Sickie McSickSick

Today, a photo-montage.

This morning:

[Note Elmo PJ's]

Then there was Puke Explosion #1. After that, Iain was like this for about 2 hours:

It was truly bizarre, since he never, ever, ever agrees to cuddle on the bed and watch TV (in this case, vintage Sesame Street. You would not believe the platform boots and tight, bell-bottomed cords.)

Of course, it was adorable:

Right up until the point when he projectile vomited all over our bed. Then it was a race to bathe him, strip the bed, wash everything, and calm him down. In the end, I called the weekend nursing service just to check. They assured me that this is what's called "moderate vomiting," and it's not a problem.

Of course, by the time I chatted with a nurse, Iain was up and about, no longer lethargic, no longer cuddling. Instead, he demanded a spot in the Wassily chair, where he could more easily see Harry Potter learn to fly his broom:


Since then, it's been "Juice!" and "Toast!" and "More!" pretty much non-stop.