To all you childless folks out there: if you decide to have children, I have a warning. It will be unrelentlessly messy. You will need to develop the indifference of a medical professional (preferably a maternity ward nurse) to ALL bodily fluids. And you will also have to be okay with those bodily fluids covering your person. Lil' Puddin' Tater is sick (...again) and when she is sick with any sort of respiratory infection, she hurls. Lots. And I should already know the signs by now: she looks pained and begins to whimper and cry with no apparent reason. Silly me, instead of rushing her to the bathroom (where she prefers the sink to the toilet for all purposes vomiting-realted, and there's no resaoning with her) when all this began, I foolishly held her in my arms while sitting on our (somehow, it's never hers) bed. And I was promptly covered in dinner and all evening medication, plus mucus and a little stomach acid. She rushes, in the buff, to the sink in the bathroom and throws up again, except that since this throw up contains food chunks, the sink stops up. (usually, it's in the wee hours of the morning when this happens and she's expelling snotty mucus that she had inadvertantly swallowed, and it goes through the literal pipes much easier.) We both hop in the bathtub, since we're both covered in a stinky film, and suddenly she better and asking questions about my boobs. I quickly rinse and se asks if she can play for awhile, and I am left with the disgsting task of cleaning up all things vomit-soiled. My clothing, the towels in the bathroom, our comforter, and the floor. And it's really an interesting smell, that of all-purpose cleaner (method brand, in case LPT wants to inhale too closely) mixed with throw-up. At least there's a 2-foot section of the floor in the bedroom that is REALLY clean now, since usually I cannot be bothered to get down on all fours and wipe the floor down with a cloth. So now, LPT is in the tub, singing happily. Me, I just feel a little dirtier.

P.S. I feel like a complete tool since my post in which I bitched and moaned about having gestational diabetes. I spoke to an old friend and he was very nice in welcoming me to the wonderful world of diabetes. When I asked if he had familiarity with it (since to my recollection, he himself was not afflicted), he responded yes, his wife had type 1. Now, I'm not sure if anyone is familiar with the difference between type 1 & 2 and gestational diabetes, but gestational diabetes is pretty much a cake walk compared to type 1. The way I see it, GD requires slight temporary altering of diet (and possibly exercise) and just thinking a lot more about what goes in (and out - lovely ketone strips!) to your body while still in the family way. Type 1, however, requires (lots of) maintenance to stay alive, and even if you do everythign right, it's still sometimes a little sticky. So I would like to issue an apology (even though I was assured that none was needed) for my petty complaining because I can't eat cookie dough straight from the tube for awhile or binge-eat Honeycomb cereal. I may have to stick my finger four times a day and pee on little plastic strips, but I don't have to worry that if I don't do everything 100%, my life could be in jepoardy. And to L: you are an amazing person.