I'm sick and they're not sick enough ~ May 22, 2014

Note the diabolical smile on his face.

"Bless you," Nora replied to each of Owen's sneezes between shoving crackers in to her mouth while her eyes never left watching Daniel Tiger. We were on our third kid PBS show, second box of Kleenex, second outfit for Owen and his first bottle, and my third mug of tea. It was 10 a.m. Nora ran to switch in to a different dress out of the basket from her room at the end of each show. At least she puts them back in the basket now when she's done. Before she put them in the dirty clothes hamper.

Owen fell asleep for his first nap after much peeing and burping. I nestled him into his bouncer and stretched my aching body. My lower back ached more than usual, my ears itched as if someone had inserted feathers in them, my eyes always feel lacerated with sand happen to close for a moment and I thought about what drugs are safest to take for head congestion if breastfeeding when I heard,
"Oh! I wrap him up." 

Nora had wadded up a blanket and tucked it around Owen's head like a giant bib. Thankfully he was still asleep and merely farted in response. Nora followed up by piling pillows on him to "keep him warm". It didn't phase him. She laughed as he kicked at them in his sleep and farted more. She quickly tired of this and asked that I chase her.

I gave pursuit for about ten minutes and collapsed on the couch to blow my nose. She went to stare morosely out the front door and said in a Streisand-Yentl-esque timbre, " Come back, Papa."

Later, once Jamie was home, she tried to chorale him in her room to keep us from talking. When that failed she sang "Grown ups come back...", her favorite Daniel Tiger tune, from her room to guilt him into coming back in and playing with her dollhouse. It worked.