The Battle of: HELL FLU

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Could someone please tell me what is going on this year? My children are sick way more than they are healthy. It’s like the cold, cough, flu thing is never going to leave my house. I literally Lysol until almost rendered unconscious. What’s the point? Why don’t we just re-name “pre-school”, breeding ground for every mild disease known to man-kind?

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EVERY damn day it’s a new e-mail from the school nurse. Sometimes they come in multiple times a day. So basically, even when my kids are not sick, I’m paranoid by the next looming virus. Paranoia no more my friends. My nightmare has become reality.

The hell flu is what I’m calling it. It started almost two weeks ago, at 1 am. My husband leapt from bed like freaking Batman. Startled awake, I turn to the baby monitor. One glance combined with that gargling cough sound, baby puke.

Batman was already yelling my name. It seems as though my husband’s kryptonite is baby vomit. So, the cycle began. Wash the baby, wash the sheets, get new pajamas, hold baby while she pukes all over you. Repeat.

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By 5 am I was out of sheets, towels and blankets. The wash/dry cycle couldn’t complete with an exploding 2-year-old. At 7am I called the baby nurse. She assured me everything was fine. Fine for her yeah. She wasn’t trying to combat a puke slinging zombie. Against all odds, the new white carpet is actually very stain resistant. So, there’s that to be thankful for.

Much like the doomsday preppers, I take great pride in my stock of supplies. I Cosco and Amazon Prime my ass off OK. By the end of DAY TWO my supplies were depleted. No more ginger ale, no my Lysol wipes, and no more Pepto-Tabs. WTF? How could this be happening? I looked at the flush baby sleeping by my side, and decided a supply run wasn’t worth the risk. Seriously, there is nothing worse than vomit in the car. We will have to stick it out, and wait for backup. Just then, it happened.

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Soldier down! Soldier down! My 4-year-old had been contaminated. I ran to her bedroom to find her, 6 blankets, and 8 stuffed animals, all covered in the remains of dinner. SHIT! I did the only thing I could do. Washed the kid, stuck her in my bed with Disney Jr., and went for a glass of vino. I needed some love from the grape gods before I tackled the destruction in her room.

We went on like this for days. Just living one load of laundry to the next. Sleeping in 45 minute increments. My husband was forced to sleep on the tiny bed in the girls play room, because our bed was littered with kids. Even the dog tossed his cookies. The days ran together. Finally, we got some good RX anti-nausea meds. That helped for a full 12 hours, before vomit turned to the shits. Yes, DIARRHEA.


A full 8-9 days of being covered in little people’s bodily fluids. I had lost my patience and sanity, but of course it wasn’t my babies fault. So, I did the only thing I could. I misplaced my anger on everyone and everything else. I’m not proud of my actions, or my poor use of compound curse words. I’ll apologize to the pizza delivery man and the pharmacy manager next time I see them.

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One the 10th day I saw the light. My peaked princesses were once again themselves. Hallelujah!!! I was so happy and relieved, I could have done a jig. I could have done a jig, if I didn’t have my head in the toilet. WHY? WHY ME? AHHHHHHH! That’s OK, I’ll take solitary confinement for 48 hours. Even if I’m puking my brains out, alone time is alone time.

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