So I was excited when JUST THIS WEEK he has started to open his mouth like a little baby bird and gobble (a few) things down.
Which brings us back to the yogurt.
An hour after he ate it he smiled sweetly, reached his arms out to me, and puked a little. No big deal, I'm used to baby spit-up.
That's when the smell hit me. This was not baby spit-up. This was throw-up, and the worst kind of throw up of all-- dairy throw-up. I know this, because when I was pregnant with the girls I threw up five times a day for nine months. I can tell you exactly which are the worst things to throw up. Dairy is right up there in number one, along with peanut butter and green beans.
I looked at Jack. He looked at me, smiled and ran his hands through it. "Aaagh, Jack, no baby, no!"
I bent over him, my hair falling in my face, and began to strip him down. He reached up happily with his pukey little hands, and grabbed a chunk of my hair. Said pukey hands slid all the way down, leaving nice little leftovers behind. I did my best not to heave from the smell wafting inches from my nose.
I placed his little nekkie self on the bathroom floor and filled up the tub, proud of my newfound motherly ability to not do what I wanted to do...run to la toillette.
After washing him, me, my hair, etc. down, I happily inhaled the scent of johnson & johnson and thrilled at his fat little baby tummy and fuzzy little head. He looked up at me with those big, blue eyes and smiled a two-toofer smile. Puke forgotten.
Yes, this is his big toe in his mouth. At least it's not Emma's this time.