Quesadillas BE GONE.

Oh mercy, mercy, mercy. Where to even begin this post? I suppose we should start with about 1:30 p.m. on Tuesday, when Jane texted me to tell me Alex had thrown up. Ugh.

By the time I got there, he'd thrown up 2 more times. Then twice on the way home. Joe got home from work  around 6 p.m. and I am not exaggerating in the least when I tell you that I honest to cheese lost count at 20--the number of times he'd thrown up SINCE WE GOT HOME.

We called the pediatrician, and to no one's surprise they sent us right off to the ER at the risk of severe dehydration. Fast forward 5 hours and with a little help from some Zofran, popsicles and pedialite, we were on our way home. The next day, his other end started acting up so he stayed in Pull-Ups for a few days because his "toots had some poops."

 See also: why is he so big?!

And then, in the middle of the night on Wednesday, guess what came knocking on MY door? Yeap. Listen, I won't go into the gory, graphic details in the here and now, but suffice it to say I spent many, many hours seated ON the toilet while simultaneously hurling my brains out into a trash can, sweating profusely and shaking like a patient in detox. Never in all my life have I been that sick. It. Was. Terrible.

And then, as only the VW's luck would have it, Joey was next! He didn't get it quite as badly as me, but I did hear him wish death upon himself a few times from outside the bathroom door.

So what's with the subject of this post, you ask? Well, we watch our fair share of Doc McStuffins and if you aren't aware of this little cartoon gem, she's a "doctor" to her stuffed animals and makes their ouchies go away with her magical toddler doctoring. Every diagnosis is a "Case of the _____," so when Alex morphed from vomit to diarrhea, he self-diagnosed himself with the Quesadillas.

At least we had something to laugh about over the course of the last few days, right?

I'm happy to say we're all on the mend and looking forward to sunny, spring days ahead!