Henry is sick.
I love the way he tells me what sick feels like in his language.
"mama, my belly button hurts."
"mama, mine hurt mine 'tomach."
After he threw up this morning, after we washed the "really sour" out of his mouth, he said, in as delighted a tone as could be produced, "Mama, mine fee better."
But when he got the heaves again this afternoon he said between sobs, "I do't waht to fee better. Do't waht to fee better!"
I hate to see him suffer, but in a very selfish way, I secretly love these sick days because for me, they mean a lot of snuggles and sleepy requests for water, and snuggles and pathetic whimpers. And snuggles.