No, not the kind involving a church and lovely flowing white gowns. (That's a topic for a whole 'nother post that I currently have neither the time nor the inclination to write.)
Last night I received another christening, of sorts: MJ puked all over me. I have been spit up on more times than I can count, and by him in particular, but this is the first time I've actually been vomited on. And he did it up right: it was all over my shirt, on my pants, in and on my bra, on the carpet, in my hair, as well as being all over him and spattering a few flecks on his poor brother, who was sitting nearby.
It felt like a rite of passage of sorts. An unpleasant one, but a milestone nonetheless. . . like I'm *really* a mother now, LOL.
Ah, the things no one tells you to expect about motherhood. I can almost guarantee that Oprah has never cleaned puke out of one of her $75 Le Mystere bras.