Alex has a pretty weak stomach just like his mama. If something goes in that his belly remotely doesn't like, out it comes. If he coughs too hard? Vomit. If he gets too wound up? Vom dot com. Last night was no exception.
After dinner he and Travis were playing in the living room while I was cleaning up. And just as I smiled to myself about how sweet the sound of a child's maniacal laughter can be, I heard a cough. And not just any cough...but the tell tale cough. The second I heard it I declared it was gonna be a puker. Within 10 seconds, the laughter stopped and Alex came sprinting through the kitchen in a mad dash to get to the bathroom. Alas, he didn't quite make it. So splat on the floor went dinner.
As I was consoling him and placing his head in the garbage can to make sure the rest of dinner didn't end up on the kitchen floor, from the couch I hear, "Did he make a mess?" Ummm...yes, Einstein, there is a mess. The retching and splattering and consoling about not making it to the bathroom didn't quite all add up for ya, huh?
As I was cleaning that up, Alex headed back into the living room, and I head one more cough. I stood up just in time to see him running toward me, puke, and in turn slip and fall...you know, due to the freaking puke.
And while I was stripping Alex and trying to clean up that mess, Travis pipes up with, "Dude...he totally gets that from you." I never thought I would be happy to have my hands full with a vomit-covered child, but at that moment, I'm pretty sure it kept me out of jail.
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