Thursday night, at around midnight, I heard Lucy calling my name.

"Mama!" she called."Mama! Mamacita!"

I stuck my head into her room to find she'd thrown up -- all over the crib, all over herself, all over her blanket and sheets.

"Oh, no!" I said.

"Oh, Jesus!" said Lu.

We got her cleaned off, changed her into fresh pajamas, put fresh sheets on the bed, and then -- "Poo coming!" Lucy moaned, and threw up again all over everything.

We cleaned her off, changed her clothes, stripped the bed again. "Poo," she said sadly.

"Well, that actually wasn't poo. That was vomit."

"Vo-mit," said Lu.

She's been out of sorts and a little feverish on and off since then, and saying "vomit" a lot. (Also "Oh, Jesus," which has been getting us some strange looks out in public).

Meanwhile, I read the funniest book ever, which is going to be published this summer -- Chelsea Handler's MY HORIZONTAL LIFE: A COLLECTION OF ONE-NIGHT STANDS. It is hilarious. She writes like Judy Blume, if Judy Blume were into vodka, Ecstasy, and sleeping with midgets, and that's the quote I gave her publisher. I just hope Judy Blume, and her lawyers, take it in the spirit with which it was intended.

Jen