Feel free to skip this post if you’d prefer not to read details about sickness or if talking of puking makes you a bit squeamish.  I won’t mind.  In fact, I’ll never know!

On Friday, I was sick.  Really sick.  As in, I could hardly lift my arms for most of the day.  I’m feeling much better now thankfully – actually, I was totally fine by Saturday morning.  In the interest of not revealing everything to the world, I’ll keep any more details of my sickness a mystery.  Suffice it to say, I’m not pregnant.

Come on people.

Saturday was a good day.  I got the whole house cleaned up and ready to go for Sunday.  It is amazing how quickly everything falls apart when you’re not vigilant!

Saturday night, Ellie starting puking, all over me, all over our bed, all over everything.  It was one of the rather more gross things I’ve experienced.  By the time it was over, we’d used up just about every towel we own, along with lots of clothes, sheets, burp clothes, and washclothes.  Half-crying, half-laughing we got through it.  Sunday, she was on and off sick the whole day just as we were doing laundry all day long.  Thankfully, today seems to be a better day.  She’s currently happily reading books on the floor behind me and other than a constantly runny nose, and a cough, she seems to be fine.

Ellie, happily eating blueberries on Saturday

In case you were wondering, blueberry skins still stain clothing, even after they’ve been partially digested.

All of this sickness, particularly with me being sick on Friday, has really had me thinking about mortality, the shortness of life, heaven, and all that.  No, we were never anywhere sick enough to be worried about dying, or even to warrant going to the doctor.  But it certainly is a different thing to be sick when you know a baby is depending on you, when another person is totally dependent on you for everything she needs.  This was particularly clear to me as Ellie just kept on nursing, both on Friday, while I was sick and on Saturday night, even between times of puking.  It was as if she had this compulsion to nurse, nurse, nurse, nurse.  And I’m the only one who can meet that need in her.  I’m glad she needs me but it’s a big job too. I suppose the need just changes as the baby becomes a kid become a teenager becomes an adult.