Puke, Parte Deux

All signs were pointing to "normal" for Abby today, which was good news, indeed. We've been increasingly adding non-BRAT items back into her diet, with no problems at all.

However, I appear to have made the right call in skipping today's play date, because Michael has made it known this evening that he is the new beneficiary of Abby's little virus. I imagine that he's been contagious all day, even if she no longer is.

It should have occurred to me that this was highly likely to happen, but perhaps I had simply turned my initially fragile optimism to overdrive when Abby recovered so quickly and easily. Even when Michael had a spit-up-in-the-mouth this morning (I blamed it on the possibility that I had made him laugh too hard during a bout of tickling), incidents of gagging throughout the day, refusal of half of his 5:00 bottle, and and a little throw-up in the sink while I washed his hands (I blamed that on pressing his stomach too hard against the sink edge), I didn't allow all of these observations to add up to anything in my mind.

Of course, it's difficult to tell with babies his age, especially ones with a history of reflux. Recurrent spit-up used to be a constant reality with him. Granted, since his medication dosage got squared away, spit-up has been much more the exception than the rule, but it still happens sometimes.

However, this evening, as I sat with Michael after dinner, he threw up again, a pretty significant amount. He managed to hit not only his pajama leg, but two spots on the sofa cushion, as well. Tom was upstairs readying Abby for bed, so I took care of the mess myself (thankfully, though it may have been "real" throw-up, it was much less volume, and much less smell, than Abby's had been, so I did okay this time).

When Tom came downstairs, I told him what had happened, and what I thought it meant. But we were unsure of what to do. Should we skip his bedtime bottle? What if he woke up hungry as a result? In the end, we came up with a compromise. We gave him a diluted bottle, and hoped for the best. He took to it readily, and I tried to take that as a good sign (though, now that I think about it, Abby took pretty readily to that croissant, too, just before her moment struck). However, he let us know pretty quickly what a bad idea it was by vomiting the entire six ounces up less than a minute after he had finished it. All over Tom, with a bit of overflow onto the other side of the sofa.

It was bad. So bad that I was tempted to photograph it, but I didn't, because a) Tom forbade it, and b) I had a puke-covered baby to take care of, while Tom attempted to take care of himself.

So it was that Michael got his second pair of brand-new PJs for the night, and a shower, to boot. And then, thankfully, went down to bed without a fuss. Let's hope that his night is as uneventful as Abby's sick-night was.

Though, now, Tom and I have to figure out what to feed a tummy-sick baby who subsists primarily on milk-based food.

And pray that we're not the next recipients of this fine little gift.