Abby: Mama, we shouldn't call this the "Ferrell house" anymore. We need to start calling it the "Sick house".
In all of my 8-1/2 years of marriage to my dear hubby, I have never seen him throw up. Granted, I was NOT on the deep sea fishing trip he took last year when he realized that he was indeed not a good candidate to take to sea...on a rocky boat...in choppy waters. Not a good combo for him.
So last night, my poor pitiful spouse got this brutal virus. And it was very brutal to him. After a dose of phenergan (thank you leftover pregnancy stash), he was finally resting comfortably. Well, about as comfortably as you can be when your stomach is performing cannibalistic acts on its own lining.
So you know what this means? I'M NEXT! I'm skeered. I'm very very skeered.
And since my poor pitiful pukey hubby would probably not like me to snap a picture of him all layed up in this sick house, here's a pic of the feverish one relaying a message for the day: Peace Out Sickies!