The morning Ava, my four-year-old daughter, got sick started like any other weekday.
She sat at the kitchen counter in pink pajamas, swinging her legs while making her stuffed rabbit “talk” to me in a tiny squeaky voice.
“Mommy,” she said seriously through the rabbit, “Mr. Bun-Bun says, ‘You work too much.'”
I laughed despite being stressed. “Mr. Bun-Bun should get a job so he can help me.”
Ava giggled so hard she almost dropped her fork!
I laughed despite being stressed.
***
I was supposed to take Ava to daycare that morning, as I always did, but my office had moved up an important meeting at the last minute.
My husband, Mark, grabbed his car keys from the counter. “I can take her. It’s on my way.”
“You sure?” I asked.
“Emily, it’s daycare drop-off, not brain surgery.”
Ava raised her rabbit proudly. “Daddy can do it!”
I kissed the top of my daughter’s head. “I’ll pick you up later, okay?”
