Stomach Flu

We had just arrived at Como Zoo to meet some friends when Victor said his tummy hurt.

Go potty. Walk a little. Sit on a bench. He would crouch down between exhibits. Not good.

But he rallied after some pretzels, ate a decent lunch, said his tummy was feeling better, went potty again, and came home for a nap.

At 3:30, he came out (with vomit dripping down an arm and leg) and let us know he had spit up.

Oh, Stomach Flu. You are such a never-welcome guest here.

3:30pm.
4:30pm.
6:00pm.
7:15pm.
9:00pm.
11:00pm.
11:53pm.
12:55am.

Then Josiah started.

2:00am.
3:15am.
3:55am.
4:38am.
5:36am.
8:01am.
9:40am.

I'm just not sure how many loads of laundry we ran in the past 24 hours. (Josiah, in particular, is not a particularly good aim.)

I have a pretty good idea how much sleep I got, but I don't want to dwell on it.

The harbinger cough. The call. The retching, even after the belly is empty. Oh, you are a terrible thing. A picture of our awful Fall.

But on the other hand.

How thankful I am for a washer and dryer, so easily available.

I'm so glad neither of the boys got terribly dehydrated.

Only 10 hours apiece. Really not so bad.

Elliot has been spared, thus far.

Ben was able to help with a fair bit of it all.

We still have a few days before welcoming family and friends here for Easter.

I had a mental flash, sometime in the night, of the scourge of ebola that loomed so large a while ago. I could imagine the horrific dread that must have fallen on mommas and caregivers with the first signs of sickness. In comparison, o Stomach Flu, I could indeed nearly call you a friend.

And this week of all weeks, we remember our great Hero, who stepped into our Fall-tainted world and wore a flesh that was susceptible to the flu bug, the bite of a thorn, the explosion of pain that a nail could produce.

Victor over sin and death. Firstborn from the grave. Promise of coming joy. Thank You.