Earlier this week, TwoBert an important First. Sure, parents make a big fuss over a child's First words and First steps, but to me one of the most important Firsts a toddler can experience is the First Projectile Vomit. TwoBert's problem came on rather suddenly. He was walking around and on and under things, as usual, when his eyes suddenly bulged wide and barf starting pouring out of him. It has to be a transformative feeling to watch your innards eject themselves uncontrollably for the first time, as if you've got some kind of gastric ebola virus. At least now he knows he can live through it and, flush with a new respect for his recuperative powers, happily nibble grilled cheeses and fart out the last throes.
It's just me and the boys this weekend, and today we had plans to head out to Nana and Granddad's for some quality dirt-digging. But last night, after dinner, I came home to find that it was Robert's turn to hork up a lung. And when morning broke with temps in the teens, it became apparent that we'd spend the day as stomach-buggered shut-ins. They're both wandering around a bit wan and glassy-eyed, like little zombies. Except they're not zombies, because zombies eat brains, and these boys can't touch a thing.
At least I haven't spent much time doing dishes.