So on Wednesday, I was having a high incident of later in the day nauseousness.
In the evening, I started feeling horrid and was coughing and felt like I had swallowed something the wrong way.
Little Man was "doing the dishes" (basically playing in one kitchen sink with plastic bowls in it with his rubber gloves on) and then he came running out yelling, "I've got the throw up bowl, Mom!"
He gave me the bowl and asked if I was OK and I said yes, and I thanked him for taking such good care of me.
He replied, "I take good care of you because I love you."
It was a sweet moment.
Followed by a vomit chaser.
Then I got a cheery, "I *told* you, you needed the throw up bowl, Mom." from the 7-year-old in the kitchen.
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