Vomit Season in the Starbucks Bathroom (woofin' the cookies at the coffee store)

Well, we went to sign some more paperwork at Starbucks this evening. Met up with Daniel, the realtor, and checked out each page carefully...for the first 6 pages. Then we generally scanned the documents for red flag words. Then, after about the 20th document, we just sort of glanced at the page to see if there was a signature line. And then, by the 30th page or so we were initialing the pages at the bottom faster than he could turn the pages. Nikolai was squirmier and squirmier, and getting more and more agitated, and begging louder and louder to go outside. Finally, my mother's instinct kicked in and it occurred to me that he REALLY looked like he was about ready to throw up. I stood up suddenly and said "I'm taking him to the bathroom because he looks like he's gonna throw up." I got some strange looks from Matt and Daniel, but I didn't stop to explain. I got into the bathroom and sat down gently on the toilet with him on my lap and was moving him around to cradle comfortably in my arms when he started spewing. He had eaten a candy cane earlier, and so he was ejecting sticky bile all over himself, and of course panicking because he's never really thrown up before. Panic causes a 2 year old to cling like there's no tomorrow to the adult overseeing the vomit session. The panic also introduced a new challenge: choking on sticky bile, as well as whatever was causing the chunkiness. I'm not going to even venture a guess at what it was when it went down the hatch. Round about the third bout of hurling in the bathroom, I was completely covered. Shirt, pants, jacket, everything. Nikolai's clothing was totally beyond any salvaging, and so I asked him if he wanted me to take them off. I did, only to realize that I had a wet shivering vomiting 2 year old in a Starbucks bathroom who would not let me pick him up because I was covered in vomit. Meanwhile, our realtor is outside the door with Matt, listening to what must have sounded like the hounds of hell meets rabid howler monkeys in the bathroom.
So, out of desperation I opened the door to ask Matt for his clothes.
I wrapped Nikolai in Matt's jacket, and put on the extra shirt Matt had on (I've never been so glad that he always wears 3 layers). I handed Nikolai off to Matt and started mopping up the bathroom floor with an unnecessarily high number of paper towells. I've been fighting woofin' my own cookies all day, and I very nearly lost it several times during the cleanup process. I wadded up the massive ball of vomit drenched clothes and walked as briskly as possible out of the store. Put the clothes in the car and returned to the table with Daniel as if nothing had happened.

I pray to the powers that be that I can just take a DAY OFF tomorrow.