Last night I spent about an hour and a half trying to get the little angel, who has been ill, to go to bed.  She took a three-hour nap yesterday (my bad, I was trying to work) and would have none of her 8:15 bedtime.  Finally, I got disgusted and left her room, at which time she threw herself on the floor, wailing.  I went downstairs until ten minutes later I heard a weird gagging noise.  I looked over at my beloved.  He didn't recognize the sound.

"She's puking," I said, and we both thundered up the stairs. 

The little angel was staring at her bed.  "Look at what I made, Mommy," she said.

I briefly envisioned a two-and-a-half-year-old bulimic, but then decided she probably just got so upset she puked.  We held her and comforted her, and eventually my beloved took over because my nerves were fried, and I was beginning to feel the way I do today, which is like utter and complete shit.

So here's hoping we can get her to sleep tonight with less drama.  Oh, and there's a new book review up - the gay friend from My Best Friend's Wedding writes one hell of an autobiography.