Sickness

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I hate being sick.

So last night, when I got a pain in my stomach that could only be a stomach bug, I tried to convince myself that the pain was just because I did crunches earlier in the day. Hey, I could have torn my stomach, right?

When I started sweating because I had a fever, I tried to convince myself that it was hot flashes.

When my son had a diaper change that smelled so foul we had to vacate the room and and still had to spray down the room with Febreez an hour later, I tried to convince myself that it was sour milk. Or too many graham crackers. Or man-butt.

When my husband rushed home from Guys Night Out and ran straight to the bathroom to throw up and do "other" things, I tried to convince myself that he was hung over.

When I spent two hours lying in bed moaning because everything hurt instead of sleeping, I tried to convince myself that it was because of the mile and a half run yesterday.

When my daughter came into my room and told me she had a "feber," I tried to convince myself that she just needed attention and pulled her into bed with me.

When my daughter sat up and vomited on my pillow last night at 2:30 in the morning?

Yeah, game over.

We're sick.