So about 2:00 AM this morning, my wife and I were woken up by my older boy’s voice calling out, “Mom and Dad!”  I got into his room just in time to catch most of the vomit before it went on the floor.  Yep, there I stood, a grown man, catching vomit in my bare hands.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is the love of a father.

Poor guy kept throwing up throughout the night until, of course, it simply turned to dry heaves.  At one point, in the midst of all of this, he looked over at me and in the most heart-wrenching, sincere voice a 9-year old can muster, said, “This is the worst day of my life.”  Amen, my little man.  Amen.

I’m not sure which was worse for him, the relentless nausea or the guilt he felt knowing this would postpone our trip.  There’s no amount of “buddy, there’s no way you can control this” and “it’s not your fault” that’s going to convince him otherwise, though.

The nausea never let up for him during the day today, so my wife took him to the pediatrician and sure enough, he tested positive for Influenza A.  Hopefully the fever will let up tomorrow.

So we’re going to reschedule the trip for some point in the future.  In the meantime, we planning on soaking his little brother in a giant vat of Purell.