The 72 Hour Death-Flu

This morning was worse. I went to bed last night feeling slightly better, I was completely sure that I would be 100% by morning. No. I got up at 5 to meet Tiven at the door, and I hate to say it but, I had to drop his screaming butt off on the bath-mat so I could purge some more water puke my fucking brains out. Tiven screamed like a banshee, Jeffrey wouldn't get up, Mads woke up early, and dammit, I was starving but couldn't eat anything. Remember how I said the past two days were the worst in my life? Let's bump that number up to three.

It's hard to remember my day now that Tiven is gone, and Mads is sleeping peacefully. I do remember tons of spit-up (that child must have a digestive issue). I also remember warning Jeffrey that if he didn't get up right now, I was going to sludge his pillow with diarrhea poo while his head was still fucking on it. I remember removing Tiven's bink from Mads' mouth about 500 times, and accidentally elbowing her in the forehead while she was gunnin' for his bottle. At noon, there was peace:

About 13 minutes of it.

But now it's over. I plan to pass Babe off to Jeffrey, curl up on the couch with a couple saltines, and pass out by 6pm.

I will never baby-sit with the flu again. No way.