The stomach flu sucks. Like there is nothing good to say about it. Even the pounds you lose when you throw up a weeks worth of meals really isn’t even worth it. Not even to me. I mean the Qdoba burrito I ate that day was so good, but man, that pico de gallo really does a number on an esophagus.
Somehow, someway, by the grace of Auto Pilot, I got Jared over to Ta Ta’s for the day and crawled back to the house and went right to bed with this little guy by my side. We went everywhere together. You would have thought I was wearing him. It was just the only way to be. We were sick and we were going do it up good.
He’s a good boy. Sick boy, but good boy. He stayed in bed with his nauseous mommy all day. He sure knows how to make a girl feel better.
He’s so dramatic when he sleeps.
I miraculously got better and Daddy immediately got sick. At least he was able to handle 5 minutes of snuggling with his boys before I got the “get the kids out of here NOW!” demand from him. I get it. You’re sick. Leaving now.
Phew. Glad that 24 hours of pure hell is over. Very glad.
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