Baby Bot is sick.

The sickest I have ever seen him.

It breaks my heart because he is the just the happiest, most easy going kid on the planet.

He has been a joy to raise.

Mostly because he raises himself.

“Momma, I sick. My mouth sore.”

“Momma, I tired. I go to bed.”

“Momma, I go to potty.”

“Momma, I clean my room, have bath, make supper and do laundry.”

Not quite.

But, you catch my drift.

This morning I held him in my arms and tried to decipher what he was saying.  His voice was just so fat and thick. Poor little babe.  Plus, he was coughing.

“Sorry, honey. Tell Momma again.” I asked him as I rocked him back and forth and stroked his golden angel hair.

“Ehwamada.”

“Sorry, baby. Momma can’t understand you.” I snuggled him close and kissed his forehead. Poor little love.

“Ehnowamamewuhwamada.”

“Oh lovey.”  I put my cheek to his forehead to feel his fever.

He then took both his hands and aggressively squirmed his steamy little body away from me.

“I don’t want you. I want my Dada!” He yelled with his fat, thick, horse little voice.

Oh.

Okay.

Got it.

Twerp.