A curse has befallen my house.

I'm thinking of burning some sage, having a priest over to perform an exorcism, and/or buying an amulet from a medicine woman.

The Mad Scientist got sick on Friday. The tummy variety. The tummy variety that causes a child to not be able to reach the bathroom on time, then have to sit on the toilet with a bucket in their lap and ultimately end up sleeping on a mat on the floor, said mat covered by a Hefty bag to catch any accidents.

My hopes that it was a "24-hour bug" were dashed by Sunday, when she was alternately reading a book, seeming relatively perky, and lying around like a limp dishrag.

By yesterday morning, when the vomiting/diarrhea returned, I was contemplating the word that strikes fear into the heart of parents everywhere.....ROTAVIRUS.

That's right about the time that I noticed my throat felt as if I'd swallowed a woolen sock. I hadn't eaten any woolen socks, had I? I immediately began power drinking Emergen-C packs in a feeble attempt to flush out whatever germs had invaded my system. Moms don't get to be sick.

This morning, Day 5 of Hell, The Mad Scientist was no better, and I was much worse. The woolen sock had migrated from my throat to my chest, and I was alternately hacking up a lung and trying unsuccessfully to breathe through a tiny unclogged part of one nostril.

The Mad Scientist's father was enlisted to take her to the doctor, who delivered the happy news that she does, indeed, have rotavirus. She also gave us even happier news....if she's not more hydrated by tomorrow, they will hospitalize her to administer IV fluids. One would think the threat of this would be enough to convince The Mad Scientist to drink, but one must not know my daughter and the amount of stubborn resistance of which she is capable.

So, to recap, I feel like something scraped off the bottom of a sewage worker's shoe, and have spent the entire afternoon trying to convince (um, force) TMS to drink something and eat a saltine. From her reaction, you'd think I suggested administering the food and beverage through her nose. (Which isn't out of the realm of possibility if it keeps her out of the hospital.)

These are the times which try parents' souls. This is the fun stuff that the books don't tell you about.
- posted by Perpetually Romesick @ 3:32 PM