Norovirus: A Sword of Damocles

A plague has arrived. So far three of our number have succumbed. 

So pretty but you probably don’t want to get this close to norovirus

First Boy Two was struck – in a very messy and noisy manner just after bed time. We put it down to too much junk food and the excitement of his forthcoming Primary Seven school residential trip. 

But then the poor lad was kept dashing to the bathroom over and over again. 

Just when I’d cleared up (again) and we’d all settled down, the Panther groaned and galloped off to the loo.

Much later, Boy One came home from school looking a bit grey and soon he joined the other two on the sick list. 

I’m very thankful I was at work on Saturday and avoided whatever germy encounter the rest of the family had. Though it’s possible that Boy Three has escaped too, as he’s as bouncy as every. 

Boy Two is utterly miserable, and I don’t blame him. Not only was he poorly, but he’s currently missing all the fun of the trip. He’d been looking forward to it so fiercely – the last month was a countdown. Fingers crossed he’ll be well enough to join his chums tomorrow evening. 

And fingers crossed I’ll be well enough to drive him there.

I feel fine. At the moment. I’m sure the hints of queasiness are at the memory of the mopping and wiping I’ve done in the past 24 hours. I’ve washed my hands so much they’re glowing red and sloshed a lot of disinfectant around. Please don’t let it be wishful thinking…