Chickadee

Dear Chick,

I love you. Why, for the love of everything holy, have you made it your mission this week to make me sick? At first, I was so excited because you were actually seeking me out for snuggles and cuddles (things you typically save for Daddy). Then, I realized you were only nuzzling your goobery face against my neck, clothes, pant legs, etc. to wipe the drizzling snot off your nose.

You have saved your biggest and wettest sneezes for those times when I am leaned in for a kiss. At one point in the week, I feared death by drowning in your sneeze-flood. Earlier today, I feared I was getting a migraine because I was seeing spots. I stopped worrying when I discovered that the spots I was seeing were remnants of your sneeze-spray on my glasses.

Daddy complimented me on my new polka dot shirt tonight. It was a solid black shirt. Turns out, the polka dots were just dried up snot circles.

Well, you will be happy to know that you have been successful. As of tonight, my poor, weary body has succumbed to your aggressive tactics. I am sick. You know what else? So is Pea.

I love you, but you're not funny. Not one single bit.