First it was moaning. Then the chills. A trip to the bathroom. More moaning with a little whining.
"Ask Daddy if he's a big baby," I told the girls.
"What?!? Daddy is a baby?" P. repeated with a laugh.
"Ask him when he comes down," I replied.
Yep. My hubby is sick.
You would have thought the world stopped turning. Or, at least, that is what he wanted us to believe. Instead, I did what I thought was right.
"Stay. Away." I told him. "We love you, but don't come near us."
"Daddy, Mommy said you were a big baby," M. emphatically told Daddy, which as you know wasn't quite what I said.
"Oh, I see how it is," Daddy said softly, turning away. His world didn't stop turning. He wanted to be babied. And I wasn't playing his game.
"Sorry. I just don't want anyone else to get sick. Go rest in the basement," I told him. "Love you. Feel better. Away from us."
"Hey, Daddy, look at what I'm coloring! I'll make you a picture to make you feel better," P. said.
"Thanks ..." and the door to the basement closed.
I feel bad that he doesn't feel good, but I have two little -- four and a half year old -- babies to take care of every day. I don't want them getting sick ... and I don't want to get sick. (You know what happens when Momma gets sick ... the world DOES stop turning!)
No babying the big baby. But I'm pretty positive he went and called his mom.