Oliver seemed to be affected by the disease very little. I mean, sure he was throwing up and he had diarrhea but he was still running around and playing. It takes a lot to slow him down.
Jared and I, on the other hand, locked ourselves in the hotel room for a day and a half and fought over the bathroom. It was kind of sweet, though. While we both lay dying on opposite ends of the room, we would occasionally call out to each other.
"I'm okay. What're you up to now?"
Then we'd both fall asleep for a while until we called out again. The number would always go up, indicating how many rounds of barf we'd had. It was almost a competition.
Isn't that romantic?
But anyway, I tried to take some pictures of Doobie on the beach. He's so much bigger than he was when we were there last July.