Now Leelo's got the barf bug. Twice in the kitchen (easy to clean), once right between the cushions and into the mattress of our fold-out couch (a hellaciously nasty bitch to clean).
That last sprayer doused the autism book I was re-reading, Treating Autism: Parent Stories of Hope and Success. Which was good, because the parents' stories list so many different treatments and approaches and options we haven't even considered that my head was starting to disengage from my neck. Totally overwhelming. And everyone is traveling all over the county for all these treatments. Why haven't we tried Transfer Factor? Using milk from a breast milk donor center? Relationship therapy? At least ten assuredly critical supplements that I haven't even heard of? Easier to just throw up one's hands, then blog.
Andil the loverly QA lady was here today, and had nice things to say about Leelo's progress despite all the November vacations and illnesses. Specifically, he is ready to us the pronoun "me" when pointing to photos of himself, rather than "Leelo." We don't want him to talk like Elmo the muppet, is the idea. She also questioned my hesitation about joining Parents Helping Parents, but I was honest with her: Lady, I don't have the time right now, and if the parents are anything like the ones in that book, they'll make me feel like a major fuck-up. No thank you.