Wednesday evening I noticed a tightening in my stomach and knew what the next 24 hours had in store for me. By 11:30 p.m. I made my first of many sprints to the bathroom.
I made love to the heating pad for the rest of the night and most of Thursday. Doodicus was sick as well, but not to the same extreme. He even hit the Wii for a few minutes in the morning. The kid hasn’t napped in almost four years and even sick he was up and about only complaining when Sparring Partner came home with his homework.
(He’s at it right now…the moaning and whimpering! You’d swear he was on the rack.)
(Remember, I try to write these in advance; it’s 7:00 p.m. Thursday for me.)
Right now I’m going to pop a couple tylenol p.m. and hope the aches that comes from doing five rounds with the Mike Tyson of stomach flu alleviate just a bit. Plus I used a sharpie to draw Hugh Jackman’s face on the heating pad and he’s calling – no singing – my name.
Punch Drunk 