William: Mommy, what on your face?
me: What?
W: Right Dere . . . (pointing at my forehead)
me: (wiping forehead) . . . OHHHH, Poop.
W: Poop? On your face, mommy?
me: (wiping again) Is it gone?
W: Um, yittle bit right dere mommy, on your head.
AWESOME. THANK YOU, STOMACH BUG!
And, the best part is that I called my husband at work to tell him of the atrocity of all atrocities—poop on his beloved wife’s face—and he just said “mm hmmm,” like “yes, I know the chaos.” No sympathy, no horror.
Please excuse me while I go and bleach wipe my head.
***
Also, from lunch:
Hudson: Mommy, I want more water, Please. {did he actually say please? let's pretend he did}
William: NO, HUDSON. IT'S NOT GOOD FOR YOU.
{W wasn't allowed to drink water after being so sick for so long. He had to work is way back up to water, and it seems that he will make his brother suffer along with him!}
Please keep praying . . . we are not out of the woods yet . . .
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