Baby made her first communion yesterday. It was a day to remember.  I’ll particularly remember pinning roses in her hair as she was bent over a toilet wailing that she was about to throw up. It takes a really pro to be able to style hair in those conditions.

Baby had a serious case of the nerves, which resolved as the service commenced. But for the previous hour, there had been tears and hysterics and nausea. She was convinced she would throw up while in church, and wailed “Why did I throw up and soccer, I wish I would now!”

Yes, soccer. Friday evening, Baby had a soccer game. She was playing well when suddenly she had a panicked look on her face. Clutching her stomach, she started to cry. Despite what I yelled, she didn’t take a knee, illness doesn’t help her listen. Her coach pulled her off the field and she threw up. Plenty. And then wanted back in the game. Since she was the second member of the team to vomit, and there was only one sub, her coach put her back in. The opposing team, having seen the vomiting, sensed weakness and mobbed her, so she passed right in front of the goal to her teammate for the first score of the game.  Afterwards she mentioned that her ear had hurt all day, so we took a detour through Urgent Care. Ear infection it was. I can remember a time when I would have been sad to spend a Friday night in urgent care, single handedly wrangling five children, but those days are a distant memory.

Saturday was spent operating heavy machinery in the rain, which seemed like a particularly bad idea come Sunday morning hysterics in the church bathroom. But as she was running around the reception with friends afterwards, I’m not going to feel too much guilt.

X-Man has decided that his first three syllable word should be Hawaii. We’re livin’ the dream here, about as close to the dream as we’ll get. And it’s just slightly alarming how many potlucks I attend to humor my children. I’m up to three this month alone. There should be a chapter about side dishes in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.”