There is an unspoken rule in casa de us when it comes to who is in charge of whom: I get Abby and Buzz, J takes Jedi. Buzz is sometimes transferable, but more often than not he ends up with me.
Normally, I grab the short end of the stick on this. Just the simple mathematics alone, then take into account weight, age, and stage of agreeability they’re currently at. I don’t know how many times I’ve grumbled a few curse words as I’ve been walking through somewhere with one kid on my hip and the other flailing and squirming from my hand, only to look over and see Jedi trotting along politely next to his father.
However, yesterday morning Jedi was complaining of a stomach ache. It seemed to pass fairly quickly, though, and by afternoon he said it was gone. Then 1 a.m. rolls by and he vomits apparently everywhere. I say apparently, because guess who had to clean it up?
Is it wrong that my first thought, after noticing Jedi was fine of course, was TAKE THAT, BITCHES. I’m sure karma will come back and bite me for laughing a little on the inside as I returned to sleep. But I’ve dealt with enough vomit to last a couple lifetimes as it is.