|via my husband's creative spelling skills|
Hannah is throwing up. It is like the gates of hell opened up around here. The whole time she and Maggie were fighting off their double ear infections, all I kept telling myself was: it isn't a stomach bug, it isn't a stomach bug, it isn't a stomach bug. No matter how tired I was or how much crying there was, no one was vomiting or cleaning up vomit. And that was a source of comfort. That someone just ripped from my tired, little, overwashed hands. I know, intellectually, that there are way worse things in the world. It is just hard to see them right now through my mounds of vomit covered laundry.