Sometimes perfect moments are messy and gross and yucky.
We were away this weekend in a hotel. We had a wonderful time, to be capped off with my son's birthday on Sunday (a dinner out before going home was planned).
Being in a hotel room, our configuration on sleeping is this: she is in a portable crib; husband is in one double bed; my son and I share the other double bed. I thought it was so nice to be this close to my son on his birthday eve.
Going to sleep that night we talked and my son mentioned how he wanted to stay up till his "actual" birthday (which is a little after 1 a.m.). But at midnight we went to sleep.
Around 1 a.m. I felt something warm and not right on my back. And then I realized--my son had vomited and was still vomiting--I took him into the shower, pajamas and all...and I realized an hour later that both of us had a stomach bug that would make us cut short our day--his day. But, as I laid there worrying about my son and feeling quite ill and dizzy--I could not help but think of being in the hospital sick and ill and happy to have my son--11 years ago that morning.
(We are both feeling better now--one sick day later and we are back to our routines)
More Perfect Moments Here.
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