So Martin came home the other day to give me a little Libby relief (much-needed, I might add). She had just finished eating, and he picked her up and held her above his head. (I warned him that it might not be the best idea to put pressure on her stomach just then, but what do I know?)
She seemed to enjoy it (or at least didn't cry, which is good enough), so when he laid back down on the couch with her, he held her up again, high in the air over his head. Yep -- you guessed it: She puked (spitup) like a geyser down right on his face. The good news is his mouth was closed; the bad news was it was everywhere. His face was dripping; his glasses were coated; his hair was speckled. I tried to get a picture, but he wouldn't let me look for the camera before giving him a burp cloth to wipe with. Too bad. I would have liked to memorialize that!
Amazingly, none got on the new couch.
3 comments:
Awesome. I believe Steve was puked on with an open mouth once, if I remember correctly. Shoot, there was so much puke in our past that I can barely make out the individual incidents. ; ) At least it was just spit-up, Martin!
Poor Steve. Parenthood is so glamorous, isn't it?
Martin do all that while you are young and nimble. When you get older our natural reflex is to toss. That's what is wrong with Kerri. Tossed her one to many times.
Cherish these days and memory makers.
Love
Grandma and Grandpa Kennedy
Post a Comment