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I almost didn't put any pictures from our weekend up because it was NOT very picturesque. These are from last week, showcasing Matteas' favorite perch. He loves to find cars(or blocks or whatever) and drive them along the windowsill; he even makes car noises, something Jack didn't do until much later. I think Matteas seems more advanced to me because he learns from watching Jack. So the weekend. Wasn't so hot. Aaron was going to take a drive down to Gig Harbor to look at a potential project, and he was going to meet Trevor in Tacoma for breakfast. I didn't want to spend Saturday morning alone, so I decided the boys and I should go too. This is not the kind of thing I usually do. First of all, it involved waking up at 7:30 on a Saturday. Secondly, I'm always a little paranoid of being long distances away from home in case anything goes wrong. I used to be really enterprising before I had kids; I've even been known to go on overnight hiking/camping trips and spur-of-the-moment road trips, but that kind of stuff is a little tricky with little ones. Aaron doesn't think so, but I do. I worry about what could go wrong or not having the right stuff a good deal more than is necessary or reasonable. Everyone has their internal struggles. Mine is with worry, mostly in anticipation of the stomach flu. I will go to pretty ridiculous lengths to avoid exposure to anyone who has recently been vomiting, and it occupies most of my worrying space. It's a bit of a handicap. So Saturday morning was an exercise in personal growth for me, and I decided to make it about choosing things based on what I actually wanted instead of what I was afraid might go wrong. We had a bit of a grumpy morning with Matteas, who didn't want to eat breakfast, but we managed to get out the door and on the freeway with relative ease. The hour or so drive passed without incident, Matteas taking a little nap and Jack happily coloring. We met Trevor for breakfast and Matteas was a little clingy. Jack had to be coaxed into eating a decent quantity of eggs, and the last bite proved to be too much. He gagged, and up came all my hard work. Luckily I grabbed his plate and some napkins in time and we kept most of the barf off of him. The voice in the back of my head said that this was not a good sign, but I pressed on. We strapped the boys back in their seats after breakfast and prepared to head out to a piece of land Aaron's looking at. Matteas was very upset about being put in his carseat, and cried and screamed until he threw up all over himself. Aaron thought he was just upset and was possibly inspired by Jack, but he's never made himself throw up before. This is when alarm bells started sounding in my head. We cleaned him up, changed his clothes and headed out once more. Two minutes down the road, more puking, this time without a fit preceding it. It dawned on me that Matteas was actually sick(Jack, however, merely has a sensitive gag reflex). The poor baby threw up every ten minutes for the next hour. We decided, since we were already down there, to check out the property anyway. Between barfing, Matteas was his usual chipper self and insisted on going trekking through the woods without so much as holding my hand. When he'd start to gag, I'd pick him up and lean him over and then he'd be on his way again, pointing and chirping and exploring. The drive home wasn't so bad; I sat next to him with an empty Starbucks cup and LOTS of diaper wipes and managed to catch most of it, but he was still pretty yucky by the time we got home. I always enjoy having nice clean babies, but I have never looked forward to a shower more than I did that afternoon. I usually give the boys baths, but I thought a shower would be more prudent under the circumstances. Matteas just laid on my shoulder while I washed his little body and rinsed all the horrible bile down the drain, replacing the bitter smell it left on his baby skin with lavender baby wash. I nursed him in the shower, thinking that vomiting something is easier on the stomach than vomiting nothing, then stayed in the shower a while, waiting for the milk to come back up. It didn't for a long time. Specifically, until after we'd gotten out of the shower. Luckily we were standing in the kitchen, which has a tile floor so it was easy cleanup. I have a renewed affection for disinfecting wipes; I'm sure they're not environmentally friendly, but the disposability factor is great for cleaning up barf. Fortunately, the incident in the kitchen was the last of it, and everything he ate after that he kept down. I nursed him over the next couple of hours and he got more and more cheerful, so after about three hours of not barfing I gave him some peeled cucumber and cubed ham, which he devoured while breathing heavily. The rest of us have escaped unscathed so far, but even though it's time to change the sheets I've resisted; I figure if I do, that will be the night Jack will come barf in my bed.