It’s becoming a 5am date for Grace and I. I stumble to her room out of a dead sleep, woken by her desperate plea for someone to pleeeeeease come save her. And before I even open the door, I can smell the vomit. Why does it happen at 5am? I have no idea. It’s been at least weekly for the past month, and now twice this week. I then have to stumble to draw her a bath while hoping beyond hope that her crying doesn’t wake the boys. And then stumble down the stairs to quickly start washing all the bedding before the smell becomes permanent. Then stumble back up the stairs to disinfect her mattress, wash and dress her. And then clean out the bath which is left rimmed with chunks of last night’s dinner. I know many dates and nights out end in puke. Our days begin this way. She’s so lucky I’m head over heels in love with her. Little madame.