CSI Vomit

Parenthood changes you in so many ways, some of which you never imagined.

Take vomit for instance. Whether single or married, you don't generally give vomit much thought. It all changes when the little person who identifies you as 'mommy" or "daddy" goes all Linda Blair on you.

Our latest "moment of spew" occured at our favorite Mexican restaurant. Rachel had ordered her special, white chicken, no spices with tortilla provided separately. Our little Sally from "When Harry Met Sally."

We had arrived at the restaurant perilously close to Rachel's bedtime. She devoured her tortilla and drank her milk, but fell asleep before making any dent in her chicken.

Occasionally, I gave her a loving glance. Her glasses were framed by her gorgeous hair. Her stylish pink cowboy boots were tucked under her against the end of our wooden booth.

After about 20 minutes, she awakened and slammed the back of her head hard against the wood. Rachel usually cries at a hangnail, but strangely, she didn't cry here. She then shivered several times. Something seemed off. I held up three fingers and asked her how many she saw. She didn't respond. She just stared. Then, all of a sudden, she threw up, twice. And she still looked "out of it."

Rebecca and I did what all parents do. We started examining the evidence. "What's that? Well, that looks like...."

Rachel told us her head hurt really bad. We were very concerned and discussed taking her to a clinic or hospital. However, by the time we got to the car, Rachel was able to tell me how many fingers I was holding up, when her birthday was and answered other questions appropriately.

It wasn't until two hours later that Rebecca figured out what made Rachel sick. She had flattened her tortilla out on the table, rather than her plate. Apparently, remnants of the cleaning solution the restaurant used to wipe off the table seeped into the tortilla. When Rachel ate it, she got sick.

You never know where danger may lurk.