No, really. This is the good stuff.

Last night we went to check in on Molly like we do every night after she's gone to sleep and discovered that she had barfed all over her crib and was sleeping in a pile of vomit. Gross.

Off came the sheets, the mattress cover, the blanket, Molly's pajamas ... all in the wash for an emergency laundry cycle. After, of course, carefully sifting through the vomit for clues as to what she ate that could have made her sick.

Pretty crummy way to cap the day, huh?

But it wasn't though. As I sat on the toilet seat with Molly in my arms, keeping her warm while Mom combed the chunks out of her hair, I choked up with how much love I feel for this tiny little naked human being clutched to my chest. It was the same feeling I had when she was really little, just a few months old, and she had her first real fever and I sat in the glider chair for hours with her sleeping in my lap. I think it's the feeling of love that only a parent can have for a child.

I love seeing Molly developing from a baby into a child and I'm so proud of the steps she makes along the way, big and small. I was so thrilled when she starting walking and made a sudden leap of independence to be able to ambulate where she wanted to go. I love that she's almost talking and I go a little weak in the knees when she says "daddy." But the moments when I feel fatherhood is the most fulfilling are when she needs comforting. Like when she's sick and she just needs to be held and hugged and gently rocked to sleep.

It was pretty late by the time we got her cleaned off and into a fresh set of pajamas. She was strangely calm during the whole ordeal, even though we'd woken her up abruptly to strip her down and wipe her down with wet washcloths. After making her crib up, we got her down and she just laid there looking up at us. She's been going to sleep like that lately, and we've been encouraging it because it's good for her to learn to go to sleep on her own.

Still, I was still worried that she might throw up again and I didn't want to leave her so I threw the futon mattress down on the floor next to her crib and camped out for the night. She never cried out like I kept expecting her to. Instead she just pressed her face close to the slats of her crib and looked at me in the darkness, blinking slowly. I dozed off after a bit and when I woke again, close to midnight, I leaned in close to see her eyes and she was still looking, still blinking, still quiet.