Aside from an occasional hangover, food poisoning and a cold Jake and I haven’t been sick with the flu for as long as we can remember. Lucky for us it was delivered to our doorstep in a cute little package that looked and acted just like our daughter.
After the baby was sick for the third day we freaked out and ran to the doctor. As I sat with Gwen whimpering on my shoulder the doctor looked at me with his dreamy pediatrician eyes and asked if either the husband or I had gotten it yet. “Not yet,” I replied. He then went into great detail of how gnarly the flu bug is and how we’re bound to get it, but maybe we won’t get it as bad, yadayadayada. I was so concerned about Gwen who I thought was surely dehydrated (thank you hypersensitive pedialyte website) that I latched onto his prediction that when we did get it, it would be mild and conveniently forgot the rest.
Then came Thursday. I will spare you the details, but will move forth with a summary. Thursday morning, I was struck down in my prime. Later that afternoon the husband got it. Meanwhile there’s this cranky infant jogging around the house yelling at us. Not only do you feel like death and wishing it upon yourself but you have to keep it together enough to keep your sick baby alive. Let’s just say it was one of the most difficult days of our entire life and I may have almost passed out while changing a diaper. True story.
Here we are seven days after the baby puked all over our kitchen, five days after it got to the adults and we’re still not 100%. This thing knocked us all flat on our bums and took no mercy. So as we move toward full recovery in our household we can now say that we’ve gotten our flu wings with thanks to the Flupocalyspe of 2012. We’ve joined the ranks of parents who have time and time again gone through the god-awful torture that is the flu making its rounds through their home. And damn did it suck.