This morning, I was starting to think I was imagining the vise around my head and general body cramps as a virus. I decided to blame some new medication.

Then school called. The little angel had been in the health room twice, but she didn't have a temperature and the nurse suspected there was actually nothing wrong.

This is the kid who has never asked to stay home sick in her entire academic career. 

And I still felt like shit.

"I actually think I know what is wrong," I said. "I'll come and get her."

When I got there, the school nurse still looked puzzled. She looked, actually, as though she suspected we were both playing hooky (working from home means I'm often still in yoga pants at 11 am, and guess what? I was still in yoga pants at 11 am). I put my arm protectively around the girl and guided her outside. 

"You know this means you can't play with friends, right? You're really sick?"

When she met my eyes, it was like staring into my own aching self.

About five minutes ago, she threw up for the first time since she was about four years old. It's been so long since she's been sick, I think we'd both forgotten what that was like. I remember always bawling after barfing, but she just asked for a Kleenex and said she was hungry now that her stomach felt better. 

She is sometimes so me, and sometimes so her father. This would be inherited from her father, who would probably barf and then go chop down a tree if he were here. Lucky for him, he's traveling for work and gets to avoid the stank that is now our living room.

My poor little duck. And I also feel a little vindicated for moping around the house all week groaning as though I might die.