But dang man.
Of course, at this point, I started to feel nauseous. I'm going to get the flu. I just know it. Now I am going to get sick. I'm going to throw up everywhere and we're never going to make to Atlanta. I'm going to cry. Please God, don't let me get sick. I'll do anything, I swear. Let's bargain. Please, please, please…
So what should we do? Should we keep pushing on? Or should we turn around?
That, my friends, was the question.
After a few prayers, we decided to push on. And praise God, there were no further incidences. Thank you, Jesus.
I won't say it was fun to quickly turn around in fear each time she made a sound…nor was it fun to smell the residual linger of vomit in the car air. Something things just ‘ain't good'. Vomit air is one of those things.
There must be something about Christmas. Because the only other time in her entire life G has succumb to stomach trouble was LAST CHRISTMAS. Oh, jolly!
How was YOUR Christmas? Did you have any exciting moments? Not that this was an ‘exciting' moment, but it was a moment none-the-less.
Praying your post-Christmas-days are free of such nastiness.