It's been an excruciating month jam packed with sickness and disease and Dr. visits and medicine allergies, and Dan traveling, and visitors, and Easter, and family functions, and a funeral with my uncle's unexpected passing (something I need to write about more when I get the chance).  The kids just won't stop getting sick.  The worst was whatever stomach flu Little H brought home last week that brought three out of four of us down to our knees.  Dan somehow managed to escape it due to his "superior genes" (his words, not mine) that he didn't bother to pass on to either of his children.  Buster threw up at least 15 times, and only one of those times was I not holding him.  I wouldn't have minded so much if I hadn't gotten sick myself. 

I think my absolute low point was the day I stayed home with both of the kids.  Little H was feeling better, but Buster and I were still in the full swing of things.  I had been up the night before, my stomach hurt, and my back was killing me.  We were all on my bed, and I had just gotten done with a game of Memory with Little H that took forever because she insisted on using all the cards and they kept getting mixed up on the not-so-solid surface of our comforter.  I turned on the cartoons, leaned back on the heating pad and essentially passed out at 11:30 a.m.  I mean, I was sort of in and out of consciousness and could see Little H jumping around and Buster trying to join in while laughing at his sister's antics.  Once in a while someone would land on me, which would normally make me at least yelp, but in my haze, I don't think I reacted at all.  Flash forward to 12:15 when I finally came to.  I glance over to see Buster sound asleep on the pillow next to me.  I lift my head a tad and see Little H laying down on the foot of the bed, engrossed in Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.  Ah, peace at last.  But what's that smell?  I raise my head a little further to get a better look and that's when I see the puddle of vomit right in the center of my stomach.  Was I really so out of it that I didn't notice one of my kids puked on me?  At that point the sensitivity has worn off, and it just feels a little ironic, so I slide my sweatshirt off over my head and toss it toward the closet hamper.  No sense in missing out on a chance to continue this nap, or whatever it is.

At this point, we're all feeling lots better, but probably still tired, yet.  I snapped this picture of Buster tonight after he gave in to sleep while I was changing his diaper.  I can't help but think it captures how we're all feeling.