There is no rest for the weary. A week to the day that Wyatt broke his wrist we were up throughout the night cleaning up Henry and his mac’n'cheese vomit. He must have caught some 24-hour stomach bug. It was pretty gross. As far as I can remember (which if you know me, isn’t saying much), the boys have not done much vomiting since they stopped nursing and spitting up curdled milk.

But last night Henry was in it to win it. He threw up just three times, but it was messy and cheesy and ouchy. To quote Henry directly, he was “really freaked out about all this throwing up.”

This morning there was a fair amount of back and forth as Henry tried to decide whether he was feeling well enough to attend preschool. Ultimately, he wasn’t. I called later on in the morning to check on my baby only to learn that he had just eaten scrambled eggs, toast with jam, and a big ole’ glass of milk. He seemed to be feeling fine and had not complained of a stomach ache at all.

I asked if Stephen thought Henry might be playing hooky. You bet your bottom dollar he was. Stephen is quite sure that, after watching Wyatt nurse his wrist last week, Henry figured out that if one is not well enough to attend school, then one is allowed to watch TV all day.

Damn, that kid is already a parent-duping genius at four!