At 2 AM I woke up to the sound of poor Owen throwing up. He was just outside Eric and my bedroom door (a part of the floor that is hardwood – how lucky can a parent get when her little one is sick?!) Anyway, I helped him get cleaned up. “That feels better, doesn’t it?” I said as I finished. He said yes, but looked pale and sleepy and so sick. I sent him off to Eric who had made a little bed on our floor for Owen, but after a few steps, Owen came back. “Thanks, Mama.” he said with a weak smile before walking away again. I heard him walk into the bedroom and find the bed that his daddy made, he managed to say thanks again.
My sweet polite boy.
Oh, poor O. And to be so sweet when he feels so bad.
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