Last night, I sat on the couch with David in my lap. He had his puzzles spread out over my legs and sat quietly and contentedly, leaning against my chest, playing with the dinosaurs, domestic animals, and modes of transportation. I divided my attention between running a motorcycle up his arm and reading my book. Jaime sat at the other end of the couch reading her book. It was a picture family bliss.
You guessed it, David is sick. He woke up from a short nap with a gurgly tummy, threw up during a bicycle ride, and developed a fever. He alternatively slept and sat around all afternoon and evening, sad and lethargic. It was a pitiful site.
I, too, was under the weather after an earlier incident involving the planet Earth ripping my bike out from under me and slamming itself against my ribs. Stupid planet.
So we just sat quietly on the couch.
Then, David threw up on me.
You guessed it, David is sick. He woke up from a short nap with a gurgly tummy, threw up during a bicycle ride, and developed a fever. He alternatively slept and sat around all afternoon and evening, sad and lethargic. It was a pitiful site.
I, too, was under the weather after an earlier incident involving the planet Earth ripping my bike out from under me and slamming itself against my ribs. Stupid planet.
So we just sat quietly on the couch.
Then, David threw up on me.
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