It’s been six days now.

Six days of tiny, simple meals of plain rice and dry cereal, eaten under watchful supervision. Six days of urging sips of water or diluted apple juice every few minutes.

Six days of wondering who it’d hit next (first Tony, then Eli, then Ben, then Eli again, then Ben and me both) and if this seeming recovery was really an end to it or just a lull.

Six days of middle-of-the-night laundry and careful negotiations with Eli so that we could wash his soiled patch blanket (Ben — hurrah! — is old enough now to get himself to the bathroom on time).

Six days of missed parties and playdates. Six days of extra Oswald and Sesame Street.

I’m trying not to feel too pathetic about us all, despite this list. We have plenty of videos and Lego and it’s been nearly 24 hours since anyone’s been actively sick, so maybe we’re on the way out of the tunnel.

But, Tony’s going out of town this afternoon–his first trip away since before Eli was born. My nearest friend is also sick, as is her baby, and her husband’s out of town this week, too. So I’ve got the fragile crew all on my own and my defenses are weak. Wish me luck!