The moment I woke up Sunday morning I knew the dreaded stomach virus had found me. My husband told the kids to stay out of the bedroom, so that I could rest quietly. I had just dozed off when I heard the bedroom door slowly squeak open. Assuming that it was just my husband I continued sleeping. Then I felt them, squishy fingers that smelled like a combination of Play-Doh and peanut butter and jelly, massaging my face so carefully.
"Shhhhh mommy. Don't tell daddy I here."
I just nodded and smiled at him.
"Drink all you juice and I bring more so you feel better."
"Okay honey, I can do that for you."
Next thing I knew those squishy fingers were gently rubbing my eyelids, just like I do to him when I rock him to sleep.
"You sleep mommy and I tell you a story."
I wish I could remember the story that my little man told me. However, I was so tired that I was already asleep before he started the story. My husband said he came into the room and Evan, my squishy fingered three year old, was sitting on the bed jabbering words he couldn't understand while holding my hand.