A plague of inanities

We thought we had banished disease and pestilence from our house, but once again some horrible plague is visited upon our heads.

J-F this evening has taken ill. In the middle of the Bridget Jones movie.

So, Mark Darcy or Daniel Cleaver? I may never know.

It'd been a lovely time until then. We'd taken the Metro downtown — no toddler babbling away in the backseat. What reckless, romantic abandon! Ah, the simple joy of making fun of the woman wearing legwarmers.

Our exit from the theatre didn't go unnoticed. J-F really did look ghastly. On our way out the movie folk were nice enough to give us passes so we could catch the show another time. I promptly lost them. Along with the cash I'd made J-F hand over so I would have it at the ready to pay for the cab. Some lucky stranger will take in a fine film and enjoy a few beers afterward in our stead — I hope it's someone nice.

Thursday, Helena had come home from daycare in fine spirits but not interested in supper. Shortly before bedtime, the spontaneous vomiting happened. Three sets of pyjamas later (and two changes of clothes for me), she seemed good as new. Helena is having a grand time with her grandmother this weekend.

We've faced bugs and infections together before, but there's something about throwing up — the violence of it, and the physical evidence — that invokes terror and pity more extremely. And confusion.

The baby books address vomiting as part of illness, but not in any hands-on way. Do I hold her? Let her be? Everybody deals with being sick in their own way, I know, and we'll just have to figure it out as we go. Still, I felt unprepared. Practically speaking, how do you minimize the mess of it? Helena has never vomited before; needless to say, she didn't know what was coming, nor that it's customary to make for the toilet bowl or some other receptacle. Amazingly, once her face and hands were wiped dry she didn't seem bothered at all.

We went to Ikea earlier today. Easels are on sale this weekend and I just had to get one for my baby, even if it does make me feel like we're a Sim family.

The Globe and Mail's ninth annual Great Canadian Literary Quiz has been launched. It's not all that Canadian, and it's really hard. I can answer about a quarter of the questions without doing any research. I have to wonder who would go to all the trouble just for the sake of winning some Globe and Mail merchandise. Quizzes aren't any fun if they're that hard.