Three strikes and he's out

I picked Sam up after daycare this evening and they told me they thought he had a stomachache since he was hanging on to his belly and moaning. I got him home and he was threw up a nasty orange concoction into a waiting towel. See? I was prepared. He settled in on my lap, stared into space and made a couple more deposits. By 8:00 he was able to keep a couple of Pediapops down and seemed to be in a terrific mood. Amazing powers of recuperation and I hope I'm not speaking too soon.

A load of laundry later he's sound asleep.

The only up side of this is that this is the only time he actually wants to sit cuddling in my lap. Poor little dude.


In other news, one of my co-workers was just notified that she and her husband who have been hoping to adopt a child had an opportunity today to take home a four year old boy. Their five year old told people at school that they were going "to the brother store" to get him. Actually, they're trying to get the mother, a 19 year old drug addict with a boyfriend that beats the boy to sign over parental rights immediately and they plan to take them home with them tonight. She went out and got him a toothbrush with a fire engine on it and his own toothpaste and cup. The poor child. I can't imagine what his life has been so far and how difficult a transition like this must be, even though in the long run it'll be for the best. It made me want to go home and give Sam the biggest hug in the world.