And for the Parental Win . . .

Not me.

Cubby woke up crying from his afternoon nap because his mouth hurt.  An examination revealed his last upper molar coming in.  Further complaints resulted in my breaking out the children's acetaminophen.  While I was in the bathroom wrestling with the packaging on the unopened medicine, I heard a thunk from the adjoining bedroom.

That would be Charlie, falling off the bed on which I had left him.  Shit.

In an impressive feat of baby gymnastics, he somehow managed to fall about two feet away from the bed and land on the rug.  There was no bodily harm.  He didn't even cry, seeming more startled than anything.

Ten minutes later, while undressing Cubby for the warm bath I told him might help his aching tooth*, I got his turtleneck shirt jammed on his (admittedly quite large) head and in yanking it off, pressed right on the sore spot on his jaw.  He backed away from me, shirtless and wailing, screaming, "Don't even touch me!" when I tried to give him a comforting hug to atone for my carelessness.

He's in the running for an Academy Award for Best Dramatic Performance--Toddler Division.

Then he sat in the bath for ten minutes, staring ahead in a most comatose and un-Cubby-like manner (if he's not at Mach 5, there's something amiss), before eventually starting to shiver and cry, telling me his tummy hurt.

It should surprise no one that less than an hour after that, there was vomit.

Not much, and only once, but that was the end of the road for Cubby.  He wedged his overly-large toddler self in my lap, in the position he favored as a baby, and stayed there for an hour.  While I listened to Charlie scream because it was approaching his bedtime and someone other than his mother (that is, A. and the MiL) had the temerity to try to distract him.

When it was time to put Charlie to bed, Cubby refused the company of both his father and grandmother, insisting he would rather be alone.  Though he did allow me to resume my position next to him on the couch after Charlie was asleep.

About half an hour later, I put Cubby to bed too, thus ending another day of the non-stop thrill ride that is motherhood.

I sincerely hope there are no more thrills of a vomitous nature in our near future.  Cross your fingers for us. Thanks.

* Lie--he just hadn't had a bath in a few days and I was trying to think of a way to get him to take one without too much drama.