As soon as we finished watching our family movie this evening, Gideon hopped off his mother’s lap and cheerfully announced, “Okay. Me go throw up now?”
The four of us blinked at him and then glanced at each other in confusion while the end credits music played in the background.
“What?” one of us finally managed to ask.
“Me throw up now.” he pointed at his mouth. “Okay?”
“Um. If you have to throw up you should go right there to the bathroom,” I said, pointing, in case he had forgotten where it was.
He took a few steps in that direction and then shook his head. “Nah, I’ll just go upstairs.” He turned and looked at me for approval. “That’s okay? Me go throw up upstairs now?”
“Yes yes. Sure. If that’s something you need to do.”
He danced up each of the steps and then leaned sideways to look back down at me from the living room. “You know me going to throw up now, right?”
“Yes. I guess so. Go and do that.”
“Okay, I mean.” He pointed at his mouth, “I throw up from my mouth.”
He nodded, “Just maybe a little bit,” he held up his fingers to indicate something very tiny.
“From my mouth.”
“Gideon! If you have to throw up, go to the bathroom. Why are we having this conversation?”
He looked at the wall and squinted. Then jumped one step down the stairs and sat rubbing his chin with his finger. “Okay,” he looked back at me, “you right. Me not need to throw up.”
“I didn’t even… I just… what?”
“Thanks, Daddy,” he tumbled over backward and rolled around the corner curled up in a ball.
He never did throw up, nor did he show any real signs of actually needing to. I kind of wish he had though because it would have at least made things a little bit less nonsensical. I would rather live with a sick man than a crazy man. Maybe he was just trying to share his opinions on Moana?