In a terribly tragic turn of events, it seems Baby Evan hates french fries. Obviously he’s not the one eating them but his distaste is so clear I won’t be eating them anymore either. Between house guests who made dinner (thanks Erin!) and my own (very very weak) attempts to make healthier meals and save money, we hadn’t had fast food in more than a week…coincidentally, the exact amount of time Baby Evan’s spit-up problem had been steadily improving. I thought he was just outgrowing the puke with stronger stomach muscles. But eight hours after I scarfed down a Wendy’s value meal he spit up so much and so hard he made Linda Blair look like a girl with a mild cold. He went from eating happily and quietly to covering E’s shirt, pants, shoes, two chairs, the entire dining room floor, MY feet, legs and himself with puke. We were about 2 ounces of milk away from needing life jackets.

MAYBE it was just a coincidence. MAYBE the fact that he’s been fine for the last 24 hours has nothing to do with avoiding the drive thru. MAYBE this is Baby’s way of saying “Geez, lay off the fried stuff fatty” MAYBE I’ll test my theory – but only if E is home to call the Coast Guard if things go as badly as I expect they will.

Sigh. Why couldn’t Baby Evan hate something less delicious? He can be as allergic as he wants to brussel sprouts, I promise I won’t complain one little bit.