vomit.

We've had quite our share of it over here lately. It started with Hubby, and then L. Pirate picked it up on Wednesday.

Last night, after acting normal the whole day, I picked him up out of his chair right after dinner. He'd eaten a TON. We figured he was making up for all the days he barely ate anything. Then, the second I had him in my arms, his dinner made a return. ALL OVER ME. ALL OVER EVERYTHING. I felt so bad for the little guy, who was doing the after-throw-up wimper -that when it was obvious he had more to empty, I just patted his back while I got another gush down my shirt. Two more times, and he had nothing left.

Moments later, as I was fishing chunks out of my hair, and scrubbing sticky off my chest and stomach and hands and arms, I thought of how really nothing can prepare you for this thing called Motherhood. Or Parenthood.

(Hubby and I are kind of at a loss. He seems like he's fine during the day. He holds down fluid and food -not that he's been eating or drinking much, but all that he wants. Then come evening/bedtime and he's puking up everything. It seems as long as I give him two ounces or less, he'll keep it down -three and it's coming out. He was up last night from 2 to 4:30 crying for a bottle, which I fed him two ounces at a time, every thirty minutes or so. It wasn't the first night in the past week that I didn't sleep until the birds were up. In fact, I think it was the third night this week that there wasn't much if any sleep before five am.)