The vomit bag

A couple of days ago I posted about my search for the perfect diaper bag on our trip. Little did I realize that no bag would be so appreciated as that what's become known as The Vomit Bag. 

Already a little ominous sounding, no?

I should tell you that one of the reasons I was having trouble searching for a bag was that I haul around a ton of stuff. At any given time, I have back-up clothes for the G-man and myself, sippy cups, snacks, first-aid kit, hand sanitizer, tissues, pacifiers, at least 3 diapers, wipes, a sweater for cold stores and restaurants, sunscreen, bug spray, my SIGG bottle, a dirty duds baggie and now a plastic dinosaur that he likes. I envy the moms that can actually use those cute clutches that just hold a diaper and a few wipes. I pack more than a circus. My best friend pointed out that I resemble a nomad. Even one of my play groups is surprised I still carry it all, no matter if it's a trip to the park or the two blocks from my house to Gymboree. Scott sometimes dares fate and leaves for the store with G-man and nothing else. Wow.

So yes, I am that mom. Always prepared. 

Really, it's easy. I use the same bag all the time, it's stocked with essentials and all I have to do on a daily basis is switch out the backup outfits, freshen drinks and check the snacks. 

But on this trip, I had three bags. And they all had a different purpose. So multiple times a day, I made my life harder by dumping things out and repacking another bag for another activity.

On this particular night, it looked like it might rain so in switching bags from the one we took to the beach to the one we thought should hit the boardwalk, I added rain coats and umbrellas to the stash. Seemed pretty full, must have everything.

We arrived in Ocean City a little ahead of dinner time, parked about 4 blocks away and popped G-man into the backpack carrier for what would be a great night. His first time to see the rides, taste some goodies and experience this odd brand of New Jersey summer nightlife.

As we stepped on to the boardwalk, something splashed my shoe. Great, I thought, I already had a drink spilled on me. A few steps later and that's when it dawned on me...it wasn't a drink, it was vomit. G-man, perched on my back, was throwing up. A lot. Still. People were starting to stare. Seagulls gathered.

We got him out as fast as we could but the damage was done. Upchuck all over him (a never-before worn shirt, I might add). His pants, his hair, his whole self. Plus, the carrier was instantly transformed into something from a horror movie. And me? Not much better I must say.

Ok, just get us to a bathroom and we'll clean up and change. What? No backup clothes? For either of us?! Holy shit. I forgot them. This bag only managed to stuff itself with the raincoats, some chapstick, a few wipes, one lonely diaper, a water cup and my sunglasses.

Ugh.

We reeked. This was not good. We had to buy new clothes on the boardwalk. G-man ended up with a souvenir shirt more suitable for a 4-year-old but it was the smallest thing we could find and some sweatpants dredged up in the back of another store. I did luck out with an overpriced Phillies tee that I changed into in the dressing room as soon as I saw it. When the clerk asked me to take it off so she could remove the sensors, I said no way. I held my disgusting shirt in my hand and told her I was not putting it back on and to complete my purchase with me in the new shirt.

Then she brought it out - the large Jilly's Reusable Bag (as it says in bold letters on the side). She offered it to me along with another little bag to put my gross shirt in. Oh, thank you. Because I hadn't thought about where we were going to put the damaged goods for the rest of the evening.

I raced out of there, took G-man to the nearest bathroom 3 long, smelly blocks away, and we changed him and cleaned him up the best we could. The carrier, his clothes and my clothes went into the Jilly's bag. We zipped it shut and except for a not-so-fresh odor still in his hair, we seemed like a normal family again. 

So normal that we went to dinner. We'd been on the boardwalk almost an hour and had yet to do anything but gross ourselves out. A little food could be good. G-man was happier in his new outfit. He eagerly reached for some milk. Ate a few bites of fries. And oh my god, he's throwing up again! The table, his new clothes, Scott's pants.

Time to cut our losses. I'm not buying him another new outfit. And obviously, he's not up to much. While Scott cleaned him up, I got our food to go. The little man came back out in his raincoat and diaper. It was all we had left.

This next set of dirty clothes went into the bag and we realized, it's stuffed. With vomit-covered items. If anyone were to unzip it or how funny would this be? steal it from us, wouldn't they be surprised? But thank you, thank you, thank you, salesperson for giving it to us. I honestly don't know how we would have schlepped all that back to the car. I kind of think we wouldn't have, paying a visit to a trash can instead. But with The Vomit Bag at our side, we proudly left the boardwalk, shoved it in the trunk and easily dumped the contents into the wash as soon as we got home.

G-man's first visit to the OC boardwalk may not have gone as planned, but it was truly an evening we won't forget. After all, the bag is in our room to remind us.