Puke Wars

I've been saving this picture. It perfectly captures "The Twinkle". Look in his eyes and the cock of his neck-- there it is; an undeniable mark of Mischievousness. I think The Twinkle is partially responsible for our epic battle, hereafter referred to as The Puke Wars.

The Puke Wars started well after I had assured myself that Caleb was different and had managed to escape GER. Then all of the sudden he began to spit up-- a lot. But he doesn't spit up when you'd expect him to and definitely not where you'd expect him to. I could burp him for 10 mintues and nothing. Not one burp. Not one little drizzle of spitty. But twenty minutes later, casually walking with him up the stairs and Bleh! all over me and the stairs.

I started to wear a burp cloth all the time. It didn't help. He'd lean ever so slightly to the left and Bleh! all over the left side of my shirt. Yummy. So then I started to wear his blankee, which completely covers my front. And then Bleh! all over the floor. So then I wore his blankee and I put a blanket on the carpet. I was pretty confident I had finally won The Puke Wars. Nope. With a twinkle and a twist, he managed to get an unprotected piece of carpet.

At this point I am somewhere between shaking my head and laughing. You have got to be kidding me! The Puke Wars continue. Caleb has since formed an alliance with his traitor brother. Matthew pulled out all the folded laundry and placed it in a large pile next to where I was changing Caleb's diaper. When I finished, I picked up Caleb who then leaned a little to the right and Bleh! all over the clean laundry. It was like the synchronized swimming of Spit-Up.

Incredible. I can admire the clever tactics of my opponent.

The doctor thought he and I should form an alliance and fight back using anexpensive probiotic. I'm not happy about it, but I'm giving it a try. I must have forgotten to give it to him on Sunday. He spit up so much in Relief Society, the ladies behind me were helping me mop it up off my shirt, my neck, down the back of my shirt, the chair; I wouldn't be surprised if it got on their shoes. Remind me to have Chris take the baby third hour...

My little Twinkler is always honing his skills, never resting. He is now the Silent Spitter. You don't even hear him spit up anymore. You just feel a warm, wet, sticky spot and Matthew will see it and call out, "Uh-oh! Spitty!" Nowadays people hold Caleb as if he were a hot potato, or should I say, a spitting spud?! If he weren't so darn cute, people wouldn't hold him at all!

Oh, and can I just tell you how much I hate spit-up between my toes. I'll take it anywhere but there.

Beware the Twinkle. There's a war on.