I'm having a moment right now.
I'm sitting on the floor of my living room at 12:20 at night with Little Pop next to me stretched out on a towel and partially covered with a sheet. He is on his third pull up and third set of clothes. His bed has been drenched in fabric cleaner and we're drying the first load of sheets. I probably have about three more loads of laundry that have been created in this past hour.
I thought Little Pop was falling asleep, but he had to use his "bucket" again. It's rare that my boy gets sick like this. It always scares me because of what happened the last time he had it bad and ended up on an IV for a week. There's a bug going around in his preschool class and he's caught it.
I feel helpless and wired all at the same time. I know I can't do anything more for my baby, but I want to. I want to be sick for him. I want to give him something that will take the sick away.
I really hate it when my baby is sick. But being with my little one when he is sick really puts into stark relief what is truly important in my life. I could lose every possession I have. I could lose my home. I could lose every single material thing in life, but as long as my son and husband are with me, I am home.
Get well soon, my li'l punkin belly.