son-day at the vomitorium

If you're still reading after that gripping title, you know you are most assuredly in for some TMI. Last night, right before I went to bed, I stepped in a large pile of dog puke in the kitchen. Bubba was the lucky winner, though he has to be the quietest puking dog ever. We were sitting a few feet away and didn't hear it happen.

Fast forward to this morning and Oliver, who had been asking me to make him pancakes for three days, at one bite of pancake and declared his tummy was full. We went to do a couple of errands this morning and stopped at Starbucks. He had his usual milk and madeleine cookie snack and that was uneventful. 

When we arrived at a birthday party around 11am he was pretty grumpy. I thought it was because all the kids that go there before us, besides the birthday boy, were kids he didn't know. He got grumpier, even as good friends started appearing. He wanted no part of any food, and even turned down chocolate milk (which he's never had before). He finally had a little apple juice but then begged to go home. 

I brought Oliver home and he said he wanted to go to bed. He said hello to CD and promptly barfed all over the living room. CD took him to the powder room, where he barfed some more. Since his last round of vomiting was when he was just a few months old, he had no idea what was happening. We got him cleaned up and into bed, where he slept for about an hour and a half. 

Eleanor and I went to Target and hoped all would be well when we got home. It seems we got home at the tail end of barf-0-rama, round two. Oliver was desperate for water so I gave him a little and asked him to take small sips. Of course, round three followed quickly. Once we got him settled and clean, he asked to take a nap, with mum, in mum's bed. I would have stood on my head if I thought it would make the little guy feel better so we took a nap together.

Though we've had a couple of time when the bucket was fetched, there hasn't been any more barf. We tried a little toast and applesauce for dinner but after a couple of bites that was rejected. Electrolyte water perked him up considerably, not to mention the restorative powers of a good Red Sox game. He started asking for "dad-os" (also known as cheerios) so he had a few of those before going to bed for the night.

I'm not sure of the cause. Could be bad milk from Starbucks. Could be a bug, but no one else has it. Yet.

All seems to be well again. The vomitorium is closed.