Ezra got it Friday night, about 10 minutes after Nell and I had been seated for dinner. We got the call from Mimi that Ezra had just thrown up all over himself and Enno (Ezra's step-grandfather). No romantic dinner this time. We grabbed our food to go and then headed home to tend to the little dude.
Saturday was great. Ezra seemed fine. We even took in a TCU basketball game.
Sunday seemed to be going well until 5:30, when the bug attacked Nell. She was down for the count.
But I was able to keep things moving, got Ezra to bed, lunches made, coffee ready.
Around 8:30 p.m., I settled onto the couch with a glass of red wine and watched an hour of the Academy Awards before heading to bed.
Fast forward to 4:00 a.m., when I awoke with the feeling that an alien was gnawing at the insides of my stomach. I ran to the bathroom and hurled. Looking down, I was shocked to see that I had vomitted up a bloody mess. And then I remembered the glass of red wine. A brief feeling of relief, which was soon squashed by more violent seizures of the midsection. These vile tremors continue as I am typing this.
Somehow, Nell got Ezra to daycare. Now we are both here--she on the couch and me in the bed--clutching our tummies and praying for some sort of recovery before we must pick Ezra up from school.