Huh. Maybe I am that lucky. Sam didn’t throw up last night, and he continues to feel healthy. I, on the other hand, spent a good portion of this afternoon lying on my stomach in an effort to quell spasms (they thankfully dissipated as mysteriously as they came), and Gabe just came up to me with a look of misery, claiming a massive headache. I feel like the landlord who evicted his tenants and found that they demolished the place as they were leaving. At least the discomforts are coming in waves, with increasing time between them.
Eric called this morning, but the connection was crappy. I could hear him fine, but he could barely hear us unless we shouted. Yelling to Germany: I love you. Come home soon!
Unrelated, for some reason, both boys have lately taken to trying to get me to say which one of them I love more. It doesn’t appear to be something coordinated between the two, as they don’t generally ask in front of the other; Gabe sidles up and coyly asks probing questions while Sam’s at school, and Sam corners me while Gabe’s in another room. The funniest line of questioning came from Sam, who finally asked whether he had been my favorite child when he was a baby and we didn’t know Gabe would ever even be here. Gabe, meanwhile, prefers to take the emotionally-charged route, asking me which one of them I’d miss more if they were both “destroyed.” 
I’m weaning myself off the amount of coffee I was drinking. Trying to resume my normal drinking habits since my initial night of illness has proved yucky, and it’s probably a good opportunity to get myself down to a more tempered level of consumption, anyway.
