First, he threw up on my guitar, then on the dining room floor (a neat stack of Kraft Singles, to his credit, though it confirmed my suspicions that he isn't chewing),
then in the living room,
then in the hallway,
then in his crib,
then on his floor,
then in our bed,
until he could barf no more.
That's when he started in with the dry heaves. And those came every twelve minutes, accompanied by much sobbing (mostly mine), throughout the night.
And all that dry heaving makes a little guy thirsty! And only one thing can really quench a thirst and quell a thirsty cry. Bright, bright, Pedialyte. That which stains. Walls, sheets, towels. You see where this is going.
So, the night went on this way, with each of us, especially Gus, thinking the morning would never come. But thank god it did. Because with the sun in the sky, there was no more dry heaving or vomiting, only a smiling baby with Mach-5 Diarrhea. Consequently, Larry and I now know what Evil smells like, and if that doesn't drive us back into the loving arms of the church, nothing will.