Call It What You Want...

For those of you with weak stomachs, skip today's post. Read again when we feel better.

Yeah. for some reason Little Guy didn't have much of an appetite at supper. He ate about half of a piece of pizza, compared to the three full pieces he ate at the same establishment's buffet a couple weeks ago. I was holding him while Tim went to pay for the meal. Suddenly I had an armful of, um, warmth.

There were two tables, one on either side of us, with moms who came to the rescue (and one dad, too) with all of their extra napkins. The waitress brought more napkins, wiped up the mess from the table. I removed my sweatshirt. Adam seemed to feel fine.

We came home. Adam continued to act fine. Tim gave him some Pedialyte, then his bath and put him to bed. I was happily sorting outgrown clothes when the little boy started screaming from his bed. I went in to check on him. Oops. Guess he didn't feel so fine. As I picked him up, I got to experience projectile -- um, you guys might not want to rhyme with "comet" -- for the first time, too.

So he is cleaned up, all of his bedding is in the washing machine, has new pajamas on, and is back in bed. Somehow Blankey Bear missed the excitement, so he does have his favorite friend. And his wonderful Daddy (who was also working hard at cleaning up) borrowed Mark's Blankey Bear "just in case" need should arise later tonight.

And we can't even blame Jonathan and Andrew -- they stayed home.

(I guess after three years and three months of being a mother, having this be the first time of the true excitement and only the second vomiting-sick is pretty good.)