The flu came to our house today, and it arrived with a vengeance.

I hate the stomach flu. I never got over my gag reflex and I still have to close my eyes and plug my nose and hum to myself as I slosh the vomit bucket into the toilet.

I wretch just thinking of the vomit bucket actually.

We were up and down with the medium one all night, always knowing that it isn’t the first kid to get the bug that is bad . . . it is the last one. You have run out of towels and the house has that general stench about it.  And now with both hubby and I starting work this week, it is some hilarious joke of the universe to throw us this virus, and it is also proof again how my family just does not respond well to two working parents.

The very worst part of the stomach flu isn’t the vomiting though, or even the constant stream of laundry and the well buttered toast.

The worst part is keeping the smile on.

I still remember having someone hold my hair back while I vomited a few times (alas, not from the flu) I also remember the odd time I may have missed the bucket (why the hell the hospital gives you tiny little take out containers to use has me confused) and I remember the guilt and embarrassment of each of these moments.

As a parent, while attempting to squelch my gag reflex I plaster the fake smile on my head as I hold her gooey hair back from the bucket.  I laugh and scrub with gaiety at the dried vomit on the couch and we dance around like a gaggle of goofy fairies, pretending that the smell in the room isn’t coming from the green faced child on the couch.

And when the next one goes down, I will snuggle with my head held high (very high to avoid the germs) and scrub the sheets with as much joy as I do for this one, and remember that soon it may be my turn and hubby will get the chance to empty my bucket.

And he is really not good with that whole thing. Way worse than I am, so there is some excitement looking forward to that!