Or is it Let's Get Physical?

Dear Diary,

It may come as no surprise to you to learn that I am a germophobe (Ha, the spellchecker just suggested some much more entertaining words like gramophone, Anglophobe, and homophobe. No, I'm not a homophobe, unless that homo has the stomach virus.) Let's just say that during the swine flu epidemic, I questioned the necessity of going to work or the grocery store, or really leaving the house at all. (I still did all these things, of course. But were it not for the BHE I might be raising Edwin on a deserted island. Except that would have required that I get on a plane, which is hard for me under normal circumstances, and would have been impossible during an outbreak of a killer virus. And also, what about all those tropical diseases? You see? NOWHERE IS SAFE.)

So, back to that homo with the stomach virus. I have a terrible fear of the stomach virus. Like, completely irrational. Well, not completely irrational, because it is likely that in the course of Edwin's childhood he will indeed contract some viruses. But my fear of what may transpire during the course of one of these viruses is indeed irrational. WE WILL ALL DIE, but perhaps more importantly, I WILL HAVE TO CLEAN UP POOP AND VOMIT. Not sure where I'm going with this, in fact I'm one of those people who begins to feel sick even pondering the possibility of this type of sickness so I'm not sure why I'm writing about it. But this week, one of our lovely daycare workers had to leave early because she became ill. With some sort of stomach problem. Then she was there the next day. So, because I've read way too much about this subject, I know that these viruses remain contagious up to 10 days after one feels better. So I almost stayed home from work today like a crazy person to keep Edwin away from possible infection. The BHE talked me down, of course, reminding me that we can't keep Edwin in a bubble and we have responsibilities and blah blah rational adult talky points blah blah.

So I put on my big girl panties and sent Edwin off to daycare anyway, worrying the whole day about who was preparing his lunch, and did she wash her hands? Like, did she wash them while singing the whole alphabet song? (Or is it the happy birthday song? Or is it Stayin' Alive? No wait, that's what you sing while you're giving CPR, right? How am I supposed to keep all this straight? God forbid someone drops dead and I can't give CPR because I don't remember which song to sing while I do it.)

Point being, I told the BHE that since he made me send Edwin to daycare, if illness does strike, he'll have to be the one to clean it up.

Love,
Fluffy