Like the "guy on the couch" from Half Baked, I think my squatter has worn out his welcome, so to speak, if ever he was welcome.
My family has been in a perpetual state of sickness of one kind or the other for basically the entire winter. I missed out on catching most of it until recently, and to the day that I kicked one "flu-like bug" as the doctor described it, I ended up with another. It was repayment from CTone-the-Youngest, as I had given my sickness to him from the start; and when a baby vomits several times across your chest, you will receive his divine gift whether you want it or not.
Good thing it's a 24 hour bug.
So I get home from work yesterday to find CTone-the-Middle-Child with this 24 hour bug, and he's tossing up everything he's got at a rate of about once every ten minutes until he had nothing left to give. Just when I was able to comfort him, as dinner was just getting started, the power went out.
Puking toddlers in the dark. Think of that one for a minute.
Now I understand how the Plague spread so rapidly almost seven hundred years ago; handling sickness in low light really sucks. Thankfully our baby wipe stockpile has been well attended to, or I wouldn't have made the night. The power came back on at 2300, but by four hours later, I could feel the sickness rising in my guts. The only way last night would have sucked more is if a giant meteor crashed through the ceiling and smashed both of my legs.
I guess my immune system has to earn its pay. Life is difficult enough as it is to be sick for weeks and months on end, and with time at such a premium these days I need to be at my best.