And while we never quite learned what caused Roman's...ahem...bowels to block, we did collect a few lessons during his stay:
1. "Poop" has endless synonyms and I'm tired of them all.
It was a TMI sort of weekend; Roman's intestines were the top topic, but I was privy to the digestive habits of every nurse, doctor, passer-by and all of their kids. If there's a euphemism for poop, both the noun and the verb, I've now heard it, and probably used it.
2. Spinning a kid in a wheelchair is short-term fun, followed by long-term barfing.
3. Hospitals should offer wine. Like I need an explanation. What, I'm supposed to watch MadMen empty handed?
4. We moms need to pack our own over-night wear. Yesterday, I asked Anthony to grab me something to wear to bed, just in case Roman and I ended up spending another night. Thank goodness for an early dismissal; otherwise I'd be impressing the residents in this turtle costume, a (sheer!) green cami and brown velour pants. My nightwear won't win any beauty contests, but I assure you, Anthony's never seen me in this combo.
5. Kids should either eat McDonald's every day or never-ever.
My boys have it maybe once every six months. That's rarely enough, I've decided, that their bodies aren't used to it. It's Scognamillo poison. And in Roman's case, it's colonic concrete. I'm not blaming Roman's troubles entirely on his Friday in-a-pinch dinner, but I'm sure it didn't aid in his digestion. Look at this face...did I think it would end well?
For the record, I'll go with never-ever. That was one expensive, painful effing happy meal.
