“We figured it out, didn’t we?” I smile and I swear she smiles back. “Maybe this isn’t so—” I don’t get the words out before the baby projectile vomits all over me. I sit there, baby vomit sliding down my neck and chest. It’s warm, and thick, like somebody dumped a bowl of oatmeal on me. “Lettie!” “Yeah?” she calls, coming down the hallway toward us. “Oh, what—” “It threw up on me.” I inhale, then gag on the scent of baby vomit.
Lolololol
