Outbreak

Scott woke us up early Tuesday morning crying, claiming to have vomited on Snuggle Puppy.

One whiff of his bedroom confirmed that he indeed  had puked. All over. Luna, Froggie, and Giggle Hamster were all affected, as were his jammies and pillows, but Snuggle Puppy definitely got the brunt of it. 

The illness didn't come as a huge surprise, as something was going around.  Little Cal down the street missed most of Halloween as a result of this virus. His sister ended up getting sick the same day as Scotty, making our quiet cul-de-sac more like Cell Block D. Break out the elderberry tea, y'all!

Cleaning up puke is part of Motherhood. I'm okay with that. It doesn't make me happy, but I'm not grossed out by it. That's what the sanitary cycle on the washing machine is for. Plus, seeing your tiny human curled up on the couch, moaning, makes you want to do everything in your power to get them better. They just look so...helpless. When they don't have an opinion about which episode of Octonauts to watch, you know it's bad.

A sick Bear is a sad Bear

As I watched Brian quickly scoot out the door, fleeing to the safety of his office, I realized I was going mano y mano with a microscopic enemy. One that could potentially bring to my knees (literally) in a matter of days. The implications of this were not lost. I had essentially given up alcohol for the past three months only to potentially get dehydrated by a stomach bug twelve days before the marathon...are you kidding me? Oh, the irony. I pictured the Universe slapping its knee with wicked delight.

It's cool. I would just keep my distance from my little outbreak monkey. He's four, right? That means he can aim into a trash can with accuracy. I would simply be on hand to supervise and push fluids. No problem.

By mid-day however, Scotty decided the only place comfortable to sleep was directly on his mother. He breathed heavily in my face. "Momma," he whimpered. "My tummy hurts." I could feel the droplets of moisture come out of his mouth, he was that close. Why don't you just lick my nose? I mean, seriously.

I tried hard to not look horrified. It was challenging.

After about four hours and far too many "Kingdoms of the Ocean" episodes, I was able to slowly roll out from under the boy. I then proceeded to gargle hand sanitizer and wash my face with rubbing alcohol.

By Wednesday night, I was still keeping my dinner down and the only thing off was a tiny, tiny head cold. No big deal. Scotty was back to his typical bear-antics and was mainlining sea waffles like no one's business. (he was making up for his unexpected 24-hour fast, clearly). I don't think I've ever done so much laundry in such a short time period and I'm fairly certain every surface of our house has been wiped down within an inch of its life. But I think it's safe to declare the battle over. Kim - 1, stomach bug - 0. I won this round.

Nine days until the marathon.