I've done the laundry, the rotating of sheets and beds. The intense use of bleach to avoid passing the dreaded germs to any other family members. The fresh air and the Pedialyte (1tsp every 10 minutes).
And through it all, my little one, my daughter, my trooper who never complains, just lets me know that her tummy hurts, still manages to make me laugh.
After giving her a bath, she looks up at me though the folds of a fluffy towel and says, "Mom, I can marry Braydon because we don't have the same pants."
I think she must be a bit delusional from the dehydration and say to her, "Don't you mean 'parents' honey? You can marry Braydon because you don't have the same 'parents'?"
Clear as day she says, "No. Pants. We don't have the same pants."
I begin to worry. She has hardly had any fluid intake in the past day and her cognitive abilities are obviously suffering because of it.
"McRae and I have the same pants. Wyatt and I have the same pants." she says.
"Okay," I humor her.
"Daddy and I have the same pants and you and I have the same pants too!" She is really excited as she tells me this and I am as confused as ever, but I go along with it, all the while imagining the horrible night we are surely going to be spending in the ER to get her hydrated again because she has lost her mind.
The lightbulb moment occurs.
"Do you mean 'genes' (jeans) honey?"
"Yeah mom, PANTS!"
She can marry Braydon because they don't have the same pants, aka "genes," or as Katie heard, "jeans."
Pass the Pedialyte daughter, mommy needs some too.
The future couple, with their different pants.