I haven't been sick-sick since the 24-hour flu of '98, and my luck finally caught up with me.
Fiercely. Mercilessly. And relentlessly.
In summary, I sent Jude up to Nana and Grandpa's while I lost anything I've ever eaten or drinken, while writhing in labor-like pain. It wasn't until two days later that I could pull myself out of bed enough to realize I was still alive.
And once I indeed did fall out of bed, shower my pale body, and nibble on a piece of toast, all I wanted was to be with my little boy again and to have the CDC send me a "I Survived the Noro Virus" t-shirt.
Because I deserve one. I do.
Anyway. That virus was epic. I'll give it that. And I'm now even more of a germaphobe than ever. And I also know what post-traumatic stress disorder is.
Today was the first day that I wasn't either sick or at work for Jude and I to spend together and I made it, so far, all about him.
And got a much-needed haircut. A combination of Valentine's ring pops from Grandma and Adventure Time were just the trick to get him to sit still.
So handsome! Can't believe this little turkey is going to be 2 next month! Guess I should be planning a birthday party, huh?