One of the things I looked forward to most when I was pregnant was spending weekend mornings in bed as a family.
"She'll be right here," Jer would say of Allison, pointing to the space between us.
As if the thought of her being out of my body wasn't thrilling enough, I envisioned snugly moments and my euphoria would grow. I pictured waking up slowly, lounging around talking and capping it off with a stack of pancakes at the kitchen table.
Reality is a whole lot different.
Take this morning, for example. It's the first Saturday in months that neither one of us has to work or go anywhere. When Alli woke up, I brought her into bed with us and couldn't have been happier.
"Now THIS is what I'm talking about!" I said.
Jerry was making faces, Alli was smiling and cooing, Toby was stretching and yawning, and I loved sitting against the headboard taking it all in.
Then Allison puked and a huge glob of white spit-up cascaded down her body landing splat on my pillow.
"OH NASTY!" Jer said. "GET A TISSUE!"
Then, right as I was reaching for one, Toby started horking and yakked all over the sheets.
"JEEEESUS!" Jerry said. "Just hand me the whole box!"
That got us all out of bed very quickly, but not before Jerry could say, "So would you like to puke next, or should I?"