Sunday was a rough day. We essentially cancelled Jellybean's second birthday party because she was just freakin' miserable. Fever, cough, boogers like snakes trying to charm her upper lip. Good times. I couldn't walk out of her line of sight without her going ballistic. And yet? It was perfect. She turned two and we celebrated, albeit quietly. She smiled (a bit), hugged us (a lot), and tried to enjoy her (demanded, and delivered) chocolate. That's my girl.
It's a good thing we called off the party, too. Because that evening? Monkey came down with the stomach flu. She puked one, took it like a champ, and went back to bed. But then....she continued puking. And puking. About every 30 minutes from 10:30pm - 3:30am. At the end she was dry heaving - more tears were making it into the bucket than anything else. She told me "it's hard being sick." So it is love, so it is. But the amazing part was when she figured out that I was "sleeping" on the floor of the front room where we'd sequestered her - and she commented that "daddy and jellybean must be lonely tonight" since we weren't with them. That's my girl.
They're my girls. Our girls. And they're perfect. (and - knock on wood - healthy again! phew)
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