Yesterday, close to midnight, Jesse was coughing quite a bit. So we decided to give him some cough mixture - administered orally with the help of a syringe. I injected half its contents into his little mouth. He tasted it and gave me a twisted look. And then he started twitching and writhing about. He hated the stuff.
"Shit," Mae exclaimed, "Looks like we'll have to force it down!" She gave me the look. Yes, the one that says this is my job. "Alright, I'll do it," I said as I cradled the boy in my arms. He knew it was coming. Mae held his little face and gave it a little squeeze to pucker up his lips. I put the syringe in his mouth and injected the syrup. He started kicking about. And then it came.
The boy's dinner of milk and dessert of mashed apples came a-spewing forth like a tragic night in Vesuvius. And you'd be surprised how much milk can such a small boy contain. There was puke everywhere. Down his shirt. On the floor. All over his father. It was chaos.
Mae froze, her mouth gaping wide and her eyes glazed over. Like a deer in headlights. "Move!" I called out to her. In retrospect, "Fetch!" might have been more appropriate. Hehehh! Armed with towels and rags and a change of clothes for Jesse, the king's horses and men put Humpty Dumpty together again. Strangely enough, after the explosion Jesse was having a good time - playing and picking at the larger pieces of his own puke. Euwwww!
And that was our midnight adventure. Let's hope we'll have no more puke today.