There is no way to put it delicately: we have a volcanic puker.

Before last night, this little miracle had tiny little spit ups (two in fact.)  And one barf (a bit more than a spit up) on Saturday and Sunday nights.

Then they got bigger.

As I was working this a.m., Marshall was happily playing and watching me.  Then he fussed his “I’m hungry, Maaaaa!”

So I fed him.

Then he hurled (this was no baby spit up…nor a barf… I mean HURLED ALL over us.)
 
Not once.

But twice. 

Panic followed.  I let Michael know he was sick. 

Then I pinged an email at Dr. Friedman as fast as my fingers could type as I cleaned our little sweetie up.

Here is the after shot:

Thank you, Marshall, for your resilient & absolute joy.

And now we are off to the pharmacy…and to search the town for burp cloths…and I forgot to eat breakfast….

What a welcome into the Reflux Fold.  From everything I read and was told, this moment was inevitable.  But, tenacious in my hope, I held out in disbelief. 

Darn it…how do I make him grow now???