From a Thread about Kids in the workplace

As I must have mentioned a long time ago, I have this huge stockpile of posts in my email box that were sent to me by Jack. I somehow save almost all the emails he sends me in their own little folder, although occasionally I throw one out (usually to my later chagrin--you never know what is going to come in handy).

At any rate, today I was looking for more Joe Mama posts. Sadly I think I may be out, though I hold out hope that Jack has some that I don't.

I found this board post. I don't know who wrote it, but it's funny. From January 2003.

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The last time I had a real job, in the early 90s, I worked in a place that
was suffering a population explosion on the level of a developing third
world country, so the place was always crawling with kids, especially if you went in on a Saturday.

One Saturday morning I'm walking down the hall and the 6-year-old son of a
mild-mannered account executive runs up to me--he's chugging full steam the length of a 40-foot hallway--and punches me in the balls.

Another time, on a weekday, I stopped by the HR woman's office and found her entertaining a woman who was on maternity leave. The kid is about six months old, but, like her mother, big for her age. Diane, the HR babe, asks to hold the child. She takes hold of the kid with both hands around the middle and the kid immediately begins to projectile vomit. I'm talking about putting Linda Blair to shame, except the stuff is reddish purple. First she soaks Diane's navy blue knit dress, so Diane reflexively turns her away and the kid does a Jackson Pollack all over the cubicle wall about five feet away.

There's so much coming out of her I'm thinking she's going to collapse any
second like a beach ball with a big leak. But the kid keeps spewing. Finally I say, "Diane, for Christ's sake, quit squeezing her." Mom takes back the kid, cradle style, and the spewing stops. Diane took the rest of the day off.