It had been a long day.

A day with toys all over the floor. A day with a dozen repetitions of the words “Because everyone has to wear pants, that’s why.”

A day when I questioned whether I was even capable of this mom thing.

But even on long days nap time eventually arrives. With torturous slowness, maybe, but it arrives. The older kids would only “rest” in their rooms for “rest time,” but the baby would sleep. I could wash the dishes. Or read a book. Or sit and stare at the wall thinking about the dishes and the book, which is sort of the same.

I gave her some milk and read her a book, thinking how particularly snuggly she was today. I tucked her pink blanket into her arms and laid her in her pack-n-play bed. I turned toward the door.

And then I heard a suspicious cough.

I recognized that cough.

With lightning speed, I turned back and scooped her out of bed. Just in time for her to throw up all over me.

And I didn’t think, “Ew, gross.”

And I didn’t think, “Oh, my poor baby.”

I thought, “Thank God she threw up on me instead of the bed. I can change my clothes in five minutes. It would have taken hours to clean puke out of a pack-n-play.”

So that pretty much put my earlier questions to rest.

Obviously, I was a mom through and through.