Child and I are afraid to approach the bathroom because about every 30 minutes, we hear the wolfish and violent sounds of Fella’s unwellness.
This is my first time living with man who’s having tummy troubles. Not technically, but last time he got them, Child and I were conveniently out of the county. Sad for him, it was Xmas.
But I do not know the rules.
My mothering self wants to make with the dry toast and ginger ale despite myriad protestations.
My progressive partner self wants to remain detached and respect Fella’s boundaries and only provide aid if he requests it.
My narcissistic self feels terribly grossed out by the whole business, and does not want to risk catching it by even setting foot in our room or the bathroom.
But I think I am less susceptible to the intestinal woes than other folks. I recall having the stomach flu a few times when I was a kid, but since age 17, I can only recall 2 times that I have had such a bug. Even when Child gets it, or when I’m exposed to it in other ways, I generally escape with–at most–a few hours of diarrhea, which is about a thousand times more pleasant than vomiting.
This week, I had an afternoon’s worth of feeling best when I was a few hundred feet from a toilet, but still. I did not spend the day in bed, pale and dehydrated and sore. I have had two sinus infections in fewer than 30 days, and am only the last two starting to feel semi-normal again, so I have less than no desire to spend a day feeling as Fella does today.
I am landing somewhere between mothering and progressive: checking on him every hour or so, bringing water. Child and I went to the store for some fizzy drink. I’m relieving him of his weekend-cooking-duties. I will probably strip the bed and launder the bedding before entering it myself tonight, if I even do.
We bought our house about 4 months ago.
We only have one bathroom.
High on our hierarchy of necessary improvements is adding a second bathroom. We don’t know where to put it, and truthfully, I was dragging my feet a bit. My thinking was, “Really? There are only 3 of us. Why do we need two bathrooms?”
The importance of a second bathroom has never been more obvious than right now.
I would like to take a shower, but I can’t.
Child had to squeeze her cheeks a few hours ago when she got the urge while Fella was worshiping John.
This is not fun, and I will be glad when it’s over. Hopefully, next year, we’ll have a second bathroom.