I think Nora’s feeling a bit better. When I put her down for her morning nap, she looked around at her crib, smiled a little to herself, and pulled her blanket up over her face in the universal symbol for “Please just give me some SPACE, Mom. SHEESH.”
I grinned as I softly shut the door to her room, knowing that when she wakes up and I go in to pick her up, she’ll have a huge open-mouthed smile and be giggling and kicking with sheer joy that I’m back. All is right in the world.

Nora-bean,
Today you were sick with some kind of bug that made you throw up–not ‘spit-up,’ but real throwing up until there was only clear bile left in your tiny belly. You were so sweet about it, too. No crying, just your pale little face looking up at me trustingly from the bathtub, the beginnings of tears in the corners of your huge blue eyes. When we got you cleaned up, you sat on my lap, snuggling into me until you fell asleep. I’m so sorry that I couldn’t fix it for you, sweetheart. I can keep you clean and try feeding you a little apple juice every so often, and I can hope you feel me loving you through everything I do. We just have to wait it out, and I’m sorry about that.
I have a strange feeling that this is what parenting is going to be like a lot of the time.

Since Nora hates being on her tummy so much, she might skip crawling and go straight to walking. Blake’s already got her standing up against the furniture.