The past couple of weeks in the Wood household have been hewn with sniffles and sneezles, mucus and throw up, coughing and sighing. We've been passing around some gross bug that won't evacuate our world, and I gotta tell you, I'm not only sick from it but I'm getting sick of it. I mean, come on.
It reminds me of a few years ago, actually just this time of year... Summit was about to turn 1, and we had a trip to Wild Dunes planned for Spring Break. Maybe a week or so before we were to leave, Summit came down with some gross puke virus, which he lovingly spread to his sister who gave it to me and to Matt. Eventually, the flame was passed like the Olympic torch to the others... my mom and dad, Kent, my grandma... everyone who was planning on going to the beach... all were pukers. All were miserable.
The one person who seemed to get the bug then get better and infect another family member then get the bug and pass it to another was Summit. He was like a carrier monkey. A little, miserable, infested carrier monkey who relentlessly got everyone else sick.
By the middle of the week, we all seemed to be bouncing back, so we went for dinner at Shem Creek. It seemed safe. It seemed like a good idea. However, what wasn't a good idea was the one where we fed Summit french fries and macaroni and cheese and anything else we could get him to eat. He had, after all, lost some baby weight, and the intention was to replenish some of the pounds. When we arrived at the restaurant, it wasn't busy, so we did get our food rather quickly. But, when we received our entrees, the place was packed, and we were at the back of the seating area.
It was about that time that I looked at Summit to see how he was doing when I saw his cheeks puff. Once. Uh oh. Twice. Oh crap! I snatched him from his seat, and just buried his face in my chest. I was wearing a tank top, which immediately became a bowl. I jumped from my chair and dashed through the crowd of people to save them from what would inevitably ruin their meals and cut the restaurant's sales in half. All the while, I felt the contents of my little boy's stomach emptying into my shirt and bra and dripping into my shorts. Oh. My. God.
My mom and dad came running after me to unlock the car and help me clean up the mess, which was impossible as I needed a power washer for my body and there was no way that all of that puke was going to come out of those clothes. On the way back to Wild Dunes, I sat by the door, and, like a dog, hung my head out of the window. I reeked. I was covered in throw up and I just knew that I was going to get that nasty bug again thanks to Summit the Carrier Monkey.
And so, it is that experience that I harken back to whenever we get a virus in the Wood household. I know that, as a family who hugs and cuddles and gives kisses, that we will inevitably give sniffles and sneezles, mucus and throw up, coughing and sighing. But, I'd rather have all of the hugs, cuddles, and kisses than anything else, and that makes the sick okay.
It reminds me of a few years ago, actually just this time of year... Summit was about to turn 1, and we had a trip to Wild Dunes planned for Spring Break. Maybe a week or so before we were to leave, Summit came down with some gross puke virus, which he lovingly spread to his sister who gave it to me and to Matt. Eventually, the flame was passed like the Olympic torch to the others... my mom and dad, Kent, my grandma... everyone who was planning on going to the beach... all were pukers. All were miserable.
The one person who seemed to get the bug then get better and infect another family member then get the bug and pass it to another was Summit. He was like a carrier monkey. A little, miserable, infested carrier monkey who relentlessly got everyone else sick.
By the middle of the week, we all seemed to be bouncing back, so we went for dinner at Shem Creek. It seemed safe. It seemed like a good idea. However, what wasn't a good idea was the one where we fed Summit french fries and macaroni and cheese and anything else we could get him to eat. He had, after all, lost some baby weight, and the intention was to replenish some of the pounds. When we arrived at the restaurant, it wasn't busy, so we did get our food rather quickly. But, when we received our entrees, the place was packed, and we were at the back of the seating area.
It was about that time that I looked at Summit to see how he was doing when I saw his cheeks puff. Once. Uh oh. Twice. Oh crap! I snatched him from his seat, and just buried his face in my chest. I was wearing a tank top, which immediately became a bowl. I jumped from my chair and dashed through the crowd of people to save them from what would inevitably ruin their meals and cut the restaurant's sales in half. All the while, I felt the contents of my little boy's stomach emptying into my shirt and bra and dripping into my shorts. Oh. My. God.
My mom and dad came running after me to unlock the car and help me clean up the mess, which was impossible as I needed a power washer for my body and there was no way that all of that puke was going to come out of those clothes. On the way back to Wild Dunes, I sat by the door, and, like a dog, hung my head out of the window. I reeked. I was covered in throw up and I just knew that I was going to get that nasty bug again thanks to Summit the Carrier Monkey.
And so, it is that experience that I harken back to whenever we get a virus in the Wood household. I know that, as a family who hugs and cuddles and gives kisses, that we will inevitably give sniffles and sneezles, mucus and throw up, coughing and sighing. But, I'd rather have all of the hugs, cuddles, and kisses than anything else, and that makes the sick okay.
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