The plague sleepeth upstairs

Two sick people are currently sleeping in their respective beds upstairs.  I am supposed to be packing up the apartment for our big “move into storage” extravaganza tomorrow.  Alas, I sit here in my white t-shirt and pink wet-hair towel writing because you know what?  I’m tired of packing and I boycott until tomorrow morning.

Hobo Baby has been sick since Wednesday suffering from her first bout of fluid imbalance (AKA vomiting and diarrhea-ing all day).  Close to half the kids at school including three in her class were out with the same bug.  Four weeks in and the Bubonic Plague Academy of the World (daycare) has kicked my kid to the curb three times.  A cold, an ear infection and the heaves.  

Speaking of ear infections, after sleeping all day Thursday and barely eating anything she ran a 103.5 temp so Kevin and I took Hobo to the doctor when they got to Houston.  Guess what she has?  Duh da da daaaa, another ear infection.  This is two times in the left and once on the right.  Three since December.  I can almost hear those tubes a-comin’.

Since I have packed up most of the house and eaten everything worth eating in the pantry Kevin stopped at Luby’s to pick up some dinner.  I had my usual, LuAnn with fried fish, green beans and mashed potatoes.  He had the chicken pot pie.  The man loves him some CPP.

I ran Avelyn a bath which finally made her remember who I was and we bonded a little.  Oh, did I forget to mention that my ten month old(!) daughter has decided that she loves Kevin like she used to love me and vice versa?  Well she has, little turncoat.  I hobbled around for weeks after her gorgeous body came ripping out of my hoo hoo and this is how she repays me?  By pretending that this temporary shift in home base somehow means Daddy is her savior?  Oi.  I thought this wasn’t supposed to come for a few more years.  Or months at least. 

After she hit the hay we ordered the moving truck, reserved the storage space and got to packing up the rest of the random crap laying around our house.  Where does all this stuff come from?  Why do we own it?  I don’t use this stuff but I can usually find one reason not to throw it away. That being said, in the future please refrain from sending anymore crap my way.

As the night dragged on Kevin kept making reference to his sick stomach, worrying that that his Seinfeld-esque vomit streak was soon to meet it’s end.  Eventually I told him to go take a “not hot” shower and go to bed.  I hate packing all by myself but what I would hate worse is vomit in my open box of barware.

Just when I decided to call it quits for the night I heard the thunderous stomp of a man running for the bathroom.  Damn.  Good thing he took that bucket with him to bed.  Being a good nursey-wife I sprang into action and bounded upstairs, only to veer off into Avelyn’s room to check on her until the worst of the gut wrenching heaves had stopped.  Hey, I can handle all kinds of gooey goodness but there is no reason to stand above a man hurling the entire contents of his bowels into a toilet.  He ain’t got no hair to hold back.  I did take care of him after that and now he is sleeping peacefully.  Hopefully he didn’t get Avelyn’s bug and just caught the death from the Luby’s.

Damn chicken pot pie.