Double trouble! Our most horrible weekend!

Saturday morning- This morning I was going to run the Jingle Bell Run, but I woke up a bit late, and decided it wasn't worth the effort with the frigid cold and all. Plus, John woke up and said he didn't feel well. I waited around a bit for him to get out of bed, and played with Thomas, all the while itching to go out on my own run. By 9:30 I'd lost my gumption to go out and the early morning coffee high had worn off, so I was content just to sit around and enjoy a lazy Saturday morning. John finally pulled himself up but he was really feeling sick to his stomach, so most hope of Christmas shopping and festivities quickly went out the window. AND, by 11:30 I was starting to feel a little funny. NO JOKE! By nap time, John had already hit the toilet for the 1st of several toilet competitions (whose turn is it to watch Thomas, who's got the can?) between John and myself. By mid afternoon I'd entered the puke-a-thon, and the race was on to see who could dehydrate the quickest! It's horrible to be sick....it's double horrible to be sick with a toddler who could care less if your insides are threatening to erupt out of your body and you feel like you're being run over by a diesel truck over a bed of stinging ants...it's most horrible when two parents are jockeying for toilet time while trying to keep a toddler content! What a nightmare! I hate throwing up! That's why I've never gotten drunk...because I HATE TO THROW UP! I willed myself to not throw up for my entire pregnancy, despite 9 months of sickness, except for that one time on our cruise when the foo-foo chicken and a high seas storm sent me running. Anyway, by evening, I was practically begging for Bruce and Lil to get back to watch him for awhile, because he really needed time to run around and go outside, and we just couldn't manage it. They did get home and took him off our hands for awhile and Lil cleaned our disaster of a house (God bless that woman!). We felt so sorry for him, as he'd been couped up all day long. I went to bed. I couldn't do anything else. John seemed to manage a bit better, but with two more bouts of can time, I thought I might just end up in the hospital from whatever plague we'd been hit with. Don't think bird flu didn't cross my mind, either. By morning, John and I were both feeling better, which was an absolute miracle, considering how the night went. The body still ached, but the stomach was intact. That was most important. It took John until Wednesday night to eat a small meal, and I finally ate a light meal on Tuesday night. Did I lose weight through it all....yeah, I wish I could have been so lucky for all my trouble. Not a chance! Shoot this one down as the worst weekends EVER! I can't think of one that was worse. And I hope to never write about one again!