It's been an infirmary around here but I think we're on the mend. First William, then Andy, then Catherine, and I think I narrowly escaped the CRUD that made its rounds in our house as well as every other house I know of.
Andy left on Saturday to go to Atlanta for a few days and as he was leaving I was clinging to his leg begging him not to leave me alone with them. Not really. But I wanted to. Lest I ever accuse of him of not helping out all it takes is a few days being outnumbered for me to realize that there is power in backup. Of course when number three gets here unless we hire a personal assistant we're forever outnumbered and probably outwitted too. I made the not so wise decision while he was gone to get us all to church Sunday morning. Miraculously we made it there on time but not before I nearly lost my religion trying to get William dressed. He went wet noodle on me (all parents of 3 year olds know what I'm talking about). I would have just as soon been dressing Chucky the Alligator as trying to get pants, shirts, shoes and socks on William. Honestly, if he had asked to wear his Buzz Lightyear costume I would have happily said yes if it meant him getting dressed on his own. Of course I would have worn a sign on the way into church that said "He's Not Mine."
Happy to say Andy is back and I was able to go to the bathroom for the first time last night. Alone that is. So I locked the door and stayed in there for 3 hours.
My peace was short lived though when William woke up at 2 am calling for me because he wet the bed. This rarely happens so when it does I'm not really prepared for it anymore. But as I stumbled into his room and got him cleaned up he started hollering that he wanted to read the spider book. Then he wanted to watch a movie. No, William, it's the middle of the night and we're going back to sleep. So I told him to come with me and get in the bed in the guest room. He refused, of course, and instead went in the den where he sat in the dark and started crying because he wanted to watch a movie. I had two options. Either physically move him in the bed in which case all h-e- double hockey sticks would have broken loose, or leave him in the den crying and go to bed alone. I chose the second option. Andy woke up though and came into the den wanting to know what was going on, and scooped William up asking him didn't he want to go get in the bed with daddy. Of course he did. And in one swift move Andy was the hero and I was the villain. No worries though. I was a villain sleeping alone in a quiet room with no baby monitors and out of ear shot of the psychotic dog on the porch turning flips with every clap of thunder. And it felt so good.