Seabass puked for the first time the other night. It was late at night – all we heard was a cough and then a scary choking sort of sound coming from his room. Sure enough, he was on his back ralphing up the pasta he’d eaten for dinner, and…well, sort of swallowing it again. Needless to say, he was a little disturbed. So was I.
After I removed his wet pajamas and wiped his precious face free of barf, I held him in the rocking chair while Jake stripped the bed and remade it. (Thank God for a loving husband who willingly shares the burden of parenting, even at 2 AM on a weeknight.) As Seabass settled down in my arms, I caught a glance of a mouse scurrying across the floor, down the hall and into the kitchen.
What is this, medieval England? Vomit, vermin…what’s next? Scabies?