I had such a wonderful time at the Shakespeare festival. It was relaxing and rejuvenating and fun and also there was a trip to Target. All-around win.
And then I came home and the Tiny Dark Lord decided to get a stomach bug to teach me a lesson about why I don't leave him. Then he was better for a couple of days, but around midnight last night (this morning?) I heard the tell-tale sounds of "I just threw up" and dragged myself out of bed so I could go change pajamas and scrape avocado chunks off the crib sheet and start the laundry. Again, some more.
The poor Tiny Dark Lord slept through the rest of the night (yay, blessings on our heads!), but this morning when I opened his bedroom door to get him up I was greeted by a wall of stench so strong that it slapped me backwards and I fell down the stairs and died. But then I had to get up anyway because if I stayed dead then I would miss the shared experience of both of us being up to our armpits in crusty, liquefied excreta.
Here's hoping that your Friday does not include the kind of poop you have to touch with your hands, is my prayer, etc. . . .
Update: Just chatted with a nurse at the pediatrician's office. She says this is just going around, and that the throwing up/not throwing up could last about a week, and the business at the other end could last up to two. And on the days he's not throwing up I should feed him fatty starches like mac and cheese, french fries, and grilled cheese sandwiches. So at least I get some home-made mac and cheese out of the deal! Do we go skinny or full-on Pioneer Woman, huh? Mayhaps an only slightly overweight fusion of the two . . .