Around these here parts we've had a very quiet ongoing joke (so's we don't jinx it) about how no matter what vile illness Boychild brings home, Girlchild - She of the Iron Constitution - seems to be able to evade it. In the last couple of years, despite repeated exposure to strep throat, for example, she has walked away unscathed or with, at most, a cold.
[Warning: If you are not interested in hearing anything more about my family's bodily functions, might I suggest you check this out instead.]
When the barfies arrived with Boychild on Monday we tried very hard to keep the germs in check so Girlchild wouldn't get it. We also kept every appendage crossed because everyone knows it's no fun when toddlers vomit. There's a bit of a control issue there in that toddlers, generally, have none. Ask Groom-boy about his multiple showers when Boychild got a tummy virus when he was around age two. Good times for everyone, especially Boychild, who was hysterical whilst Groom-boy was merely completely. grossed. out.
This morning, though, She of the Iron Constitution (SIC) succumbed to the yucky ickies. SIC. Hahaha. That's funny.
It went, surprisingly, well.
Oh, what a difference between Girlchild and her brother when he was her age. If I hadn't been in the room to witness it, I probably would have wandered in later and blamed one of the cats for a hairball mess. She didn't speak, whimper, cry or do anything beyond get a funny look on her face. No hysterics. That's my girl!
Will I be singing the same tune later today? Overnight? Tomorrow? Hard to say. Perhaps I'll spare us all the gory details.