“Daddy … I don’t feel good.”
I groaned. Loudly. I was hoping to “accidentally” wake up my wife so she could deal with my 4-year-old and her sick stomach. It was 3 a.m. I was tired and I had a TV show to do. But my wife, exhausted from continuous breast-feeding and caring for our teething 1-year-old, grunted and rolled over, conveniently deeply unconscious.
How nice for her. I gritted my teeth, swore under my breath and rolled over just in time for the 4-year-old to throw up in my face.
That’s it. I’m done. I’m dripping with vomit and I’m not even drunk. This fatherhood thing is for the birds.
I was about to run to the bathroom. I was about to scream for my wife. Then the 4-year-old spoke through her tears.
“I’m sorry, Daddy.”
Read the rest on AOL’s Parentdish.
Thanks as usual to Gina Misiroglu of Red Room for putting me in touch with the AOL people. It’s just one of the great ways she’s bringing traffic to Red Room and getting attention for Red Room’s authors.