Murphy's Law says that an hour after you claim victory over the Swine Flu, your five year old daughter will climb in bed with you complaining of a stomach ache and then proceed to vomit in your bed. Your husband, who is now sick, will sleep through this entire event, even though it is an inch from his face. Your daughter will have a fever and will eventually go back to sleep but only with Motrin coursing through her veins. And not right before her baby brother wakes up crying, and rather than risk waking all the sickies, gets to sleep next to Mom in Shelby's other twin bed through the night.
When you say "through the night", what you really mean is in between every hour that he is waking up wanting a bottle or to play with your face. Meanwhile, the Tylenol that you gave Dalton is wearing off, so he hacks throughout the rest of the night, having a fitful sleep for the second half of the night. In the morning, three sets of sheets need to be washed. And you know that the only thing better than having sick kids is doing laundry...piles of it.
Woke up today...did I ever fall asleep?...and things are better than last night...thank goodness. No more vomiting from Shelby. Dalton seems to be making baby steps towards being well. Baby hasn't come down with the plague yet. Gavin is functioning...doing the dishes while we speak. And me...without much sleep, and desperately needing a shower and an upper, am surviving as well. Remind me, never EVER to say that we are getting better. Murphy's got some good ears.