Friday, January 16, 2009

Don't Mess With The Zofran

Mommy's on her in-town hotel vacation with her New Orleans homegirls. Pablo and I are doing a little urban camping of our own over here in bed B, room 435. We just crashed the scene in the teen lounge on the fifth floor. A bad a** game of Rock Em Sock Em was in progress when we got ejected from le lounge. Turns out they're serious about the teen part. So we made our way back to the land where we belong: the fourth floor kid lounge. Pablo opted out of the board game we started when the play kitchen caught his eye. Was fine by me - he made me a glass of faux-mergen-C and a croissant.

What you see in this pic is what we're up to at the moment: P's getting his Zofran meds. You can see this tube of anti-nausea magic in the top machine in the background. Zofran allows Pablo to eat (and retain) meals in peace. That's why we don't mess with the Zofran.

We're off to the deluxe CHLA basement cafe-teria. Now, sing the following two words - dinner time - to the tune of the timeless MC Hammer classic 'Hammer Time.' It's in that fun, Reagan-era baggy pant spirit that P and I will descend in the elevator car to the gastro goodness that awaits.

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