On Sunday and Monday, Julie felt awful but with little pockets of feeling better. That all changed early this morning. If you picture her stomach like a school and her mouth like the front door, then early this morning someone pulled the fire alarm.
But she's tough. She's hanging in there. In fact, as I type this she has just devoured an orange popsicle so viciously that popsicles the world over are on high alert. She asked me when she can have another one, and I suggested she wait a bit to see if she can keep this one down.
"Give me a time," she said, "something to shoot for."
"Uh, big hand on the three?"
The big hand currently rests on the eleven. I wonder if she'll last.
But I am screwed, I fear. How will I avoid coming down with whatever this is? Positive energy. Breathing. And shit-loads of hand sanitizer.
In other news, I dropped Lyla off at daycare this morning during breakfast. Clearly she suffers a lot of anguish when I turn to leave.
"Bye, Lyla. See you later. Have a good day. Love you. Bye bye. Use your manners today. Adios."
Delayed reaction, but um is that plain yogurt, waffles, and... ketchup?
ReplyDeleteJelly. Lyla would've preferred ketchup, though.
ReplyDelete