On Monday morning I awoke around 4 AM thinking I had heard Connor. I heard another cry and thought, "Oh dear." I dragged myself out of bed to find a bomb of throw-up had exploded in Connor's room. Usually Byron doesn't hear Connor in the night and hence doesn't get up, but this time I needed back-up. The lights came on and a call for Dad was made and we were all up working on the mess. I felt so bad for Connor as he was clearly traumatized by the whole thing. He kept on telling us he had thrown-up fruit snacks. I thought, "Yep, and a whole lot else little buddy." Byron worked on the bedding while I worked on cleaning up Connor. I stayed up with Connor watching Finding Nemo to see if he would throw up again and to wait for the wash to finish so I could put it in the dryer. We had one more "experience" but then Connor went down fine again at 5 and slept till 10:00--good buddy! He was hungry and asking for food when he woke up so I started him off on a few plain Chex and about an ounce of apple juice. He was keeping the food down but the diarrhea started. Joy. So while I was on my hands and knees cleaning up poopy diapers and the poop I found on the floor, Connor seemed happy and doing much better. I let myself think, "Oh good, looks like we're getting past the worst of it." Why do I think things like that? I came back into the front room after having thrown in another load of dirty laundry when I saw "the look". I've seen "the look" too many times to mistake it for anything else so I picked up Connor, threw his last clean blankie to the side to save it from the oncoming on-slaught, and ran to the kitchen with Connor facing away from me. We were rounding the corner and had almost made it to the sink when it came...the throw-up. Big time. I proceeded to slip and fall in the fresh throw-up but somehow managed to keep Connor off the floor and safe. In the process though I hit my knee and elbow really hard on the floor (I have a nice blue bump to show for it) and I hit a fold up table we have (it was folded up leaning against the cabinets) and it fell on my foot, ouch. By the time I got us off the floor the throw-up episode had passed and we were both covered in it. As a true mother, I didn't feel the throw-up or shots of pain until after Connor was clean and comforted. Then I sat down and just had to laugh. Wow, talk about the low point of the day. I was so exhausted that I let the throw-up dry on me while I cleaned up the kitchen and Connor, and then fell fast asleep in my non-made bed when Connor went down for a nap. When I woke up and realized the grotesque state I was in, I hopped in the shower and then washed ALL of our bedding. Ahhh, it felt good to be clean again. I told my friend that story and she said I had earned some "Mommy Stripes" that day. We really are willing to sacrifice anything for our kids. I really do love being Connor's Mom.