Thursday, 14th December was a day we'd been waiting for; a very special day because... we were going to visit Santa!
Was I possibly more excited than the two year old? Well, maybe
We were up bright and early that morning, bag packed from the night before, I was quite literally winning at this parenting game! This day was going to be THE best day, and nothing could burst my happiness bubble!
Off out the door we skipped, bundled up in our Thursday best, looking forward to meeting Daddy at our destination before seeing the big man himself, fully equipped!
We strolled down to the bus stop hand in hand with not a care in the world, and the little lady waited with me like a little champ. This was going to be easy, or so I thought...
The bus arrived, this was it...we survived the wait without a hitch! Absolutely delighted with life we hopped onto the bus, only to see there were no downstairs seats, but it was no biggie, upstairs we went! (BIG mistake)
We departed our hometown with the cutest little waves and bye byes, then it was time to break out the snacks that I had so pleasingly put together the night before.
As I lay back and relaxed in my seat, I gazed out the window thinking about how stress-free this trip with toddler had been so far. I mean, this was a breeze!
As we got closer and closer to our destination, I got a phone call from the other half to check we were close by.
"On the stretch now!" I said chirpily, "we'll be there in the next few minutes, everything is perfectly fine!".
And right there, I jinxed myself.
Pulling into our destination, about five minutes from arrival, I looked to my right and Isla wasn't looking so good. She was quiet, turned around in the seat, and lay down beside me.
OH GOD NO.
"Are you ok baby?" I asked her, absolutely sh*tting myself but putting on a brave face of course.
And then it came. She sat up, facing the back of her seat, and I swear I had to remind myself I wasn't in fact watching a scene from The Exorcism of Emily Rose.
It didn't stop either. Oooooh no...It kept coming, vomit after vomit, while being clung to like a tree to a koala bear. I had lost the game.
Eventually we came to a stop and there we were, my girl sobbing, clinging, both of us covered in so much vomit I was thinking how the hell did that come out of someone so little, and my pride had quite literally jumped out the window and ran off into the sunset, never to be seen again.
Lovely passengers around us offered help in the form of little pocket size tissues which was so nice of them but I don't think they realised there was an actual vomit monster lurking beyond our seats.
We were then helped off the bus by one of the passengers, as I broke the news to the bus driver with my tail between my legs.
"I'm so sorry, she literally just got sick five minutes ago, so so sorry..."
He was kind enough to let us off but what I really wanted to say was "I was a bit too confident this morning and she wouldn't take that bloody travel sickness lolly before we left, and I am dying inside of mortification. She WILL be hearing about this in years to come, don't worry."
Off the bus, greet my other half with an ashen face ushering him to the closest bin to dump the no longer "good" stuff that was destroyed in the disaster. The evidence if you will.
We went in and I got the little lady into a new set of clothes, and she was back to normal, like nothing ever happened!
Off in we went, saw the big man, smiling, laughing, loving life, albeit minus a few items of clothing. Oh, and maybe my dignity but hey, I didn't stink of vomit anymore!
I will now take the time to say rest in peace to our beloved coats, hat and bib, lost to travel sickness, because of an overly-confident, and actually quite unprepared Mama.
Note to self: You are NEVER too prepared!
