Bristol Palin and my barf-coated hand


Have been hearing much from Bristol Palin of late about the joys of being a parent.

In fact, thought much about her words this afternoon. The daughter, Casey, son, Emmett, and I were at the nearby children’s library for 6 o’clock story time and chocolate cookies. Midway through the first book, Casey stood up, looked at me and said, simply, “I have to burp.” Then—bllllllleeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhh! She began to vomit. I instinctively reached out my left hand, cupped it around her mouth and rushed her to the bathroom, roughly 10 feet away. Upon entering. Casey vomited and vomited and vomited, missing the toilet but hitting both of my flip-flops and much of the floor. I spent 10 minutes cleaning her up. Then, for the following 20 minutes, I scrubbed down this nasty, public bathroom with a roll of paper towels and a few wipes.

Bristol couldn’t be found.*

* For the record, I feel sorry for Bristol. Who is clearly being pimped out.