18 hours of vomiting. 18 hours of diarrhea. Three more hours of vomiting.

She rolled out of the bed we slept in together at eight this morning, after I had finally put a call in to the doctor..

I think I’m ready to eat, she said. It sure is no fun being sick.

She gobbled up toast with peanut butter, downed apple juice and water. Strolled over the the junk drawer and rooted for new treasure. Flashlights! Two of them! Scurried into the other room to shine them in her own eyes and look with her sister for fur tufts and magic under the couch.

I think it’s over, I think it has passed. I have never seen a stomach bug like that before.

How many times I thought of mothers in poverty stricken countries trying to nurse their babies back to health and out of dehydration in the past two days. Without the things we take for granted: applesauce, water, Gatorade, the store that sells these things, the money to buy them.

How lucky we are to live in a place where stomach bugs are to be waited out, fretted about over the internet and ultimately, resolved when the tired little body has expelled the last of it. A place where that tired little body has a clean place to sleep and lots of food and water to heal itself.

She sleeps now, hugging in her worn pink blanket. Breathing deeply. We have plans to hunker down in the basement this afternoon and watch movies together, us three girls.

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