I heard little steps on the stairs at 7:00. This is not a good sign on Sunday morning. The bathroom door opening before my door was also not a good sign. Little One walked over to th e bed with tears in her eyes. "I think I have the stomach flu. I didn't make it to the bathroom." Oh my. These are not the words any mother likes to hear. What makes it worse is that Little One always makes it in time. This could not be good. I jumped out of bed and followed her to the bathroom. There was work to be done. She laid down on the couch while I cleaned. I ran through my mind what she had eaten the previous night, hopeful that it was something she ate and not a virus. High school basketball game, two hot dogs...a grill cheese when she got home....uh oh...nothing to indicate a bad food reaction. I took her back to bed and tucked her in, hoping it was just a freak thing. 2o minutes later, she came in again, again not making her mark, and this time, feeling even worse. Ok, well, at least I knew what was coming...
Fast forward a couple of hours. 4 trips to the bathroom. 2 long crying jags (hers, not mine) and a full load of laundry...all before 9:00. My heart goes out to Little One. I guess everyone has a predilaction to some kind of illness...something that they tend to get. The Boy gets a cold....The Husband gets upper respiratory something or other....but Little One gets a stomach virus. This is hard to watch as a mom. Lots of patting and ponytail holding....and lots of trying to discreetly chlorox everything in sight. Then there is this...
The first hour, I find myself wondering if I have it too, or is it just my reaction to her? Ok, I think I am ok. Then there is the mental review and tweak of the day, knowing that church is out...and so are any hopes of finishing the painting and the french novel. The Husband and Boy have a busy day planned, so they will be fine. Neither have risen from bed yet...and when they hear about Little One, they will make a quick exit...There was the aborted attempt to do a yoga tape in between bathroom trips, in some sort of pitiful effort to feel productive....but that failed when Little One ran through yelling "Grab my ponytail...it'c coming again!!'...
So today, I will give up all thought of any of my "best laid plans', and just try and comfort Little One. Is there anything worse than being 10 years old with a stomach virus on a Sunday? Not in her eyes.
Until tomorrow, when the 24 hour rule probably dictates that Little One will miss school...which means more rearranging and adjusting of plans.....but she is calling again....
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