New addition to the year of doom: pink eye. Both Grady and I have pink eye.
Now I don't know a lot about pink eye but popular culture tells me that it's caused by poop. In the eyes.
I have a toddler and a dog so I am no stranger to poop. I have a bit of a germ thing, though, and a bordering-on-ridiculous hand-washing regimen that goes along with it, so I feel pretty confident when I say the pink eye is Grady's doing.
Kids, man. They can be adorable but they can also be little cesspools of pestilence.
This morning we were driving to the doctor's office and Grady started calling me from the back seat. I tried to talk him down but his little voice got more and more desperate (and loud.) "Mommy! Mommy! Take!" He had his baby doll and his blanket, and he has this annoying habit of taking his boots off in the car, so I figured he was trying to hand me something. I twisted my arm behind me at a red light and reached back to him. "Take it, mommy," he said happily, as he wiped a giant, slimy booger in my open palm.
This is why we're all still sick.