on failures

I dislike vomit. My own, I can deal with - years of migraines, and then 20 weeks of 24-hour-sickness (because mornings just ain't enough) helped a lot with this. That of other people, no no. Even the animals are banned from throwing up around me. Case in point - the last time the white dog started retching, I carried her (quickly) to the bathroom, and pointed her at the toilet with my eyes firmly closed and imagining anything but what was going on in front of me. Cleaning it up? Nope, would rather flush it away.

I also dislike milk. I have got to the point, post pregnancy, where I was advised that it really would be an idea for me to up my calcium levels, that I can finally stomach it on cereal - but only if someone else pours it for me first. It's not just an excuse to get breakfast in bed - although the Boyfriend is good enough to accomodate this too since I've usually got the Turnip permanently attached to a nipple in the morning. I cannot stomach the idea of pouring milk myself. I am scared - literally - that it is off, curdled, or slightly sour-smelling. If it was up to me, during the times we HAVE to have milk in the fridge, we would have a fresh bottle every day Just In Case. I still try to convince myself that this really happens. I can't watch someone else drink milk either.

Naturally, I have been blessed with a baby who vomits a little milk after nearly every feed. And let's not discuss the projectile incident a few weeks ago. Deities, I thank you. No, really.