Plagued

Oh, you guys.  I have not been sick like this since December of 2007.

I got up to feed Cooper on Monday night and stepped in a puddle of puke outside the boys' room where Jack apparently got up, went in the general direction of the bathroom, slimed, and went back to bed.  Ben and I got him up, stripped his bed, cleaned him up, and settled him in the guest room with Ben keeping vigil on the couch.  He threw up for the next 6 hours straight and was finally able to hold a teaspoon of water down by 9 am.

On Tuesday, Cooper entered day 3 of a nursing strike, and we took him to the pediatrician who said his stomach was churning and he appeared to have a bug.  (This was way more helpful than the lactation consultant who said "Maybe he's not hungry" in response to my call that my 7 month-old wouldn't eat.)  For the rest of the day, Cooper's "spit up" smelled exactly like vomit.

Tuesday night at 11:25, I woke up to the sound of splashing outside my door.  Then I heard little feet pounding to the laundry room and back down the hall.  I was not prepared for the horror show of partially digested roast beef and prunes splattered down the stair well, on the walls, on mudroom rugs, and in footprints toward the kids' bathroom.  I found Harry in front of the toilet covered with gore and trying to wipe his feet off with a tissue.  I thought I would let Ben sleep and clean up the mess.  Then I happened to glance in the boys' room.  OMFG.  The top bunk, the stairs, the wall, the white carpet the Lego table, the blinds, Jack's mattress and pillow.  OMFG.  Working together, it took Ben and me until 1:45 to clean up the mess and shower, while Harry took a bath and slept on the floor of the downstairs bathroom.

Wednesday afternoon, I called Ben home from work and laid on the floor of Cooper's room in the fetal position, Harry sick in the guest room, Jack watching TV in the family room, and Cooper rolling merrily on the floor beside me, until he got home.  I was brutally sick for about 6 hours and sick enough after that.  Even now, I am too weak to carry the baby (Ben's eyes are rolling so hard when he reads this, but t is true) and have only eaten toast, a popsicle, and a juice box since yesterday.  I laid on my bed shivering under a quilt all day and night, sleeping until I flt too sick to sleep and watching HGTV and bobbing on waves of nausea until I would mercifully fall asleep again.  No wonder both older boys were such docile patients-- even taking a shower this morning was too strenuous.

My brother texted to say that he, too, is sick and blamed blowing up Harry's spitty whoopy cushion, which means Ben is the last man standing.  Gulp.