At a very young age, Todd and I discovered, horribly, that our son Chad has a gag reflex more sensitive and easily triggered than a land mine. Mind you, it's not just a gag reflex but a gag reflex that leads to a vomit festival. It's a gag reflex that can be triggered by smell, sight and descriptive visual and verbal cues.
Our inaugural gag-trigger-to-vomit debacle could not have been better scripted if Quentin Tarantino wrote the screen play himself. Chad was just under two and desperate to not wear his diaper. He had his eyes locked on a Target three pack of power ranger underwear. Why not we thought? If the kid is ready, let's forge ahead. Running around the house in his birthday suit, chasing our neurotic yet spunky Vizsla, Chad ran right through all his body's signals that he had to poop. So he pooped right there on our hardwood floor in between our kitchen and our family room. "Maaaaaaaa maaaaaaaa" he yelled. "Foot, foot maaaaaaaa foot foot" he continued.
I rushed to where he was standing to find a "man" size bowel movement on the floor, colored very green from Chad's broccoli adoring stage. The man poop was staring at me, taunting me to find a vessel big enough to pick it up with when I realized that Chad had also stepped in the poop which formed a poop cast around his foot like a podiatrist would make to create orthotic molds.
"Don't move" I screamed to him, "don't move little buddy, mommy is going to get this taken care of, don't move." That's when I looked in my son's eyes and noticed they were glassy. That his nostrils were starting to flair and that his lips were pursed. "It's okay Chad, it's okay. Mommy is not upset. Don't cry baby."
Oh how I wish he just cried.
I Prefontaine'd to the kitchen and grabbed the paper towels as fast as I could. I was too slow. In the nanosecond it took me to go there and back, our dog Ella Beth had arrived at the new scent. She must have liked what she smelled (hopefully it was the broccoli aroma) and she ate it in its entirety, the whole poop entree. Oh man.
I felt panic and was in need of a strong sedative. "Holy shit" was all I could come up with. That's when the liquid avalanche sealed my fate and initiated in the era of many gag to vomit soap operas in the house, at school, anywhere. Chad had reached his gross saturation point. The spew came flying out of his mouth until he left everything on the floor short of his two year old soul.
Chad's gag reflex accompanies us everywhere and it now comes with a warning -- don't trigger it. Once while reading Chad the book Dirty Bertie, Bertie's dog licked him and Bertie licked the dog back. A picture of Bertie sticking out his tongue with dog fur on it got me a lap full of vomit made up of partially digested Cheerios.
There was nothing like inviting my new neighbor Donna over to swim in the pool with her children. I was looking forward to becoming friends and I wanted to make a great first impression. Who knew that Remi styling her wet hair like George Washington would make my son gag so violently that he covered my pool deck in three phases of projectile vomit. Thanks George. Donna and I are still friends and we don't let the girls style their hair in the pool ever.
In nursery school Chad sat next to a child who brought in a glob of yellow for lunch. Poor kid ended up being served a portion of Vomit a la Chad. It never ends. My Aunt's dog Spike had drool running down his mouth -- we had to leave the house before the onslaught. The smell of a soiled diaper being changed -- vomit. Anyone chewing gum. Vomit. Dress-up wigs. Vomit.
This brings me back to our family rule: you cause the gag on purpose, you eat the mess. Why the rule? Why so disgusting an ordinance? One word: Remi.
Remi realized that making Chad gag was an easy way to seize sibling power. Triggering a gag aria became sport for Remi. She also learned that triggering your brother's gag reflex is like the game Jenga: exciting until you're the player that crumbles the tower and mom or dad has to clean up yet another vomit mound. Remi accidentally discovered her power through the use of fake teeth -- in her mouth or her sisters'. Add those teeth to the list. Vomit. Some kids suck their thumbs. Others twirl their hair. Many pick their noses. My son's party trick? Gagging to conclusion.
On their school forms I write Remi: sensitive, funny, likes art and sports. No allergies. For Eden I write: joyful, doesn't eat more than two bites of her lunch, great sense of humor. No allergies. For Chad I used to write: sweet, compassionate, easy going. Peanut allergy. Now I write all of the above and in big, bold capital letters: NOT A JOKE -- SEVERE GAG REFLEX... TRIGGER AT YOUR OWN RISK!
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