Have you ever looked at someone on the street and thought to yourself 'Now, that's a Walmart person!!'
Whether it be for the state of their teeth (or lack thereof), their clothes (or, again, lack thereof) or their makeup/purse/car/boyfriend, we all know who these people are. And if you don't, you can go to People of Walmart to find out exactly what I'm talking about. (Or just to make you feel better about yourself. After that Miss America contest tonight, I needed a confidence boost. Seriously, have any of those women had kids???)
But today my son could easily have been a baby of Walmart.
After a morning of family fun playing at the dog park and driving aimlessly around town searching for a farmers market, Bjorn decided to drink his entire 6 oz. bottle. And then throw it all up in one quick, swift movement.
All over himself. And his car seat. And the car.
He missed the dog. And he missed The Hubs and I. But we both sat there, shell-shocked, watching the milk and peaches drip-drip-drip from his shirt to pool in the car seat.
And then Bjorn smiled.
Obviously he was not hurt at all. Not after spilling the beans, so to speak.
So, The Hubs and I were on Puke Patrol - him with the car seat, and me with the Babe. (I got the better end of that deal!)
But since I am such a great mother and always prepared for every situation, we had an extra set of clothes for Bjorn, right? Wrong.
We had an extra sweatshirt. Which he wore, on top of his birthday suit and a diaper. Classic Baby of Walmart look. (And, no, unfortunately, I do not have a picture. Where is my camera when I really need it?)
But the story doesn't end there. Oh no, it gets better.
The Hubs goes to work, and Bjorn and I decide to head out to Joann's Fabrics to take care of that 50% off coupon burning a hole in my pocket. We have a great time of cute ol' Grannies stopping to tell him just how cute he is. Then, as we are nearing the end of the trip, the inevitable.
Puke. All over his shirt. Not spit-up, people. Not a little dribble. Puke. Lots of it.
And since I again was so prepared that I did not have any extra clothes, I took off his shirt.
And let him spend the rest of the quick trip in nothing but sweatpants and a pair of white socks.
Put a beer in one hand and a remote in the other and you wouldn't have been able to tell him from Al Bundy.