Dear Elsie Jane,

Whenever I was little and I got sick--vomiting--my dad (your papa) was almost always there holding my hair back out of the way, getting me a cool wash cloth to wipe off my sweating face, and then following with a cup of water to rinse the nasty acidic flavor from my mouth. That's what men do, right?

So I just assumed that this would mean that the man that I married would do the same. I'm laughing as I write this because I was wrong. Very wrong.

Do you know that your father and I were together (dating time and married time) for over seven years before I ever threw up in front of him? I was pregnant with you. I didn't have morning sickness (a prevalent nausea that women usually have), but my toothpaste made me gag once or twice, so a Subway sandwich or two made its way up and out. Ick.

And do you know where your father was? Well, when I started gagging, he was right there. And then when I was done, I had to go looking for him...across the apartment, out of hearing range. And that, sweet girl, is how your daddy deals with vomit: RUN!

Saturday morning I went in to get you and you had vomited your dinner at some point in the night. I had to clean it up. Today, Daddy went in to get Oscar and you up, and O was covered in vomit. Daddy brought you into our room and said, "Oscar threw up. Would you clean it up?" So there I was in my cashmere sweater, at 7:05 in the morning, already running late, giving Oscar a bath and starting a wash load of puke sheets and jammies.

And you weren't much more help in the evening when Oscar puked all over me.

Me: "Elsie! Help! Get me a towel!"
You: "Eeew." Watching Oscar as he projectile-vomited the rest of the contents of his stomach all over me.
Me: "Elsie! Really, get me a towel!"
You: "No. That's eeeww."

I hope that one day you will be more helpful when it comes to the cleaning up of spewed stomach contents.

I love you,
Mama