*WARNING. I USE THE WORD BARF (or some variation of it) multiple times in this post.*
As you may have read in the previous post, one of my goals this year is to go on a weekly date with Johann.
We started a babysitting swap with another couple in our ward and this weekend was going to be our first time carrying it out.
Then Henry got sick.
He seemed to be getting better.
Then he did a little mini-barf during his nap.
We called and canceled with our friends figuring getting their two kids sick would not be appreciated.
We decided we still needed to have a date and we needed to watch "Doubt" which we had sitting around from Netflix for almost a week. Done deal. Henry in bed, "Doubt" and ice cream. Not a bad date.
Half way through, *cough, cough* *BLLLLLEEEAAAAH*
Man. Henry has never really puked until last night.
It was gross.
Then as we were trying to get the situation under control-enter the follow up act, then lots of tears and confusion; from Henry, I know, you thought Johann.
So what is the point of this post aside from me talking about my kid's puke?
Sometimes the realization of being fully invested in having a family kicks in and I realize I don't mind it. In fact, I like it. Not the cleaning up muck part so much, but the fact that when we hear Henry upchuck during our 'date' we just get up and take care of it. Clean, comfort and get him what he needs until he is ready to sleep again. And then go back and finish our date.
We'll be doing this dance for the rest of our lives and I don't mind. Not one bit. I enjoy the tune far too much.