But not what you think, ha! Yes, giving you guys heart attacks is one of the few things I have going on right now. :P

No, nothing with me or baby, but my boy. My sweet, darling, though rambunctious, little five-year-old boy…

Has the worst smelling feet EVER.

I swear, they were up here today and this is about the third time since I’ve been in this hospital that he’s nearly killed me.

They brought up Bolt that came in the mail from Netflix and we’d scarcely turned it on when he secretly took off his shoes and climbed up at the foot of my hospital bed. I nearly passed out about five seconds later.

“Oh. My. Gosh. Steve get this kid some freaking odor eaters!”

Dang, I don’t care if they don’t come in his size, cut them down to fit and pile them in there!

So then Elijah’s laughing (he has not yet reached the age of embarrassment and he finds it absolutely hilarious) and he turns around and lays down on his stomach, practically sticking his feet in my face.

“Boy, get your shoes back on before you kill your mother.”

Gah, it really is bad. I mean. I thought men who worked in construction all day were bad. I thought, growing up, that my brothers were bad. But they are nothing compared to this.

And, of course, some of the conversation last week consisted of, “I don’t know what the deal is, he put on clean socks this morning,” and “I don’t know why they’re so bad, he had a bath last night, too!” and “gosh dang it, get your shoes on before a nurse comes in here and passes out!”

So when they left, though, I was begging that the next time Steve is in the store PLEASE get the kid SOMETHING for those feet. And new socks, too. And shoes. Something. Anything.

If you never hear from me again, it’s not because infection got us… it’s because my kid killed me with his feet.