Mama, I have a stummyache, she said.
(Remedial lesson: stummy = stomach+tummy.)
Groggy and still unbespectacled, I scooped her up beside me on the bed. I felt her forehead and tried to wake up enough to speak.
"Are you okay, love? Does anything else hurt?"
No, just my belly.
I start saying mama things. "Do you need a drink? Do you think you might need to poop? Do you want me to rub it?"
She looked at me with purpose. I know what's wrong. I know what it needs.
"What does it need, love?"
With solemn eyes she told me, it needs...
May you have a sweet weekend, friends.