On Thursday morning, I got out of bed, too early as usual, and somewhat tired from a long night of Maggie-wrangling as usual, but otherwise the picture of health and well-being. As I smelled the coffee that Ian was making, however, it occurred to me that I didn't want any -- not at all as usual. It further occurred to me that the reason I didn't want any was that my stomach felt a little queasy. And then, for the next 12 hours, I was either throwing up or thinking about throwing up. I can't even remember the last time I had the stomach flu, but it was definitely before I had kids. It turns out that, while children are wonderful and soul-enriching and life-changing and a constant source of delight, they do nothing whatsoever to enhance the flu experience. Ian took charge of child-care, which was wonderful, but Max kept coming in to check on me and give me healing kisses, and his sweaty-boy-with-pepperoni-pizza-breath scent was less than easy on my already tormented stomach. Poor little Max has never met with such a lukewarm reception for his affectionate advances in his entire life.
By Friday morning, I was more or less over it, just in time for Ian's Friday evening announcement that he was feeling a bit nauseous, himself. He spent most of last night in the bathroom. (Is this an exciting story, or what? Man, you all must be on the edge of your seats!) He is home from work today, no longer barfing but not exactly radiating his usual exuberant good cheer, either. Lucky for him that he's home, too, because otherwise he would have missed both children catching the barfitis simultaneously, and that would have been a shame. Neither kid has ever had the stomach flu before, so in addition to his bee sting, Max has now had the pleasure of another milestone breached -- learning how to puke in the toilet. I would say we've made it to the bathroom 3 out of 7 times so far. Good times.
So, what's new with you?