You want poo stories?

Holy Crap. That's the best way to describe the past couple of weeks. My poor angels have both had this gastro-intestinal bug since spring break started. First E was barfasaurus, then pooasaurus, and then it moved to TBone, and now onto Mommy. Yay! Little league practice started this week, and I am feeling like I'd rather puke than coach little girls on how to swing a bat. Anyway, on to my story. First, puke story. TBone came in my room on Sunday and said "Mom, my shirt is wet." Uh oh, I thought. Perhaps we wee weed in our sleep. Turn on light. Nope, barf with chunks all down his little front. Poor sweet boy. So, we did the midnight bath ritual to get him cleaned up and returned to beddy bye. So, as he was lounging in the jet bath (he calls it the spaceship bath..jet bath, get it?), he says mom, "I made it to the bathroom, though." "Good, good job little man!" So, I went to investigate. Three rooms, blam. So, I washed and washed and washed bedding, floors, surfaces, throw rugs, etc. well into the night. So, it was pretty smooth sailing most of the week save a few near misses with his underoos. Then last night, as I was ingesting my daily dose of blog, he came running out of his room. He was running around in circles (which is the classic peepee dance for him), and saying "I'm full, I'm full!" Ok, I say, tossing the laptop over my shoulder and running toward him. I ran him in the bathroom and yanked down his drawers. Ok, honey, go ahead and go pod pod. He concentrates and strains his little tummy....and kablammm! Poo and air came out in a big ol' shart and went flying all over the floor and wall. It was a mess to end all messes. My floors are all quite clean and disinfected at this point, isn't that a plus? Mommyhood. NOT for sissies.