Well, I'm a fucking wreck. Miss O has a nasty stomach virus and I spent the day tag-teaming with the old lady, handling the blowing of the chunks and the hersheying of the squirts. The bizarre part is, this bug is identical to the one Mr. Z had about a month ago. Except Miss O passed out twice, after trying to get up to walk to the bathroom. What's with the passing out in this family?! ENOUGH!
I'm telling ya, the worst thing in the world is seeing your kid's face go white as Edgar Winter's fanny as they collapse into your arms. And Miss O is so slight to begin with -- it's almost like she went clear. I just sat in her room all afternoon, giving her ice chips, offering puny spoonfuls of applesauce and trying to find the best hurling target for the trashcan. I know I'll be up all fucking night -- checking on her every hour to make sure she hasn't pulled a Hendrix in her sleep. Gimme a good ol' snot-filled nose any day -- stomach bugs suck donkeys.
She had a fever when she went to sleep, so she'll be home from camp at least one more day, which means tomorrow will be a wash, as well. The amazing thing is, both she and Mr. Z are such fucking troopers when they're sick. All their spazmo energy has been all drained out, so they just lie there like rubbery, adorable Keane paintings. She was slaying me with her cuteness today. She even made up a song called "Math Day," about a math-based holiday in Meep-Land, where everyone does math problems and gets presents. I promised her we'd record it when she gets past the point where she'll ralph all over my $600 microphone.
Please let tomorrow morning be chunk-free.