by Mary Widdicks
Before I had children, my most embarrassing moments involved vomit: spewing milk from my nose, barfing on stage during the school musical, getting drunk and throwing up on a frat boy.
Now that I have three children under five, puke is as much a part of my routine as showering or shaving. A fact I believe recently convinced a young man working at my local drugstore to abstain from all baby-making activities until at least his mid-thirties.
That night, I dropped an armful of pharmaceuticals on the counter of a 24-hour Walgreens where the child manning the register looked like he should have ridden a tricycle to work.
Now it’s not my vomit, its my child’s. Oh how times have changed.