Saturday morning John and I sat on the bathroom floor, me in my bathrobe, him naked and wrapped in a towel and waiting to vomit again. I was sorry he was vomiting, and he was really sorry he was vomiting, but at the same time it was cozy together on the cold tile floor. He knew I loved him, and I knew I loved him, too. Later we both fell asleep in the playroom and were woken when he vomited on my chest. This is the easy part of being a mother.