Kiss My Owie
Like every parent from the dawn of time until now, I have convinced my daughter that I can fix stuff by kissing it. She slams her hand in the kitchen drawer (which, for the record, I have told her 8,674 times to stay out of) and I kiss it and make it better. She smacks her head on a corner (which she does with alarming frequency) and I kiss it. "I bonk a head!" she exclaims. She also makes me kiss her feet all the time. Let me just say that my kid is pretty sweaty and she's definitely lost that sweet newborn smell of yore.
So then the inevitable happened. She has just gotten over a case of the stomach flu. The vomiting has stopped, but it has been replaced by something almost as bad - diarrhea. And, you know, that kind of thing starts to cause a wee bit of discomfort after a while. I was changing A's diaper last night when she said, "Mama, owie in the heinie. Kiss it."
Ummmm.
I did what any good mommy would do. I air-kissed her little round butt and said, "Okay, all better!" She smiled and said, "Make a all better."
So then the inevitable happened. She has just gotten over a case of the stomach flu. The vomiting has stopped, but it has been replaced by something almost as bad - diarrhea. And, you know, that kind of thing starts to cause a wee bit of discomfort after a while. I was changing A's diaper last night when she said, "Mama, owie in the heinie. Kiss it."
Ummmm.
I did what any good mommy would do. I air-kissed her little round butt and said, "Okay, all better!" She smiled and said, "Make a all better."
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