Mother's Day, 2009 edition, is about half over and has been a rousing success: neither of my daughters have puked on me yet today.
Yes, in my seven years of celebrating Mother's Day, not one but TWO of them have involved my children retching all over me and me taking care of them the rest of the day. Hardly a celebratory "day off".
On Michaela's first Mother's Day in 2002, she was a happy, chubby 7 month old. We pulled her out of her crib in the morning and set her down between us in the bed. Feeling all the lovely maternal feelings one does all snuggled up to her baby, I savored the moment. And just towards the end of the savoring, Michaela very casually turned her head to the side and puked on me and the sheets and pillows.
Jenna's turn was much less dramatic, I think two years ago now. (It all blends together so easily.) She just woke up in her crib and started puking soon after she got up.
But, as I say, you're not a real mom until all of your children have puked on you.
And you get double points if it's actually ON Mother's Day.