I got over my Thanksgiving cold just in time to get the stomach flu. I hate to waste perfectly good nausea and vomiting on something so trivial as the flu instead of something more noble, like , say, pregnancy. All I’ve been able to eat for three days is saltines and Sprite. It does feel reminiscent of pregnancy, only without the 24-hour heartburn, the crawling skin, the depression, the ability to smell and be brought to the verge of vomiting by things like boiling water and my own bedroom mattress. Thank goodness it’s “that time of month” for me so I know this is only going to last a few days instead of eight out of nine months. Ugh.
Rocco seems to have what I have only it is showing up in the form of four to five yellow, foamy blow-out diapers a day. Ah, for the days of being coddled and catered to when I was sick with the flu. I remember watching movies all day. I remember being fed popsicles. I remember playing video games and reading books. I remember…sleeping.
I don’t remember the part about being repeatedly karate chopped by a kid who keeps forgetting I’m sick or the part about wiping diarrhea off a baby’s bottom (and legs and back) every other hour. One or both of us usually needs a shower after one of these diaper changes.
In less nauseating news, Vincenzo was on a literary roll this weekend. He started Sunday like he does every day: by opening his Admint calendar. Then we brought the Christmas tree inside to decorate and he told Rocco not to touch the branches because he might get covered with treacle. As we were decorating it later, he held up one of his favorite ornaments and said, “We need to find a good spot to hang Wendy the Poo!”
At least one of us still thinks of poo as something solid enough to hang on a tree.
WHAT’S COOKIN’ 2NITE:
More saltines and more Sprite