It all started last night. My cute little cousin called to invite us over for family home evening. They live just a couple of minutes away. We were early and they were still eating dinner so we hung out in the living room watching The Great Pumpkin. Franky kept saying his tummy hurt but we didn't think too much about it because he was still playing. But suddenly there was puke flying through the air, hitting the leather couch and soaking the carpet (and Zach). I don't think there's anything grosser than cleaning up your kids' puke except maybe cleaning up someone elses kids puke (sorry Wende!).
I'll spare you the details but lets just say the remainder of our evening consisted of a lot of cleaning, consoling, baths and laundry because apparently asking him to throw up in a bowl or a bucket was super offensive.
And then the baby started throwing up.
That's when I officially resigned.
Just kidding. It wasn't as bad as it could have been because Zach and I still have our agreement. But he had to be up early to get to work at seven so I stayed up with Franky. We laid on the couch and practiced running over to the tile when his tummy started hurting. Then we watched Shrek and snuggled. Eventually his tummy ache subsided and we just basked in the gloriousness of non-puking.
My favorite part of the night (if I'm trying to look at the bright side) was at 2:30 am when we got to the end of Shrek and there's that scene where everyone is dancing and singing. Franky was almost asleep and delirious with fever but as soon as that song started he immediately stood up on the couch and started to dance.
I sure do love that kid.