(Why is she talking in the conditional? That can't be good.)
Matt and I were both anxious as it would be the first time we were headed to a place from which we couldn't easily and quickly escape. I was anxious about the stares, being in such close quarters with so many people, and the long amount of time we were asking Jonah to be content. For a non-mobile baby, he sure wants to be mobile, and that brings with it lots of moving, squirming, whining, and general discontent with being in one place for a long time. I figured we'd have to leave early.
(Is that foreshadowing? What happened? The anticipation is killing me.)
Still, it was worth it to us for him to have the experience, and we were excited (though apprehensive) to make the attempt.
(That parenthetical reference and the word "attempt" make ME feel apprehensive about how this story is going to end.)
Matt and I had discussed it several times during the week, giving ourselves pep talks that it would be okay and we could always leave early if we had to. We may or may not have had a little conversation that went something like this:
Me: "I'm nervous about taking Jonah to the game. I'm afraid he's going to be fussy and hard to manage. Maybe we could move up a few rows higher where there aren't as many people."
Matt: "Yeah, we could do that. I'm afraid he's going to puke everywhere."
Me: "PUKE? He never pukes these days outside of a feeding time."
(IDIOT, Patrice. Don't you know better than to say things like that by now? Won't you ever learn???)
Me: "That's the LEAST of my concerns."
(Oh no. That is DEFINITELY foreshadowing. Why oh WHY did she not knock on wood?)
So Sunday night arrived and we headed out for the Wake game. We were well stocked on burp cloths (we had two), wet wipes (we had six), and ponchos (not exactly). We got to the game with only fifteen minutes to spare and wouldn't you know, we had to park about a half a mile away at the football stadium. (That may be a slight exaggeration, but what's a good story without a little hyperbole?) So Matt grabbed Jonah, I grabbed the diaper bag, we did a last second "got the tickets" check, and off we went. It was a long way (or a "right fur piece" for you western North Carolinians), and we were truckin' it.
Jostle. Jostle. Jostle. Churn. Churn. Churn. Bounce. Spin. Shake.
(That was Jonah's stomach while we walked, apparently.)
We got the stadium entrance, went through the ticket gate, power walked to the complete opposite side of the stadium, and hiked up to our upper-level seats. There were no free rows up at the top. The place was packed (as hinted by the overflow parking at the football stadium). WFU must have GIVEN tickets away (aka pathetic attempt to fill the stadium and screamed of our desperate need for a win). I don't remember the stadium ever being that packed unless we were playing Duke or Carolina. It was crazy.
And crowded. Did I mention it was crowded?
By the time we made it to our seats, the lights were off, the loud music was on, and the starting line-ups were beginning.
Enter loud motorcycle and blow up inflatable giant thingies.
Nervous churning. Uncertain rumbling. Anxious squirming.
(That was Jonah's stomach again, unbeknownst to us.)
I put Jonah on my right hip so he could see all the action and bounced along with the "get pumped" music. All was good and right with the world.
(Except not really. Patrice, did I mention that you're an IDIOT?)
And then, friends, it happened. Yes, IT.
"Matt (tap, tap, tap on his shoulder), Matt, I need the burp cloth."
I cleaned Jonah up and thought, "Okay, we're alright, that wasn't so bad. His shirt has some puke on it, so what?"
It was big this time. There was no coming back. It got all over me, all over him, all over the floor, and all over the seat back in front of us. I sat down with him and faced him toward the outer aisle.
I tapped the guy's shoulder who was standing in front of us, holding a three or four year old little boy.
"Excuse me, Sir. Don't sit down. We've had an accident, and I don't want you to sit in it."
(Awkward, uncomfortable, slightly annoyed look from man.)
The woman with him was super gracious, took some of our wet wipes and helped us start cleaning up. "I have kids. It's okay. Things like this happen."
"Oh my goodness," she exclaimed, shock on her face.
Me (in my head): "Yeah, I bet your kids don't do that."
At this point, I just yelled (it was very loud) for Matt to give her ALL of our wet wipes (did I mention we had about six?), he used his coat to clean up the huge puddle of vomit off the floor, and we escaped as fast as we possibly could. I gave Jonah to Matt, so at this point we were all three covered in vomit.
As soon as we got out of the stadium the first thing I said was, "Well, at least we don't have to see all those people until next season."
I feel so sorry for those poor people. We cleaned it up as best we could, but there's nothing like the smell of stomach acid and puke to go along with your basketball game hot dog.
It was terrible.
Here are my tweets from the ride home:
momtobabyjonut: Just tried 2 take J to first WFU game. Hiked a mile, got 2 our seats & he gushed everywhere. All 3 of us COVERED in puke. On the way home.
momtobabyjonut: Also puked on the guy's seat in front of us. Luckily he was standing. We made it through the starting lineups. Totally gross.
Yes, it took two tweets to describe the disaster that was the Wake vs. Clemson
The next day Matt said, "I saved Jonah's ticket for his scrapbook."
Ahhhh, the memories.