At the risk of further cementing my place as your One-Stop Blog For Stories About Barfing*, I have little else to share today other than: Yes. Another stomach bug has been making the rounds among our little germbuckets.
Last night it hit Baby Ike around 1 am, announcing itself with a TREMENDOUS splashy yawwwwwwp right as I walked into his room and felt something wet hit me in the knees and slide slowwwwwwly down to my feet.
The morning after, annotated version:
His crib was an unspeakable cage of horrors, as evidenced by the skinned musical seahorse — there's no hope in getting Ike to sleep without the thing, so I yanked the cover off and let him cuddle up with the battery pack.
After much scrubbing and laundry and two or three dunks in the bathtub, I eventually resigned myself to a night sleeping upright in the rocking chair, with my torso covered in old beach towels and my arms draped with prefold diapers, while poor sweet Baby Ike fitfully slept on my chest and whimpered because Mom, That Really Sucked And I Did Not Like It, Let's Not Do That Again.
He's absolutely fine now, by the way.
And also, of course:
(Not Pictured: My tired-ass self, lying on the floor in an exhausted heap.)
*On the other hand, maybe I should just own it at this point and SEO the shit out of these posts for stuff like puke, barf, vomitorium, when do the real grown-ups arrive and we're gonna need moar paper towels ew ew ew.