Dear Sickness, Go Away, Love Me

Wow.

I'm speechless.

Just. Wow.

Alright, who am I kidding? I am seldom speechless.

I could go on at length about how disgusting these last few days have been. The stomach flu is apparently an inspiration, at least for language describing vomit and uncontrollable diarrhea.

Yes, you read that correctly.

Uncontrollable.

David and I have yet to succumb to this illness most foul. I am hoping, however, that if we do, our sphincters, having had an additional 30 plus years of strength-training, can somehow manage to hold back the deluge.

And there really is nothing like trying to get partially digested pizza off of a comforter (and rug and sheet and pajamas and child and child's hair) at 12:30am. And again at 1:30am.

And it's horrible, because you love your child so much and all you want to do is make them feel better and get them cleaned up and as cozy as possible and the whole time you're cleaning them, you look like you've just sucked on a dozen limes or seen picture of Rush Limbaugh naked.

Because, the grossness. It's just so gross.

And then there's the poop. Which, you know what, I'm not going to go into at great length, except to say eventually I gave up and dug out the pull-ups I am so glad we still had. After the third change of underwear for one of the kids, I had just about had it. At one point, one child had just vomited in the kitchen (half on the rug and half on the linoleum, of course, so more surfaces to clean) and one was standing there having just soiled themselves. Again.

Despite my best Florence Nightingale intentions, I was understandably....frazzled.

I should also mention that David went to work, because men -- as lovely as they are, and as much as they contribute to family life nowadays, thank the good Lord -- still usually leave the puke and poop behind.

To their wives.

Which would be me.

And in the midst of this insane bout of excretion, David actually asked me to make his lunch.

"Are you kidding me?"

"No, I have to go."

"Do you know where my hands have been? Do you know I'm still wearing the pajamas I wore last night in the midst of my laundry extravaganza?"

"Alright, forget it." This was said with a mixture of annoyance and exasperation.

Seriously, if I was the one in need of a lunch and going to work, I'd just decide upon a Big Mac.

******

There is one thing about the kids being sick that I actually enjoy. When they're so exhausted and spent and unable to do anything but lay there, I can rub their heads and cuddle with them and feel their feverish little bodies against mine. We can be quiet together and return to a time a bit more primal, when their need was mostly physical.

Here's, though, to recovery. To parents not getting what their little ones bring home. To girls skipping and running and the shelving of Saltines in favor of yogurt and strawberries.

Here's to my girls feeling better.