Which is all fine and whatever. It is a bit more of an effort for me, but really not something I'm going to exert effort on arguing about. The only problem is that I cannot reach him from my seat. The only reason this is a problem is that I have allowed myself to become his personal vending machine. So now I have to make sure he has his snack and juice with him in the way back before we set out on any journey.
Upon smelling the tortellini I was making to take with me for my lunch today, Alex declared he wanted some of my noodles with his waffle and juice. Of course you do. Who doesn't eat cheese filled pasta and chocolate chip waffles with a splash of cranberry juice?
Anywho, about 7 minutes into our drive, I peered into the rear view mirror and saw that look. That blank stare, stuffed cheeks, kinda clammy look. And when I asked if he was alright, I got the expected answer that he was going to puke.
Now, here's the thing. 99% of the time, when he says he has to puke, he doesn't really have to puke. In reality, he has just stuffed too much food in his mouth and can't figure out how to chew long enough to be able to swallow it. So, being the caring, loving, nurturing mother I am, I asked if he was sure he was going to puke...and then told him he would have to wait until I could pull over. When I got a bit down the road to where we wouldn't be flattened by semis, I pulled over and made the trek to the way back seat.
I helped him out and carried him the couple steps to the grass on the shoulder of the road. And that little shit spit out half chewed piece of tortellini, stood up, stretched a little, and said, "I'm ok Mom. That's all I had to puke."
Sounds about right kid.
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