R woke up puking this morning. Suddenly my whole day was mapped out crystal clear — it would be a long one.
It was. The poor thing couldn’t keep anything down, slept more than he has since he was a toddler, requested snuggles all the while he was awake, basically clung to me like a swimsuit. His spirits lifted somewhat when V came home from school, but they both missed dad who’s been away and doesn’t get back until Thursday, so the long day led to a sullen evening. To top it all, R couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time and his last oral offering for the day lay all over my floor stinking something terrible.
Gagging my intestines out at clean-up, the third shower of the day (his and mine) and an unscheduled load of laundry later, the kids are in bed and all I can do is look up and sigh in a PG Wodehouse sort of way, “Well?!”