By Tuesday I was feeling pretty confident that I had not caught the stomach flu, despite being barfed upon. Then Tuesday night A. woke in the night and barfed all over me, and our bed, and the floor. Daryl says my name means "Mother who gets barfed on by her small children." Truthfully, I don't know how to say this without coming off as rather strange, but lately I have felt so truly blessed to have my children, that it almost seemed like a privilege to be barfed on. It is a privilege to have these marvelous beings in my life, and a privilege to care for them when they are ill. Not that I enjoyed it, but I didn't really mind it.
The night A. got sick, I'd shared a popsicle with her before she went to bed. Then my stomach got upset and I went to bed early. It was churning and roiling throughout the night. The next day I felt fine, although tired. I ate cautiously, avoiding dairy and sticking mostly with bland bready food, but by dinner time, I decided to be daring and had pizza followed by a Dove bar for dessert. That was a mistake. I spent another night with a churning stomach. The next day I remained careful all day and that seems to have been it. I must have fought the germ off! Yeah!
So maybe I didn't completely dodge the bullet, but it was the mildest case of the stomach flu I've ever had.
Not Having Fun
4 weeks ago