No butterflies are perched on this bloom of the butterfly bush.
And no toddlers are ransacking the house right now.
I wish Gracie was pulling clean tupperware out of cabinets, ripping out hair bows and ties, and banging on my keyboard.
The baby that woke up happily jumping in her crib yesterday, started feeling under the weather in the afternoon. Usually a champion sleeper, she was feverish and wanted to be held and rocked the entire night.
The first couple hours weren't so bad, but it became exhausting after midnight.
I tried cuddling with her in bed, but that didn't really work. She wanted to be held on my chest in the glider or she cried the most pitiful sick-child cry I've ever heard in my home.
We've been to the pediatrician and it looks to be viral. I know how extremely lucky we are with our health in this family, especially when it comes to the children. Minor sicknesses always remind me of that.
After discovering that Gracie can take chewable Motrin instead of the liquid form (which is a violent, useless experience every time I attempt to dispense it to her), she's finally getting some much-needed rest.
Rest up, wild woman. Silence is overrated, and now I see butterflies out the window that I know you would love.