We had an unwanted visitor at our house last week. And some of the week before.
And it was not wanted. And it would NOT leave.
Out of no where last Saturday, the kiddo spiked a fever, fell asleep in my lap, and then stopped eating. Occasionally, when the drugs kicked in, she was her normal self, pleading for Legos and M&Ms and her pea-win jom joms (translation: penguin pajamas).
Then, the liquid hit the diaper. And it didn't stop. For a week.
Ansley kept complaining that her stomach hurt, but in the world of a 2 year old, I couldn't tell if it hurt because she was sick or hurt because she hadn't eaten. Either way, she wasn't very pleasant to be around. Both because she was grumpy, and, well, she smelled pretty bad.
Wednesday I woke up feeling... weird. As I ate my Frosted Mini Wheats, my mouth became void of any moisture. And it was weird. And then I understood what Ansley meant when she was telling me her stomach hurt. It felt like someone was digging in my abdomen with a rusty knife. A rusty dull knife.
Luckily, the inside kid decided to chill out and not batter me from the inside at the same time.
Oh, and then, the, um, poospolsions hit. While I was teaching. And was the only girl that had access to a bathroom in a coach's office. And I'm pretty sure the coach was embarrassed for me. And maybe a little impressed.
So I left work and went home. To bed. I left my kid at the sitters and went home.
And I stayed there Thursday. In bed. And couldn't really eat, which worked in my favor by halting the trips to the bathroom.
And they stayed halted. Until today. I finally felt normal today. Ate every meal. Wanted every meal.
The hubs still seems in the clear. No pain. No unusual, um, movements. Hopefully he has escaped the wrath of the 2012 Stomach Bug.
I wouldn't wish is on anyone. Well, maybe a few people.
But no one I really like.