- Last updated 10/30/10 by Mothering Editorial
By Emily StrongWeb Exclusive - June 19, 2006 I scoot closer to the edge of Miranda's couch as nausea, like the itsy-bitsy spider, climbs up my esophagus. My options are to make a beeline for the potted ficus or to navigate the minefield of toddlers at my feet to reach the bathroom. Pride and a fear that seeing me puking on “mommy's favorite tree" might leave scars on two-year-old minds, force me to choose the latter. I dart right to avoid a tea party, jog left to miss the music circle, and attempt a long jump over train tracks. Landing squarely on Thomas the Tank... read more



