I’m a Dad

Spitterman

My son is a puker. There, I said it, it’s out there never to be retrieved. To be honest, he’s not just a puker he’s also an avid and skilled drooler. No kidding, the child goes through at least 3 bibs a day. Bibs are a part of his regular garb and even then his clothes have to be changed because the bib just doesn’t cover enough of him…. or my sofa, my floor, myself or my wife. It’s so funny when he spits up because he’s not even concerned about it; he just opens his mouth and the geyser spouts forth warm parially digested milk. He only gets upset about it if he’s being held and afterward he sticks his face in it. It’s consistency varies according to how long it’s been since he ate: the longer it’s been, the thicker the puke. It’s really quite disgusting and somewhat alarming, it almost seems as if he spits up more than he takes in. If he wasn’t gaining weight I’d be seriously worried. As it is I’m just kind of grossed out. I started calling him The Puker some time ago, saying he could be a super villain in a comic book. Today Jen called me and said she called him Spitterman – Spiderman’s arch nemesis. He would shoot slimy vomit to counteract Spidey’s sticky web stuff. Spidey would be fooled by Spitterman’s super cuteness, he’d be drawn in wanting to hold him and smooch him up. And before he knew it, he’d be covered in warm slimy puke, then Liam would smile and it’d be all over for the venerable hero. I’m not sure what his super villain goal would be, though. So far it just seems to be to cover the world with vomit.