My son is bulimic. You wouldn't know it by looking at him:
But trust me, under that fat, happy smile is an insecure little man who, for some reason, feels the need to spit up everything he eats. Or so it would seem.
Honestly, I'm not sure how he manages to pack it all on. After nearly every feeding he'll soak himself in white upchuck. It's not exactly my favorite part of the day, but so routine I barely flinch when I feel the warm liquid sliding down my arm (or my shirt) for the umpteenth time.
When we put him in his carseat, he's always dry; by the time we get him in the car, his shirt, arms, straps, and pretty much anything else he can manage, are sticky and reeking of rotten milk. We can't keep enough burp cloths, towels, blankets, or any other semi-absorbent material on-hand to compensate for the liquid he loses hourly.
And every time he's finished pouring out his entire lunch, he just looks at you with that heart-stopping grin, so proud of himself, and you can't help but somehow think that's just the cutest you've ever seen. Even if super gross.