The four most dreaded words a mother can hear from her child: Mommy, my tummy hurts. I woke up to those exact words from my 8-year-old son last night. On the positive side, I was able to get him set up with a big pot in his bed before the main event began. Finally closed my eyes for the night at about 5 a.m. only to be awoken by the ever delightful sound of my alarm too soon after. Spent most of the day recovering from lack of sleep and doting on my boys (they're both sick now).
The horror of these words is not the single event that follows, but instead the dread that it's going to make its way through the entire household before it's done. It's like a poisonous snake hidden in your home: you're not sure where it's hiding and you don't know when or if it'll strike again.
So now we wait. And disinfect everything that anyone might possibly touch. Maybe, just maybe, it'll pass the rest of us by...
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