A lost weekend, I’m afraid.

All of us, sick. Except hubby.

Symptoms: cranky baby, a usually-boisterous-strangely-quiet-4-year-old-boy and a woozy mama.

Evidence: puke (luckily evading yours truly.)

And how different my children are in their barfdom.

Little B literally just rolled over in her sleep, yakked, whimpered for a second, and then fell asleep smiling (we put a towel down underneath her.)

The boychild on the other hand was dramatic. Hubby and I returned from a night out playing DARTS (don’t ask, don’t tell) with our dear, sweet neighbors and after hanging out for a while upstairs, suddenly heard a bloodcurdling scream from below. We instantly ran downstairs, not sure if the yelp was a baby yelp or a big boy yelp. But quickly realized it was the boychild – the poor, miserable boychild – who’d puked all over his bed.

Ah, the joys of parenting. Poor love had to forego THREE birthday parties this weekend because of his pukey tummy.

And yet, how hubby and I enjoy the boychild when he’s sick. He snuggles. He lies on our bed with us. He’s…quiet. All going against his natural character.We enjoy while we can.

So there you have it. A lost weekend. With some snuggles gained here and there between the rough spots.

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