On Monday night Sam threw up. He started around 11 and it went on for hours. In the morning he was fine. Ate everything. Was normal.

Until last night. Ryan heard him crying just as we were going to bed and went in to check on him.

“I was blowing up, Dad!”

Again with the washing sheets and layering a little bed of blankets and towels on the floor of my room and getting a bowl and a bunch of cloths to have ready.

Did I mention that I have a really terrible cold that I suspect could be bronchitis? But because I have a pilot in training as a husband, and it is necessary that he not be tired for his flights, it is up to me to be up with any sick babies. Coughing up a lung or not.

So, this morning after I got Jesse fed and ate a little breakfast, I downed some Theraflu and told Kait that I was going to take a nap.
I slept for 4 hours.

I woke up to this from Kait. “Mom, I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten sick.”  (however, since writing this post she has contracted the bomb and is blowing up, too.)

While Sam is appearing well now, the rest of the boys are all blowing up today.

The fun never ends around here.
But I’m so thankful for my daughter who let me sleep through it all, taking care of the sick children herself so I could get some rest.

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