For awhile I was beginning to doubt the impossibility of my 19 month old son being pregnant. Scott threw up once each morning from Friday morning of last week through Tuesday morning. (For those who are counting, that's 5 days.) It was so weird. Poor kid. I think the hardest part for him was the fact that we wouldn't allow him his usual daily ration of a quart of whole milk. He still wanted all our food, but you know what they say: good appetite doth not a stable stomach make. (I think that's a proverb or something, right?) It broke my heart to refuse him food. (This furthers my suspicion that I have unhealthy attitudes towards food...)
Every time "it" happened it was before noon, sometimes in his crib before I got him in the morning, sometimes in my living room, and then nothing for the rest of the day. All I can say is hallelujah for the fact that my entire downstairs is tiled. I've never before experienced such calm feelings around a volatile volcano of vomit. (You didn't actually think I would spare you the gory details did you? I held out as long as I could, but I am still me.) I was very nearly cheerful even while cleaning up spew since there was no carpet involved. I would have to say that the award for most entertaining upchuck goes to Tuesday morning's remnants of a green popsicle from the night before on Scott's white crib sheets. Talk about "the technicolor yawn."
I still don't really know what it was that caused it all, I'm just glad it's over. His pediatrician suspects the culprit was "mucus buildup" from a nasty cold. All I know is that I'm almost going to miss Claire talking on her toy cell phone to the "throw up cleaner guys." Man, who are they and how do I get them to come???
Look for my impending post on our broken refrigerator adventures... anybody have a spare fridge they wanna let me borrow?