So I'm sitting on the floor looking through coupons (one of my favorite past times which I realize typing this makes me sound super interesting) and Ollie decides he wants to help. I give him a page of coupons to play with because he loves paper. I look away for a second only to hear him coughing and gagging. I have to wrench the wet, shredded paper from his clenched fist as he begins to throw up on himself, his blanket, and the floor. I of course try to immediately call Chris, whose phone has been off all day, with my unreliable POS droid that prides itself on not working at the precise emergency situations I need it to (rewind to Ollie's first big trip when he is 6 weeks old and we get rear ended in the suburbs). I page Chris twice as Ollie continues to vomit and decide that yes, I will call Dr. Wheet. The doctor recommends letting him vomit it up because he has to get it out of his system and I feel horribly negligent for letting my infant play with something that will inevitably be put in his mouth. He is currently sitting in his high chair kicking happily and squealing. Crisis averted.
Was this the first time today I encountered vomit? Why no, no it's not. I was woken to Bruce puking the bed. Rewind to yesterday at noon when he saw a meter man in the neighbor's yard and decided to jump over the couch and hit the Exersaucer on the way down. He yelped and immediately started hopping around on 3 legs. The vet said he didn't hurt anything but did give him a nice little NSAID. He is on cage rest for 5 days and well, being a doctor's family of course we follow all doctor's orders to a T. I slept with him in our bed only to wake up to the poor guy vomiting up what looked suspiciously like his painkiller.
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