Monday was such a wonderful day here at home with the kids. I felt ready for this third baby to arrive. My 3 year old daughter and 17 month old son played nicely all day. At one point, my daughter was up to her old tricks and bonked my son on the head with a toy. He began to cry. She quickly said, "I sorry," kissed his forehead, and gave him a huge hug. The rest of the day was a breeze. They played on their own and seemed to even enjoy one another. I never had to put anyone in time out. They both ate well for lunch and then took their naps at the same time so I could sneak in a nap too. Yep, it was a wonderful day.

Then Tuesday happened! I woke up Tuesday morning, not feeling particularly well. I am 7 months pregnant, so that is to be expected, not to mention that my 17 month old woke up at 4:30am hungry. Though he went right to sleep after I fed him a bottle of milk, I had trouble getting back to sleep. So, tired and cranky I sat down to have my morning cup of coffee. The kids were climbing all over me. I ended up having to drink my coffee standing just so they wouldn't spill it.

Then my mouth began to water a bit and I felt a little nauseated. I didn't think much of it. I'm pregnant, nausea happens, but throwing up this late in the pregnancy is rare. Then I began to feel like I was going to vomit and couldn't stop it. I ran for the bathroom and tried to make the toilet and failed. What was even worse than my aim was that I was projectile vomiting. It looked like something from a horror movie. I desperately tried to stop it until I could get to the toilet, but it was no use. By the time the episode was over, I had vomited on the wall, back of the toilet, magazines, bath rug, sink counter, and floor. It was a mess. Then, pregnant and nauseated, I had to wrangle my two toddlers while cleaning up the disgusting disaster.

The rest of the morning I was so tired. Not only had I not slept well, but I had thrown up all of my coffee before the caffeine had a chance to kick in. I was too nauseous to even think about a second cup. I trudged through the morning, tending to the kids and counting the hours down until their nap time. During this time my son suddenly learned how to climb up on the coffee table. He would climb up, despite my protests, stand in the middle of the table and dance a little jig we like to call his "Happy Feet Dance." I would firmly point my finger at him and say, "No, get down." He would in turn look at me, point his finger and repeat "get down" and laugh. As I reached to get him off of the table, he sat down and started scooting his bottom all over the smooth surface and that's when I noticed the table was wet. "Great," I thought, "he has a leaky peepee diaper." So, I reached down to scoop him up and that's when I noticed the smell. Nope, not peepee! He had had diarrhea while doing his little jig and it had spilled out of his diaper and was now running down his legs and all over me. I began quickly cleaning him up, doing my best to keep him still so he wouldn't spread the yucky mess. My daughter then began playing with a toy truck on the coffee table! I yelled, "No touching table. Table yucky." All the while trying to hurriedly wrap up cleaning my son.

After cleaning my son, the table, my daughter, and her toys, it was nap time. I laid down for a well deserved break!