Notes from my deathbed

Our car companions, yesterday.  Some grumpys from both.

I would say that title is little dramatic, but I feel like death right now.  I'm literally laying in a bed at my parents house next to a trash can containing the former contents of my stomach and a husband who will literally not let me in a fifty foot radius of my son.  I don't blame him, though.  Gideon has already had this twice in as many weeks and Taylor had it this past Sunday into Monday.  Stupid stomach virus wins every time, you guys.

We thought I was escaping the carnage so we drove to Charlotte yesterday to spend a relaxing weekend with my parents. It's been a real vacation.  Not so much.  Oh but let's back this train up to early Tuesday morning.  I'm talking two in the morning early, when my toddler woke up screaming, and sure enough had diarrhea.  And then of course, would not go back to sleep.  No matter what we did.  I even let the little man come into our bed and he was not having it unless we were physically holding him.  I mentioned to Taylor that in college, it's all, "Yea, two in the morning!"  and as a parent it's, "Two in the morning?  You have got to be kidding me."

Fast forward to midnight last night and I sat straight up in bed and knew I needed to run to the bathroom.  Seriously, a six hour barf-fest ensued and you can only imagine how charming and classy the whole thing was.  I made it downstairs at some point and I'm positive I vomited in my parents kitchen sink.  Sorry, mom and dad.

I was so thirsty but every sip of water only presented itself again a few minutes later.  Taylor woke up in the wee hours and drove to Wal-mart to get me some Gatorade, bless him.  It was perfect.  And I have been shut up in the room ever since in hopes that I do not contaminate anyones else.  I must not feel well, when I would rather lay here than go check out the new H&M nearby.  Stomach bug: 1.  Me:  Nada.

Fingers crossed that this little nasty moves on and I am one hundred percent ready for my 5k on Saturday.