Tonight I was lying down in bed, trying to convince The Boy that he too should lie down and perhaps, GO TO SLEEP. It was 9:30, for heaven's sake and how the hell am I going to be able to study if the kid is climbing up, climbing down, climbing up, climbing down. Off of me. Do I look like El Cap? STOP TOUCHING ME.
So he was lying there beside me (finally) when he sat up with a start, leaned over and put his head on my side. My shirt had ridden up a little (since God forbid I buy clothes that actually fit me. I'd rather walk around all day with pants that are now two sizes too big and shirts that are two sizes too small--the Muslim neighbors just LOVE seeing 6 inches of my midriff every day) so he was laying against my skin.
Awwww. How sweet. My boy is snuggling me.
Yeah right. The little monster spit up. And it rolled right down my side and across my belly. Grossed out, as I always am by the biological functions of the fruit of my womb, I reached down to get him the hell away from me. It was pitch black and suddenly I felt this weird feeling on my stomach.
I think the kid spit up a hairball. He really has to stop chewing on the dog. It's disgusting.