I have had a headache all weekend. It started off as a sore throat but has morphed into a full on, maybe-I-should-chop-my-head-off-for-relief constant pain that makes it feel like my eyeballs might fall out.
little kid cannot stand that I'm unavailable to him, so out of the kindness of my heart, I invited him in for a quick snuggle.
"Will you rub my forehead, little kid? My head hurts."
"Um, how 'bout I wub your chest, mumum?"
"...because my chest doesn't hurt and my head does?"
"I wike wubbin' your chest though."
"Yeah...but I don't want you to."
"I got just da ting, mumum."
"Oh, that would be great, little kid. Anything you could do to help would be nice."
He then proceeded to collect five pillows and piled them on top of me.
"There. That's da ticket! Yeah!" He shouted once I was under the mountain of pillows. Being under a pillow mountain does very little for migraines, in case you're wondering if it works.
"little kid, I have a meeting early tomorrow morning with Big Kid's school. You have to go and be good," I warned him, dreading the 8 a.m. consultation I have for speech tomorrow.
"Cool! I wike bubby's school."
"No, we won't be with the kids. Just grown ups."
"Nope. Just you."
"little kid, please don't say that! That's not nice for babies to say."
"Mumum, I can say 'at, as long as I don't say it at parties. Iz fine."
I kicked him out then, because I realized about 30 seconds in that inviting little kid into the room was as quiet as curling up on concrete with a jackhammer for someone with a migraine.
Mr. Ashley had difficulty luring him back out, until he offered a bath.
"Oh yeah, that's da ticket, baby! Be back when I'm cwean, mumum."
I can't wait.