Bug

A couple months ago my family welcomed two foster children into our lives. Aged 1 (girl) and 3 (boy), they created havoc (as toddlers generally do), which proved to be too much for us, as it caused undue stress on my pregnant wife. Rather than endanger her health and that of our son, we made the hard choice to pass them on to another, very caring family.
 
I especially had a rough time saying goodbye to the little girl, that I nicknamed Bug. That could be short for Love Bug or Stink Bug, and that varied from minute to minute. At first she didn't want anything to do with me, but eventually she warmed up to me and became a Daddy's girl. Or Daddy's Bug. Or whatever. Picking her up from daycare and seeing her crooked, drooling smile when she saw me was the highlight of my day. I was lucky to be a part of her life for a short time.
 
Now that they've gone, I keep finding reminders of them around the house. A pink sock here, a drool-stained bib there, a toy you step on in the middle of the night... it's an emotional kick in the gut sometimes. Toys and random articles of clothing aren't the only things that she left me, though.
 
She also left me with a wicked case of pink eye and a nasty sinus infection.
 
My Bug gave me a bug.

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