Updated: Feb. 26, 2017
It always strikes at the most inconvenient times. Like when you’re peacefully asleep, racing to an important meeting, or enjoying a family gathering.
“Mom!” whines a tiny voice. “I don’t feel so good.”
You assume your little drama queen is just trying to dodge their math test, so you brush it off with a casual, “You’ll be fine.” Then, three minutes later, you hear that dreaded gagging sound. And then the eruption. Oh, great.
You mentally sift through your day’s agenda and stare at the endless to-do list. Yep, it’s official—this couldn’t have come at a worse time.
Maybe it’s just a one-off, you think. Perhaps something they ate didn’t agree with them. That soup last night did taste a bit off. You hope it ends with this one child, that they’ll be the sole casualty of this culinary mishap.
Fast forward six hours, and you’ve been doused in vomit five times, tackled three loads of laundry, and scrubbed every surface in the house. You’re praying to every deity you can think of that this nightmare ends here, but deep down, you know you have better odds of winning the lottery than avoiding this germy plague spreading through your home.
Over the next 12 hours, you try every home remedy imaginable (oregano oil, apple cider vinegar shots, basking under a pink salt lamp) to bolster that immune system against the impending doom. You make four trips to the grocery store for saltines, ginger ale, and yet more laundry detergent. You quarantine the sick child and send the healthy ones to the far end of the house. You don rubber gloves and a face mask like an overzealous germophobe. In desperation, you splash that oddly pungent Thieves essential oil around the house—because why not? It can’t hurt!
The next day, you tackle five more loads of laundry, including wrestling with sheets on your kid’s top bunk, which involves more acrobatics and swearing than you ever anticipated. You gulp down more apple cider vinegar.
Eventually, the vomiting subsides, and you dare to feel hopeful. Because, apparently, you’ve underestimated the universe’s sense of humor. Within two hours, one child is in a bucket while another is making a mess in the bathroom. You should’ve known better; now the cosmos is cackling at your naivety.
Screw you, Rotavirus. You’re the worst.
Amidst the endless laundry cycles and soothing the sick kids while gagging along with them, you cancel meetings and seek deadline extensions. You call in every favor you’ve ever owed. You splurge on heavy-duty disinfectant from Amazon Prime and wish it could be delivered via drone. You contemplate putting a quarantine sign on your front door—this is a full-blown plague situation. Seriously, it feels like Old Testament retribution.
Two days later, you’ve done approximately 27 loads of laundry, made 12 grocery runs, consumed 72 ounces of apple cider vinegar (because you’re not taking any chances), and bleached every corner of your kitchen and bathroom eight times. You’ve been hit with vomit twice, cleaned it from your hair once, emptied 18 puke buckets, and sent countless prayers to every possible deity.
Finally—the light at the end of the tunnel shines bright! Your household has been vomit-free for a glorious 15 hours, and the kids are bickering again, a sure sign normalcy is returning. You glance at that mile-long to-do list and tell yourself tomorrow will be the day you regain control.
And then it happens. A rumble. Maybe just gas, you think. But five minutes later, it’s your turn to embrace the porcelain throne.
Screw you, Rotavirus. Screw you.
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In summary, battling Rotavirus is a chaotic ordeal that turns your home upside down and tests your patience. From laundry mountains to endless grocery runs, the struggle is real, but eventually, normalcy returns—until it doesn’t.