Covered in puke, and asleep on my feet

No, that's totally cool. I would love to take two hours worth of public transportation to get your house, where you will leave me with your sick, head-colded, ear-achey 42-week-old so you can attend your party. A poor, sick child who will projectile-vomit her rice dinner all over the hallway, my pants, my arm, and her poor little face in a total exorcist moment, leading me to promptly draw a bath and burn her clothing. Then, when that pleasure is complete, the poor child will spend the remainder of her night screaming and clutching her precious teacup ears in agonized pain while I would do anything to make her feel better, up to and including turning the bathroom into a steam room (this helped) and singing an endless version of The Girl from Ipanema (this helped a lot). You know as well as I do that this suffering child will not be going to bed at the recommended 8 o'clock, nor will you be arriving home early. But you know what? Honestly, all of the above? TOTALLY FINE. Really. I know we can't always anticipate sickness, and I do so love the smell of your baby's neck and melt when she laughs and who cares if my clothing is crusty and my ponytail is congealed with the drool from a slobbery grip, or that my face has been dampened by sneezes all night. All this, it's actually okay, not a big deal, I'll survive. You needed the break, and I can spare a few hours. But really, what hurts? The fact that you forgot I was, you know, kind of a human. The fact that you dropped your baby in my arms the second I walked in the door, while I was still wearing my jacket, bag, and boots. Woman, can I at least take off the shoes I wore all day during my 8 to 5 job? And don't worry about leaving me any food--eating is totally passe for grown-ups. And you were gracious enough not to make me use your car to drive you to your party so you would only have to cab it one-way, which was part of your original plan. You will happy to note this, however: the baby-bouncing machine you rented tonight? Used to play drums in college. And guess who else is a natural percussionist? Your darling little girl. I was amazed at how quickly she learned the pleasure of self-created cacophony. I think you'll enjoy her gift--she can go for HOURS.