The other day Bear woke up at 7:00 as usual. Without my begging or asking or anything, Kent woke up so I could sleep in. I was feeling very lucky. Within five minutes though, he was back in the bedroom.
"Um, babe? I kind of need you to get up."
Those are never words that excite a sleeping, pregnant woman.
"Bear threw up and I kind of need two hands to take care of all this."
These are words that excite a sleeping, pregnant woman even less.
Why did he throw up? Who knows. He didn't seem too bothered by it. We stripped his crib and his jammies and threw him in the bath (we didn't literally throw him, in case any agents for Child Protective Services are reading).
Why am I sharing a barf story with you? Because I can't think of a good reason not to.
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