We've spent the weekend with poor Jet who has stomach flu in the worst possible way. He started throwing up Friday night, stopped for a while on Saturday, picked up a new pattern of throwing up last night, but hasn't this morning (well, okay, since after 3;30 am), so we haven't gone over the 24 hour danger zone. We also made the mistake of giving him ibuprofen, yesterday, for his fever, which did bring down the fever, but was probably the cause of the second pattern.
He's also blowing virii out the other end, but it's a bit more controllable and easier to clean up after, in some ways, as the technology has been developed to contain the results.
He's not dehydrated, which is good. He's still a very sad and cuddle-needing baby, so I'm taking today off on sick leave and trying to sleep whenever he manages to sleep.
I think the saddest part about it all is that Jet has no idea what is going on or how to help himself through all this stuff. Things are just happening to him and he gets so mad when it's happening, and he's so sad. He does feel better after we clean him up and get him put together again, and he snuggles in and relaxes. It's very clear to me that while I might be miserable if I get this awful virus, I can be glad that I can, at least, run to the bathroom or take a shower myself.
The other lesson is that when things aren't happening to him, Jet's cheerful, plays, and is happy. He has a really great attitude, and I'm so glad of it. Even when he's still feeling bad and a mite miserable, he just snuggles into John or I and wants that comfort, but isn't whiny or upset or all that. He just needs us to be there. That's all.