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When mama is sick

I woke up with a fever of 102 racking my whole body. I staggered into the girls’ rooms to change their diapers and get them dressed. Putting out two bowls of Cheerios and two sippies of milk, I turned on Sesame Street and promptly (and accidentally) passed out on the couch.

I was awoken from sleep by a kiss. My eyes snapped open, horrified that I had fallen asleep. I was staring into Ruthie’s enormous eyes. “Mama, you sick?,” she inquired. “Yes, baby,” I answered. Before I could stop her, she planted another big kiss on my lips. “I make it all better, mama.” “Thank you, baby.”, I told her, realizing how the whole “kiss it and make it better” thing had really backfired on me from a hygienic standpoint.

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