The poor sweet little girl woke up last Friday morning at about 4:30 am and called out in her sweet little voice. I went and got her and laid her in bed between me and Derek. We snuggled until Jack woke up and called out at 5:00 am and then we all got up as Greta announced that she was going to puke.
Derek ran to the store for 7up and crackers and I began the world's longest Disney Princess marathon in history. We made a cozy spot on the couch and I tried to ease her pain. The poor baby would cry every time she got sick. And, she would say, "Get out germs, get out!"
Never will the words come out of my mouth that my kids are sick and that it is okay, because it isn't. There is nothing worse for me. I feel such pain for them and such anxiety. And, I try to hide it and be strong and make things better... Sips of drinks, cold wash clothes cooling foreheads, warm and soft jammies and comforting words. And, on the inside I have these huge eyes and am a frantic mamma trying to asses the situation and conquer it..and keep Jack at a distance with my foot - Thank goodness my legs are long! And, thank goodness for Derek, who stayed home to help. Even with all of my extra love and care, nothing helps more than knowing that Daddy is nearby, too.
The bug went away, and our little girl felt better. On Sunday we tried to treat her, and Jack to cold cones at Dairy Queen to pretend it is spring even though the day was a grey dripping mess. Little sweetheart still didn't feel like a chocolate milkshake. She fell asleep in the car clutching her Niney and a card to mail to Papa. She scribbled in ink on this card and envelope and kissed it over and over "to send Papa her love" or her flu....we'll mail that one later.
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