The longest month. Ever.

March has always been my least favorite month.  It’s cold, it’s hot, it is cold.  Again.  The first day the weather finally breaks, I always get so excited.  I’m ready to take the outdoor furniture out of hibernation, transfer my winter clothes to hibernation, spend every waking second in the glorious sunshine. 

And then it snows again.

Sonofa.

To top it off, my family insists on waiting until the last possible second of the cold and flu season to actually contract the colds and flus.   I always get my hopes up, thinking we got out of the season unscathed, only to find that we get run over by the Sickness Truck in March. 

This March, in particular, had been especially long because the viruses themselves last so long.  Aren’t stomach viruses just supposed to last a day or 2?  What is this recurrence shit??  It has been going on in my house for over a month and I am FED UP.

I have a bit of Emetophobia.  And when I say “bit”, I really mean, “a big honkin’ dose of it”.  Last winter, I rushed my family out the back door of our elementary school during a movie night because some kid got sick.  I.  Just.  Can’t.  Deal.

Which, of course, makes me an epic failure as a parent.

And?  It didn’t matter anyway because we all ended up with it.  And, lucky me, I got both the stomach virus and the regular flu all in the same month (of course, it was March) last year. It was awesome. 

But, it’s the waiting for it that I can’t handle.  Because, once we do contract the stomach virus, I go into Military Commander mode.  I prep the patient’s quarters, I wait a safe amount of hours before beginning the BRAT diet, I clean the house like a machine.  I clean each. individual. Lego. piece.  I am prepared.  In control.   

Exhausted.

Why can’t we just skip it?  Just one year? 

Now that it’s April, you think we’d be done with the damillnesses.  But noooooooooooo.  Because my husband woke up this morning sick. 

It’s enough to make you cry.

And what did I do about that (because I'm a loving, wonderful wife)?  Did I:

A.  Hug him, and (with tears in my eyes) tell him he'll feel better soon, give him a Gatorade and quietly tell the boys to steer clear of their father while slowly backing out of the room?
B.  Yell at him for going through 4 bottles of wine with my family last night, which, in turn, made him sick this morning and, in turn, made me late for work because I had to get the boys ready?

If you picked A, you don't know me very well.

Fine, I did B.  You know why?  Because I have to believe it's a hangover in order to feel safe in my own home again.  I am D.O.N.E.

But, I did give him a Gatorade and blew him a kiss (from the other side of the house) before we left.  I'm not that much of an asshat.
 
So, even though it’s technically the second week of April, I’m going to continue thinking it’s March until this mother lovin’ virus has left my house for good.  I really really don’t want to go to prison for making my family drink Lysol.