I don't do puke. I don't like to puke. I don't like to clean up anyone else's puke. I don't like talking about puke, and if you puked anytime in the last 45-90 days, I would rather you not come within 200 feet of me or my family. I am THAT freaked out by it. So when I woke up at 2:30 am last Saturday morning hugging the porcelain thrown, I could have sworn I was in the depths of Hell. That was, until, my sweet Logan woke 10 minutes later heaving all over his PBK quilt. We had made it 3 years and almost 3 months with a child and NO barf. I suppose our luck had ran out. Logan, thankfully, was perky and cool by late Saturday. I however, was barely hanging on to the thread of life for days. Holy crap.
So when we had gone a whole FREAKING WEEK with NOTHING.... I thought we were more than in the clear. 'Fraid not, my friends. Friday night into Saturday, my sweet little baby Parker refused to eat, and after a 12 hour hunger strike, introduced us to baby vomit. Sigh... So here we are, Monday, and Parker and Cooper are still fighting this virus and I am on the verge of a breakdown. Auto-pilot all the way, cleaning, washing, laundry, oh, have I mentioned the LAUNDRY! The freaking laundry! I cannot begin to imagine our water bill. I am So. Done.
But you know what makes me laugh? Oh man... you all thought I was psychotic about germs before... Hahahahahahahahahaha! Oh my peeps, you ain't seen nothing yet. I swear to all that is Holy that I will do everything in my power to never get anything like this again!