Little did I know when last I posted, that the Zombie Apocalypse of stomach viruses was around the corner...
Friday began innocently enough. I checked off the last of our list for the school week. Picked up videos at the library. Dashed into Dollar Tree for last minute baby shower gifts. Dinner was simple, sliced ham in the crockpot, homemade scalloped potatoes, sauteed green beans and dinner rolls helped along by a cupcake mix. (I'd share the recipe, but I forgot to copy it out of the now-returned library book)
For some reason I went into Elle's room in the middle of my dinner prep. Maybe it was because she was suspiciously quiet... She was just standing there, staring off into space. "Are you feeling OK?", I queried. As she turned to me, the room began to take on the eerie quality of a horror movie. In slow motion she opened her mouth...
...and began to spew...
...my legs were stuck in concrete...
...couldn't. get. her. to. the. bathroom. quick. enough.
Then everything was happening all at once. I stripped her clothes, deposited her in the tub, washed my hands, scrubbed the floors, scrubbed her, scrubbed me, returned to cooking dinner. It happened again. And again.
Now I'm beginning to feel sick.
Finally, dinner is ready. I sure didn't want to eat it. I sat the Baby Belle on an unzipped sleeping bag in the living room to watch (what else) Winnie the Pooh, and guard her, bowl in hand. Evidently puking toddlers dislike bowls being shoved in their face. Who knew?
Hours later, things seemed to be calming down, Elle drifted in and out of a troubled sleep. I am also drifting in and out on the couch while the rest of the family watches "The Man Who Knew Too Much".
And then I knew. I'm sick too.
As I wrangle with my stomach's inner turmoil at the foot of the toilet, Elle toddles into the bathroom. As I lose my heroic struggle, so does she. Right on my leg.
I am soooo glad Robert was right there to help.
The next 10 hours fade into a filmy haze where trashcans float and retch-ed sounds echo from every room in the house. For Cy, Dee and Alvin all succumb in rapid succession.
Poor Rob. He was kept hopping from one scene of misery to the next. Cy and Dee shared a trashcan. Alvin, notoriously bad at aiming, was banished to a sleeping bag on the kitchen tile. Elle was left to her own devices, the theory being that she had nothing left to give and a little dry heave on the sheets was *not* an emergency at this point. We were in full triage mode.
And I was sick every 10-15 minutes. Until about 9:45. A.M.
By this time it was clear that I was going to need a little more help than 7 Up or pedialyte. My pulse was around 150. I was having contractions every time I got sick. And I had a fever. Time to call in the cavalry!
My sister, Joanna came over and took me to Urgent Care (a great alternative to the Emergency Room) I got 3 bags of IV fluids and 3 hours of rest. During which we watched the OU-Texas game. Which nearly made me sick again.
Once arrived back home, it was clear Robert had heroically spent the whole day cleaning up. I love him so much!!!! We all rested and sipped Gatorade and nibbled on a few crackers.
And watched Winnie the Pooh.