The Meaning of Projectile

I’m detecting a theme to these recent posts…

Last night, Punky had a delicious dinner of sweet potatoes and rice, with some apple-cinnamon puffs for dessert. After a few swigs of her bottle of water, she decided to intentionally throw it on the floor.

We’ve played the “If I throw this on the floor, Mama will pick it up so I can throw it on the floor again” game before. Sometimes she’s amused and it goes on for a bit, sometimes she loses interest quickly, and sometimes Mama’s just not in the mood and she gets booted from the highchair to the floor where she can throw it all she wants and get it herself. Grouchy mama days…it happens to the best of us…

Anyway, last night I had my back to the highchair when I heard the bottle hit the floor. I turned around and acted surprised to see it under the highchair…and of course Punky found it simply hysterical. Thus the game began. She’d wait until my back was turned to toss it, I’d turn around in shock to see it on the floor, she’d roar with laughter while I bent down to pick it up…

We must’ve done it eight times, and she was laughing so uncontrollably. On the last go ‘round, when I bent over for the bottle she suddenly got quiet. The laughing stopped. I stood up and caught a glimpse of her face just before the eruption. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks puffed out, you could see a hint of fear and panic in her expression.

Half a second later the trap opened and her dinner spewed forth with the force of a volcano and the speed of a bullet. It completely cleared the highchair tray and landed dead center on my chest. I had to be at least two feet or more from her at the time. As disgusting as it was, I stood there for a few seconds stunned and amazed.

I suppose I thought the term "projectile vomiting" was merely an expression, only brought to life in horror movies when demonic goop flies out a girl’s mouth just after her head spins 360 degrees. In real life I never saw anyone, myself included, vomit across a room. I didn’t think it was physically possible. This wasn’t quite across the room, but who knows how far it would’ve gone if I wasn’t standing in its path. It qualifies.

Poor Punky sat there confused; she didn’t know what the hell happened. But after one hard swallow, a big smile appeared on her face. There was not one drop of anything on her lips, face, bib, or anywhere on the highchair. None even hit the floor…just me. The only consolation I have is that I had time to stand up all the way after retrieving her bottle…otherwise it may have been my hair or face taking the blow instead of my nightshirt. As gross as it was, that would’ve been much worse.

Of course I feel like it’s all my fault and I feel so bad for making her vomit like that, but I’d say she definitely paid me back… I suppose we ought to save that game for light snacks only. Or maybe for next time Daddy feeds her dinner… She still owes him one from the frozen pizza incident.