The Plague

My boy has been fighting a horrible stomach bug.   The first sign of illness appeared on Saturday night when I awoke to the sound of my boy shouting, "I think I'm going to throw up!"  And he did. 

I spent the remainder of the night, squeezed next to my man-sized child in his twin bed, fulfilling my duty as chief barf bucket holder.  As you can imagine, good times were had by all. 

After a miserable night, the boy awoke on Sunday feeling quite chipper.  All signs of the plague seemed to have vanished with the morning light.  I assumed the whole illness thing was the result of some random twenty-four-hour stomach bug. I was wrong.  The boy suffered a knockout in Tuesday's second round. Poor kid. 

The hubby is now complaining that his stomach "doesn't feel right."  I am beginning to think I should dawn a Hazmat suit and lock myself in a room until this thing passes.  We have a busy weekend ahead and a stomach bug just doesn't fit into my schedule. 

I've got to run.  It's been approximately five minutes since I washed my hands or sanitized a surface.  You can never be too careful.