Spoke too soon about no one else here getting sick. My middle girl was the next to go. She got hit yesterday afternoon when I was picking her big sister up from school. By the time we got home, she'd thrown up several times and was a ball on the couch. She slept at the foot of our bed last night. Ended up in our bed. My husband was the next victim. He came home from picking up crackers for our sick little girls and his face was ashen. His descent was quick. The most tragic perhaps was the baby. After hearing some odd coughs come from her monitor, I checked on her. She was asleep in a chunky pool of vomit, her face slathered, her little eyelashes coated. I sprung into action, stripping her clothes and the crib, running a bath, soothing my sweet little babe back to slumber. Once she was back in her crib, I melted into the daybed in her room where I spent so many nights when she was tiny. I lay there listening to her sounds like I once did. Suddenly I was wide awake and aware of the moment. Of being caught between night and day, tucked in a standard-issue struggle, brimming with love.
It was a really tough night, but it was also oddly wonderful. Am I crazy to say that?
Today has been okay. The baby has trouped on through and her big sister has been couch-bound and sleepy. My husband is wiped, but feeling better. We are all on the mend, I hope. The big mystery is my eldest. Will she duck this nasty bug or succumb?
Something worth noting: I have not had a drink in almost two weeks and I have not been thinking much about this, or bemoaning this little project of mine. I'm sure this has something to do with recovering from the flu and focusing so intently on my ailing family, but I have a hunch that it could be more. Wouldn't it be interesting (or maybe not very interesting at all) if walking away from wine turns out to be pretty easy to do?