Noah, you "Spilled your tummy."

A couple of days ago, you stayed with Grandma and Grandad for the day after spending several days requesting to go round there. When we picked you up, you were very quiet, very affectionate, very calm and very hot. We've been here before. You had a bit of a virus.

We swung by Tesco on the way home to pick up ibuprofen and paracetamol. Sadly, there were no own brands available so we had to pay Calpol prices. Bummer.

After getting home, we plied you with as much water as we could make you drink, gave you all the medicine we could without killing you and put you to bed.

I checked on you in the night and you were okay. Hot but okay.

By the morning, I went in to check on you and there was loads and loads of sick in your bed. It looked like someone had emptied loads of cans of refried beans onto your pillow. When I picked you up, you said, "Daddy, I spilled my tummy on my bed. I made lots of mess. I'm sorry, daddy. Can you wipe it up for me?" I was too busy laughing to answer you for a little while.

A little while later, we were trying to get you to re-tell the story to McGrandma. You said, "I put food in my tummy and then I put it in my bed."