A quick search of the net informed me it was most likely a sinus infection of my teeth roots. I say 'most likely' because the other suggestions don't bear considering: perhaps 'most acceptable' would be a more apt description.
Tracey already had an afternoon appointment to check up on her belly so she ducked into the consultation room before me and left me with the kids.
For once, all my little kids (Miss7, Master6 & Miss4) were behaving. The people sitting around us were nodding appreciatively, if imperceptibly, at such good behaviour. My kids were reading and drawing and looked just like the kiddies you see in reruns of the Eight Is Enough or The Brady Bunch.
The baby, Miss1, not so much. I assumed she was just tired, so I sat her on my knee. While I waited for my turn with the doc I began to distract her with chatter and bobbing her on my knee. But as it turned out she had a distraction for me.
By the time she'd finished throwing up on me I was covered from behind my ear to just below my right knee. My chest caught the worst of it and I'm not sure there's a Nappysan strong enough to return my shirt to white.
The nurse mustered us into an unused room. Miss1 loved the new room, although perhaps not the decor. She immediately set about redecorating the walls and floor with a fresh bout of projectile vomit.
When I sat back down in the waiting room with her, the people in the neighbouring chairs had very different looks on their faces, and their noses were screwed up. I don't blame them. The smell was awful.
"Poor little poppet," said a nice woman. "The doctor will fix her up."
"Oh, we're not here for her," I told her, while I scrapped a bit more of my daughter's lunch off my neck with my tie.
By the time I got back to work I looked worse (and smelled worse) than when I went to the doctors. But my self-net-diagnosis was confirmed - infected sinus. This doctoring stuff is easy. Getting vomit out of waiting room carpet, now that's hard.