Sick.

Henry is. High fever("common fever" according to askdrsears.com--that site made me feel a whole lot better) and his first bout of actual Adult Vomiting. You know, like with the sounds and the gagging and the fighting it and...yeah. Luckily, he was breastfed alllll yesterday (he didn't want solids) and I know that gets digested quickly so nothing was tossed up. Still, we all slept pretty poorly and were up from 3 until about now. We gave him some Tylenol last night and this morning and it appears the fever is down. He, too, is down. Sleeping soundly. I want to be sleeping soundly also but am always torn between that and doing stuff without Henry interrupting. So, here I am. Writing about Henry. Hm.

I kind of long for the days when he can tell me that he's feeling better or worse. Right now I sort of just have to go with "Whining, shaking, lethargy" and "The opposite of those things" to figure it out. We watched some Robin Hood and Cars. He played with our books in the living room and then he was down for the count. Poor little guy. I PRAAAAY I don't get this illness. I hate throwing up. Bleh.

Is it just me or does taking care of a sicky make you want to be taken care of , too? I;m getting a strange craving for 7-Up, Saltine crackers, Scooby-Doo re-runs(the originals, ok? Not Scrappy-Doo, please) and lots of doing nothing.

*sigh* Ahhh, to be a kid again.