Romit

“Romiting” is what the little one calls vomiting. Although given the gastro that’s hot in our household, the cross between vomiting and the runs could be more apt than she knows.

She was the first cab off the rank, starting with a good series of chucks during the night on Friday and being very poorly on Saturday morning. She'd bucked up by the arvo.

My partner was next to fall victim on Sunday and in my usual sympathetic style, I accused him of being ‘delicate’. We were heading up to the country for lunch with my parents and he elected to still come along, so I figured he couldn’t be too bad.

Come Monday, day before the Melbourne Cup public holiday and a work day notorious for people bunking off, I was up and showered and almost dressed when it hit me like a Mac truck – I had to lie down on the bed, still dressed, hoping for the faintness to pass. It didn’t.  I was so sick. Not just a bit or for half a day – the whole day and into the night. Even as about 80 kids were banging on the door screaming “Trick or treat!!” Lucky for them I was really unwell or I may have had the energy to yell what I was thinking back at them.

Sunday morning George started throwing up. “I’m as sick as a dog,” he commented as I helped him back to bed. “Yes, you are,” I said. “I know how you feel.” I was quite well again by then, just feeling cheated that to add insult to injury, I hadn’t lost a gram in weight.

Four down, one to go??