Oh, right. We went away for a few days right there.
It was great. Until everybody got sick. Noah threw up purple Tylenol on Jason's aunt and uncle's guest bed, and then on his uncle.
(For any rookie parent who might see "Children's Tylenol Meltaways" on the shelf at CVS and think, "Oh! I bet those are easier than the liquids," let me just tell you that "MELTAWAY" does not necessarily mean the same thing to Tylenol as it does to you and me. For example, that it melts. Away. In a reasonable amount of time before your child can work himself up into a royal state over OMG THERE IS SOMETHING PURPLE IN MY MOUTH THAT TASTES LIKE SUGAR BUT I AM SICK AND PISSED OFF AND I SPIT OUT YOUR PURPLE SUGAR TABLET REPEATEDLY UNTIL THERE IS PURPLE SUGAR SLIME EVERYWHERE AND THEN I SHALL VOMIT ON PURPOSE JUST IN CASE I MANAGED TO ABSORB A SINGLE ATOM OF MEDICINE.)
(Oh, and then you'll look at the bottle and realize that the dosage is TWO TABLETS, and even if you wise up enough to mash and/or dissolve the second tablet in a sippy cup, your child is SO ON TO YOU NOW, so...have some paper towels nearby, is all I'm saying.)
He's fine now, more or less. He woke up the next morning fever-free and clamoring for da beach! da BEACH! GO TO DA BEACH RIGHT NOW! But still, our last vacation as a family of three was a little less than the magical special time we'd planned for.
At least I didn't go into labor, other than the six or seven body-shatteringly painful contractions I had late on Saturday night while Jason slept obliviously nearby, dead to the world from Theraflu. I think my uterus was tired of being overshadowed by other people's head colds and got a little uppity about it.
HOWEVER, I did learn that I do still, in fact, have it going ON, as I got catcalled at from some drunkish dude who said, and I quote, "HEY BABY, I KNOW LAMAZE" as I waddled by.
I opted to ignore him with grace and dignity and extra chins.