For six days you have cried and fussed and fussed and cried.

I almost feel bad about complaining about it.

It’s not your fault that you don’t feel good.

But seriously, dude?

My patience is wearing thin.

You aren’t eating at all.

But I’m stress eating.

You’re crying because you don’t feel good.

And I’m crying because I’m going absolutely insane.

You’re tired.

I’m tired.

Over and over I say to myself,
“It’s not his fault.  It’s not his fault.  He doesn’t feel good.  It’s not his fault.”

But in the end I am still frustrated and I am still tired.

And, honestly, more than anything?

I feel defeated.

The cold has won the battle.

I can’t fix it.

I can’t make you better.

No matter how many hugs or cuddles or chocolate milk cups,

You still cry.

And it breaks my heart.

Feel better soon, little man.

I love you.