Happy Mother's Day!

It's Mother's Day, and by all rights, it should be the perfect day. It was planned that way. Jacob woke me up with coffee in bed. As I stirred and roused myself from the bedroom, Esme eagerly gave the present that has been sitting wrapped on the mantel. "I made that for you," she said as I unwrapped the hand-painted box and accompanying beaded bracelet. Jacob had made steamed artichokes with hollandaise sauce, cranberry mimosas, and cantelope wrapped in prosciutto. We had plans to go to the museum for the day, having a picnic lunch in the park and ending with dinner in San Francisco.

What could be wrong with such a perfect picture? Let me fill in the blanks.

It was the middle of the night. We heard Esme crying from her room. Jacob ran to see what was wrong, and I heard footsteps running to the bathroom, followed by the unmistakable sound of vomiting.

Morning light brought my coffee in bed, followed by Esme throwing up in the bowl by our bed. Esme's bath was likewise interrupted by vomiting. I ate the prosciutto-wrapped melon balls with my mimosa to have Esme vomit into the bowl next to me. We sat at the table and ate artichokes dipped in hollandaise, to have Esme vomit into the bowl on the floor next to us.

We looked at each other, and that's when Jacob told me about the planned picnic in the park and the early dinner reservations at Millennium. I had already said I would like to go the museum for the day. "I guess we're not going." Esme was curled up in a ball on the floor.

We have taken turns playing with her in the spells that she feels okay and comforting her when her stomach cramps this morning. It's just proof of how a mother (and a father) don't really get a break, even for a designated holiday. Happy Mother's Day to all of you mommies out there, and may your day be vomit free.