"Awww, come on. Where's your confidence? You can beat this." These are the encouraging words my husband offered to me after witnessing me endure four hours of pre-stomach flu nausea, followed by the seal-breaking first vomit session. When I rejoined him on the couch, visibly beaten, I waited for the next wave to hit. It took about 35 minutes, at which time I dodged the ottoman again in a sprint to the bathroom. The tough part lasted another 6 hours, culminating at 3 am with a brown toilet and a bile-filled waste-basket. Gross, right? We've all been there. And it's literally something we have to gut out:) My husband thinks I'm from weak stock. Whenever a virus or bacteria get the better of me, he compares his in penetrable genetic immunity to my pathetic one. Yes I get sick. But I'm not a huge baby about it. Can you read between the lines? It's going around. First Aidan on Wednesday, me on Thursday, Rowan on Friday (cast from her father's mold - no actual vomitting). Only two left to fall - who will be next?
