I am sick.
I’m a highly pitiable sick person too. When I talk, it sounds like I’m holding my nose – which I’m not. However if I don’t hold my nose, it runs like a faucet (delightful visual, I know.) I have been detained to my couch per the request of The Boyfriend. I am wrapped up in blankets, alternating between drinking tea and ice water, waiting for mac n’cheese to cook. My bedside table looks like the Cold & Flu aisle of a CVS. It’s delightful.
Today, two hours away, you received your first, “Liam, get out of my room!” from Sports Man. So while I’m deciding whether to take NyQuil or Theraflu, you’re having your first “brother” moment. I heard about it from J, but I can only imagine the real deal. I can almost hear it from here.
Our lives may be a little different right now, but I’m always thinking of you. And if I’m not thinking of you, it because the NyQuil has kicked in. But that’s not my fault.
You sick.
Me sick. So not as cute. And so not a flattering picture.
Ending this letter with a picture of you because you’re so much more adorable than me :) You make me proud of 50% of my DNA.
Letters to Little Man 
Feel better. :(