It's these ridiculously ridiculous weeks like these that make me so greatful for my husband. This dude who doesn't think twice about me taking our baby out of the country to go visit a friend dealing with horrifying things. This guy who scrubbed the carpet Wednesday morning at 5 am to get Emma's early morning vomit out while I comforted her and held her hair back. This man who darted from a t-ball game tonight to race to a Walgreens to fetch children's Benedryl. This husband of mine who didn't think twice about cleaning up a new set of puke in the dining room tonight from about 2 seconds after we got home from said t-ball game, this time delivered by Tommy. This same man who then left the house to run to the grocery store to fetch sandwich fixings because I'm starving but my stomach hurts, so 'nothing fried or spicy, please'. (I hope I said please).
In this whirlwind of the last few weeks, I've seen the gentle ways and the blatant ways and the silly ways and the subtle ways he cares for me, he cares for our rotten children.
Brett, you are a damned fine man. I wish you'd drive a little faster from the Pig now that I got sickly Tommy to sleep (because seriously, I'm ravenous) but just the same.