It's 6am after a particularly shit-tastic night with one sleepless wonder and another flu ridden little boy. I wake up in a half-asleep stupor to my husband yelling "Ainslie, we had another puke explosion". To which I jump out of bed leaving Lilah sleeping and run out to my poor sweet boy. As I'm running up the hallway saying "where? where?" I go sliding/skidding/slipping down the hall in the massive amount of puke that is smack dab in the middle of my hallway (like Tom Cruise in Risky Business). I look at my poor husband who is coated in vomit from his face down to his pants and my poor Forrest who is looking so sad and not well at all. After we clean all the mess up from Forrest's room down the hall and into the bathroom, throw a husband and a toddler into the shower; we snuggle back into mommy and daddy's bed for some sooking and a Dora The Explorer Marathon and that's when it hits again. This time all over mommy and our bed and I'm coated from my hair down. And this is just a snapshot of one day in particular. Yes folks, it's been one of 'those' weeks in our house. I've cleaned more vomit this week than I care to remember and washed more laundry than the local laundromat. It's been wild. Thankfully my husband and I are an awesome team (yes I'm tooting my own horn there) and we managed to pull through this week even with a few laughs. So far only Forrest seems to have gotten that flu which is a miracle because it is next to impossible keeping him away from his sister while he is feeling rotten. We're hoping the stomach flu is out of our house now, fingers are crossed!
But since it's been one of those weeks, John and I are going to celebrate surviving it with a glass of wine and a very early bed time (since we all know Lilah will be up and in our bed in a matter of hours anyway lol).