So my house is literally covered - dripping, really - in vomit. (Except not literally, because obviously.)
Monday night, Miss woke up crying and then BLEEEAARGH! All over her nighty-gown, blankets, pillow, and all 613 (5) stuffed animals she Must Sleep With.
Last night, Seth was barfing too much to enjoy our semi-regular, put the kids to bed and indulge in beer and good cheese date, then Junior decided to wake up barfing just as I got myself and the baby into bed. So that was another middle of the night tubby, another middle of night load of laundry, and another middle of the night bout of sighing, moaning, and generally feeling sorry for myself.
As for the baby, she's barfing with such gusto that I think she's doing it on purpose just to mess with me. It's to the point where if I even hear a wee intestinal gurgle I jump (and possibly yell a little in fear.)
She's in my head.
I'm at the point where I wish I was the one with the barfing problem. Except not.
