There's a Fungus Among Us

To pick up where I left off on Friday night, it didn't get any better. In fact, it got worse. Eldest entered our bedroom at 1am Saturday morning, throwing up. Poor little buddy was a limp noodle, laying down next to the toilet in between bouts, just pressing his face to the cold tile in our bathroom. So I ended up sleeping on the couch downstairs, because he wanted to sleep with Daddy. (Umm...nope, my feelings weren't hurt. Especially since he proceeded to puke in the bed with Daddy at 2am and Daddy had to get up and strip the bed and remake it.)

Saturday morning started bright and early at 6am. The neighborhood yard sale, remember? I woke up, feeling a little queasy, but attributed it to the early cocktail hour(s) from the day before. Dragged, hauled and pushed all our crap valuable resale items to the end of the driveway, while Hubby had Boyz Duty. To make a long story short, the yard sale was profitable. Made $150 and got rid of lots of junk treasure! Still felt queasy and had a few bathroom trips during the morning. Cleaned up the yard sale, showered...oh and by the way? It was easily the hottest, most humid day of the year so far...that didn't help the nausea any. At all.
Attempted to hang out with my Hubby and the boyz after showering. Laid on the couch wrapped in a fleece blanket, moaning to myself in my head (and not in the good way). Yep, I caught it. The dreaded "liquid coming out both ends of me" bug. Curled up in the fetal position in bed by 5pm and stayed that way through Saturday night.

Woke up Sunday feeling much better, after my "17 hours of sleep" as my Hubby so sensitively mentioned. We all laid low on Sunday, not wanting to share our germs with anyone else.

Cut to last night. In the middle of typing this post, Hubby yelled for me. Normally, I don't answer him and pretend not to hear when he tries to bellow to me from more than 1 room away, but as I was typing, I had heard the toilet flush like 15 times. Hmmm....Went up to check on him and whaddya know? He's curled up in the fetal position in the middle of our bedroom floor. Moaning. He, who had bragged that he was like Seinfeld:

[setting: Elaine's office and Jerry's apartment]
(Elaine's on the phone with Jerry)
JERRY: No eight years isn't such a long streak.
ELAINE: It isn't?
JERRY: No I haven't vomited in thirteen years.
ELAINE: Get out!
JERRY: Not since June 29, 1980.
ELAINE: You remember the date?
JERRY: Yes, because my previous vomit was also June 29th... 1972. That's why during the '80 vomit, I was yelling to George: "Can you believe it? I'm vomiting on June 29th again."
ELAINE: Boy, you know when Joel told me he hadn't thrown up in eight years, I was wondering if he was normal.
JERRY: Your boyfriend is a normal guy. He just happens to have the same name as one of the worst serial killers in the history of New-York.
From Season 5, Episode: The Masseuse

Yeah, well, the streak was broken. And I have to say, Hubby is the LOUDEST PUKER I have EVER heard. It was nasty. So much so, that I almost felt compelled to retch just listening to him. Almost.

So hopefully the worst is over. (*knocking on my wooden desk right now*) Middle and Baby seem to have lucked out (totally jinxing myself now, huh?)--Baby had diarrhea on Friday, but otherwise is still our human garbage disposal, while Middle hardly ate a bite all weekend, and every once in awhile would double over and announce, "My belly hurts!" But he's back to "normal" (heh) today. As am I (heh heh). And Eldest has been fine since Sunday.

But in order to protect the safety of everyone around us, the Trenches will remain quarantined until the chaos begins on Friday, whereupon the Griswalds my family will arrive in town for the weekend to celebrate my Niece's dance recital and Middle's 3rd birthday. The fun just never ends!