Tucker is sick today.  Hooray for three weekends in a row filled with opportunities for me to humble myself in the most graphic roles of motherhood.

I’ll spare you the details.

But I will also say that the blood vessels in his eyes are showing the stress of dry heaving.

Maybe that was too much of a detail.

I’m working all my tricks to get him healthy, which mostly involve stroking his hair, reminding him he’s doing a good job being sick, sitting beside him, and offering my best options for a stomach settling lunch.

I brought him a small bowl of applesauce and offered the spoon to his lips.

He backed away in resistance.  It seemed the very thought made him nauseous.

“Do you want to wait on this, buddy?  Have it later instead? It’s applesauce.”

“Oh.  I thought it was my throwup.”

For crying out loud.  Let’s look at our history.  When have I ever brought him his own vomit in a bowl and offered it to him with a spoon?

Seriously?  My word.

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