It’s like having a tornado heading your way. It looks bad – it’s touching down and hitting other folks – doesn’t stay long but wreaks havoc – it could hit me any time and it wouldn’t be pretty! – or it might just blow over.
Every person in my house but me (that’s only three, but still) has fallen prey to a stomach bug. A pretty sudden and virulent one, by the looks of it, since my hubby hasn’t had one wipe him out like this since he was a teenager.
What chance do I have? Yesterday, only a few hours before Sean became ill, we were totally sharing spinach dip and I totally had a bunch of sips of his cranberry juice. GREAT.
If only I could yell at the (possible) incubating virus, “I know you’re in there! You’re not welcome here so GET OUT!” And out it would slouch, scuffing its greeny-brown hairy feet, sulky but resigned because this lady’s got his number.
On the other hand, of anyone, I have had the most contact with E’s wayward bodily slurry (my dad’s phrase – it’s so apt right now) this week, hands down. You would think I’d have already fallen by now.
Maybe, just maybe, the combination of being a teacher for the past five years (like tae-bo for the immune system, since let’s face it, kids as a group are dirty) and the fact that I’m breastfeeding (don’t they send in a platoon of immuno-reinforcements with the milk?) will sneak me past this. Maybe, in this dark and scary tunnel, I’ve already passed all the snipers long ago but I just don’t realize it.
I’m aware I’ve mixed up my metaphorical phraseology here, but I’m a little stressed, okay?