New Low

Last week saw us take one giant nosedive from the great height of Django's first toddling to the cavernous low of double stomach flu. The fall was dizzying. And even though I'm all about truth in chronicling, I figured nobody -- least of all me -- would want to see the picture of me in the middle of the night, shirtless and retching into a tupperware container at the foot of the bed, while Django wailed at me from the head of the bed because his nursing session was interrupted, and because he was suffering his own gastro-intestinal discomfort.

In fact, poor little Django is still at battle with the germs. He finally stopped throwing up, though his other end remains explosive. But I've learned that I can be at peace with diarrhea. It's upsetting and messy, to be sure, but it just doesn't terrify me the way vomiting does. Seeing what you just put into your little one's mouth come forcefully cascading out is about a zillion times worse than having the experience yourself. It's like a glimpse of what the world would look like if we focused on how we die every day, rather than how we live. Only, in this case, the 'glimpse' seems to last forever. Believe me, 5 days of it intermittently is an eternity. People often compare normal-people-time in reference to dog-years, but I can assure you that baby-barf-years are way longer.

So, instead of a photo of what we really looked like last week, here are a few photos from the fun we had with Bubba Mike at the Hardly Strictly Bluegrass Festival in Golden Gate Park a couple weeks ago. We're looking forward to more carefree days like this coming soon.