Dear Spike:
I brought home a bronchial infection and some sort of nasty parasite from Cuba. Too sick to work today -- which is fine because I get to devote the day to you. Even when I'm not feeling well, that's still much preferable to working!
You can be an exhausting friend, though. We spent the morning reading books, playing with your animal cards, building towers, eating peaches, chasing the cat, wrestling with stuffed animals, making music, looking at photos of our family and arguing over whether or not you were going to use the potty. Now, you're resting on my lap, downing a bottle of milk like a sorority girl at a kegger.
If you sleep, I can too!
Come on, Sandman...
Love,
dad
1 comment:
I'm sorry to hear you're feeling puney. It explains the abscense.
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