The whole story

Dear Meishka,

If you look at just the facts, this Valentine's Day weekend wasn't too hot. On Saturday afternoon, you came down with a bad case of the stomach flu and threw up every 5 to 20 minutes until at 9:30 pm I finally took you (throw-up bowl thrust behind me in the car) to the after-hours clinic. You were almost hospitalized for dehydration, but luckily we avoided that and even managed to make it through an entire night without nursing. (I'm surprised, relieved, glad and--to be honest--a little saddened at how easily "Mommy milk" has been replaced by "pig," a Piglet adorned pacifier.)

But the facts never tell the whole story, do they?

For instance, they don't reveal that those hours of sickness meant that all you and I did all weekend was lie together exchanging hugs and kisses, discussing your favorite topics (animals and our California trip), watching movies like Babe (your idea of heaven on earth), making Valentine's (you were especially good at ripping up the doilies and smearing glue all over everything), and singing Old McDonald to a variety of tunes.

And they don't reveal your sweet face as you'd look up at me to dutifully swallow another tablespoon of Gatorade. Or the times you decided to hug me and wrapped your little arms tightly all the way around my neck and patted my hair. Or the hilarious way you articulate in every detail your new favorite phrase: "that [pause] one."

Yes, we washed all of our bedding three times and took more baths than I can remember, but I've never had such a sweet mommy Valentine's before.

I love you, little cupid,

Mommy