Today was fun. Egg awoke and had some horrific diahrea incident which Jay (mumbling) alluded to before positively tearing out the front door with what I can now identify as a relieved expression masking his face. He was wise not to go into detail as I might have been tempted to O.D. on childs 'Calpol' medicine instead of getting out of bed and stomping sickly downstairs to see what chaos ensued in the kitchen containing the two monsters. At the very least I might have gotten a cheap high from the medicine which may in turn have prevented me from nearly losing it when the first (of several it turns out) incident of projectile vomiting kicked off minutes later.
As I sat rubbing Egg's back as he covered not one but two bathrooms in yellow vomit, I was thankful that we don't live in a home with carpeted bathrooms. Naively assuming that it was a one-off eruption, you can imagine my surprise and horror when shortly afterward a half naked Egg somberly whimpered as he stood before me saying,
"Sorry Mama. I made a diahrrea. It was an accident not on purpose. I'm sick Mama."
Sure enough the poor angel was. And so was I by the time I finished cleaning that one up. Who knew that there is actually such a thing as projectile diahrea? Live and learn. I shan't bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that there will several more incidents over the next 16 hours...each one even more impressively catastrophic than the last.
I sit here now, baby surgically attached, Egg moaning upstairs in bed, and wondering how sexy i must smell to my husband who is due in any moment. It's almost 11pm and he's been at Bass class across town. This is one of those days that makes me yearn to be an alcoholic. If ever I deserved to swig down several glasses of the hard stuff - today would be it.