Rob Lifford

When you’ve got kids, it’s a given they’ll get sick once in a while. Violet has had quite a few ear infections, and though they make her kind of grumpy and we get a little concerned about the doctors’ willingness to just prescribe antibiotics again and again, they haven’t been all that bad. We feel very lucky that she’s had very few other illnesses over the past couple of years.

Tonight, though, we had one of those inevitable moments. Violet was clearly not feeling well all evening: fussing through the bath, refusing her precious children’s vitamins (they’re in gummy bear form!), and insisting on Mommy for her bedtime stories (usually that’s my beat on weekdays). I retired to the spare room to straighten up a little, and about ten minutes later heard Cheris calling my name. Kind of urgently.

When I emerged from the office, she stammered, “Um, get a towel, quick!” I grabbed a dishtowel from the kitchen and hustled over to the rocking chair where my eyes met one of those images that just burns itself right into your brain forever: my darling wife, hands cupped and full of freshly-expelled vomit, and my poor little daughter with puke all over her pajamas and her beloved Elmo doll.

Ah, parenting.