Caged Birds Don't Sing, They Cry.

Tegan's still sick, and probably sick of feeling horrible. I'm sick of her being sick. And undoubtedly, I'm sure Josh is sick of the mood I develop as a result of Tegan being sick. You get the point. It's a mess around here. A domestic war zone against stomach virus', tears, lost appetites, drop of a dime mood swings, and parents with wearing nerves.

The worst part? It's absolutely beautiful outside. Blue skies, calm breezes, and I may be wrong but I could've sworn I heard birds chirping "Kokomo". It might as well be the most beautiful fucking day all year and we're stuck indoors.  What shit luck that on the first weekend in three weeks that it hasn't poured down rain, we can't enjoy it. Instead we spend the day trying to force fluids and foods that fall into the ironically acronymed BRAT diet.

I love Tegan more than anything in the Universe (except maybe homemade tortillas. Kidding.) and it is my job, my duty, my honor, to clean up her barf and rub her back, but after three days, it gets to the point where you wonder who takes over once you're both on the floor kicking and crying. (It's Josh by the way. Who I might add is an amazing dad, and will soon be getting a walk on roll in the blog).

I just hope tomorrow is a better day. That we get to go outside and complain about how hot it is or something, because anything is better than watching a day go by from your window.

(tired eyes. Mommy has a matching set.)