The day Wyatt was born three years ago, Elliott started to get sick. By the time we brought Wyatt home from the hospital four days later, Elliott was crazy sick and our first night at home, the Chick and I camped out and Ross spend the middle of the night with Elliott driving him around to different emergency rooms.
So as we've been in limbo this week about when this kid is going to arrive, guess what.
The little chickadee is sick. It started with a bad cough on Saturday afternoon. Followed by sleepless nights and lots of puking up of giant globs of goo. Not a good sign for my bad lung asthma boy. Though his mood was more pleasant than it's been for a couple of weeks, we knew something was really wrong with him so on Monday, our dad took him to the doctor.
A touch of group and the beginning stages of bronchitis. He actually hasn't been this sick since February which is a miracle in and of itself. But, he's still sick and he has a mama who is too out of it to take good care of him and a dad who is super busy trying to pick up all the pieces.
So what does that mean? It means he gets to watch a lot of TV. And I get to spend a lot of time with my feet up on the couch.
I don't think he minds though. Just look at the pictures as evidence.