"daddy, I threw up"
with that, the choice had been made
oh, lucky daddy
Normally, I love Mondays. I know that sounds weird, but Mondays are the days when I have the most energy. I have a bright outlook on the week ahead, and I very much enjoy the quiet house when the wee one is off at school, my husband is off at work, and the wee-er one is napping. Mondays are nice.
When Monday begins at 1:44am with the wee one bursting into my bedroom saying, "Daddy, I threw up in the bed," however, all bets are off.
Hooray for daddy, though. He cleaned up the mess, washed the sheets, cleaned up the next two messes, washed the sheets again, Lysol-ed everything (including light switches and door knobs), and got the wee one tucked back in. I stayed with the wee-er one, playing our nightly game of Titty-Twister Head Butting Shazam, and listened to the grim goings-on through the monitor.
This morning, the wee-er one is a crazy grouch. Her nose is snotty and she’s warm to the touch. The wee one is extraordinarily pissed off at me because I won’t let him go to school and I won’t let him eat a bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal. Sigh.
Who ever heard of a stomach virus starting off with a runny nose? That’s what happened. One runny nose + 12 hours = regurgitated lasagna all over the bed. And now the wee-er one is snotty and she’s refusing to eat.
Usually Mondays are great. This one? Not so much.