It's always more fun when you share with everyone

Henry and I have been sharing a lot these last three weeks while Sloan has been out of town. Cuddles, chores, kisses, germs.

Henry has allergies. Like his mother. Like his Papa. Sorry, buster. The reason you get a hacking cough when you play in the leaves? It's because you and mold, and trees, and grass, will never be friends. Or maybe you can be friends but you're going to have to be high to play with them.

Let's just be thankful you're not allergic to Peanut Butter because Reece's are awesome. And if you develop an allergy to Nutrigrain Bars you will probably starve to death.

But it is at least good to know what is going on. Particularly because
"extra phlegm from the allergies"
+"extra saliva from bottom molars coming in"
+ "any milk at all"
= puking once a day for the past week.

But it wasn't like the pukes from last time. He was not puny. Rather, he'd be building with blocks, simply turn his head, vomit, and then continue on his merry way. Because of this, sometimes I wouldn't realize he'd puked until he was splashing his hands in it. And to make matters worse, I kept thinking that maybe he was just sticking his fingers down his throat (because he keeps chewing on his hands while he is teething) so I kept giving him milk. Augh. Apparently, it made more sense to me for him to binge and purge rather than just his tummy was too full of snot to handle milk.

And also for awhile I thought he had a parasite. Or maybe African Sleeping Sickness. This is because when Sloan is out of town I watch hours of House at night. I just can't seem to get enough of Hugh Laurie.

But we are on day 2 of allergy meds and so far so good. (Meaning less coughing and no puking.) I'm not going to give him milk for at least a week. And he has yet to slap me in the face when I give him his nose spray. (A face slap being standard procedure for Saline drops and the aspirator.)

But I have also shared with my son some good gifts. He is a fabulous dancer, in particular, he likes to shimmy his shoulders. My friend Robin said, "Of course he does. I wonder who he's seen doing that." But he does not like to dance alone. He's not the type of kid where you just turn on the music and he'll start breaking it down. Rather, I'll put on the music and he'll climb up on the coffee table, reach for my hands and we'll rock out to Jack Johnson. He'll shimmy, shake, nod his head, and see just how low he can go. It is a hoot. (If only I hadn't set a bad example with letting him climb on the coffee table to dance party with Mommy.)

He also is an expert tower builder. This morning, we built a tower so tall he had to stand to put the blocks on top. And he'll even put the blocks away when asked. Okay, that's not quite how it works. I have to put a block away and then say, "Oh! Good job, Mommy!" And then he'll start to toss blocks into the bin and I have to say, "Good job, Henry!" every time a block makes it in. And he also has pretty good aim. He did not get this from me.

But most of all, I have shared with him, for better or worse, my sense of humor and a strong sense of self. Henry's new bedtime issue is that he doesn't like to lay back on his changing pad while you put his pajamas on. He wants to stand and put his pants on one leg at a time like a normal person. So we stand him up and face him towards the mirror while we put on his jammies. And then Henry goes nuts. First, he smiles. Then he laughs at himself. Then he'll play peek-a-boo with himself a couple of times. Then laugh. Then wave at himself. Then clap for himself. And then finish off with a couple of kisses. That's right folks, my son kisses his own reflection in the mirror.

And it is rather difficult to put footy pajamas on someone who is making out with themselves. Just so you know.