So, remember the happy little camper from a few posts ago? I awoke to him crying this morning and I knew what it meant. I grabbed the garbage can out of my room and ran just in time to make it for the first round.
Here he is after round 2 and a bath. He would get sick and then run around like nothing happened and then it would hit him again. This lasted for about 4 rounds…by round 6 he was pretty worn out and decided to snuggle with me in the rocking chair. By round 7 he would just wander over to me and start to whimper and yell “no” I would grab the “puke bucket” as Miles calls it just in time.
Twenty four hours on the dot and he was feeling better, then it hit Miles. I told Dave as I cleaned the bathroom for the 5th time that my turn around would probably be Thursday and I was right on the money…Thursday morning hit with a bang. We thought we were out of the woods until I heard Ian yelling from his room at 4:00 this morning and off I ran with the “puke bucket.” Dave is the only one left untouched and I’m tempted to quarantine him somewhere.
I absolutely hate seeing my babies sick, but I have learned a bit from them or about them…Ian is stoic sick, doesn’t ask for much, just wants to get it over with and move on. Miles is needy (in a very endearing kind of way) sick, I need Gatorade, make me a sick bed by the TV, more otter pops, rub my neck, read me a book (everything is followed by puppy dog eyes and a big please). Wessy is mad sick, yelling “no, no” whenever I would produce the bucket and then ignores the fact that he feels like crap and runs around like a crazy kid. Makes me love these little dudes even more and now that I have disinfected the whole house I’m going back to bed.
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