My precious little Ada spits up.  A lot.  All day.  It's like a Dr Suess book...she spits up on the floor, in the car, on the bar.  Ada pukes here, there, and everywhere.  It's ok.  I honestly don't care.  I'm not sure if I'm so beaten down by the antics of the other two or the drama in the last 3 years or if I've just matured so much since Garrett was a baby that it doesn't bother me.  Probably the 2nd:).  When he was a baby, it grossed me out...I got tired of always smelling like spit up (these days it might be an improvement), changing my clothes before leaving the house (this, I've found, is not really necessary for preschool pick-up or Target, the only places I go), and cleaning up the piles of 'splat' (now, I just drop a paper towel over it and leave it for later, or rub it in with my socks--that is gross, I know).

I felt like sharing this, because tonight, she set a new record for disgusting--love her little heart.  In past weeks, she has spit up in my shoes (many times), down my shirt, in my hair, in a basket of clean and folded laundry, on a pair of freshly ironed pants that were still warm and folded over a chair, in a drawer, and all over my new People magazine.  But the worst was tonight--when she spit up in my bowl of salad and on my fork, as it was going into my mouth.  I have no idea how it happened, but I think it's a true testament to the power of my stomach...because not even a bowl full of baby puke could ruin my appetite.  But, don't worry.  I did not eat the salad.