welcome to puke town, population us.

There is really nothing quite like it... There mummy sits, peacefully feeding her baby in their favourite spot on the couch...child lays back on a feather pillow, mummy reclines with her head on a velvet pillow... its an archetypal image of gentle beauty, of calmness, of sweet scented tops of baby's heads, and of a moment to enjoy the loving bond between mother and child.  The little angel gazes into mummy's eyes sleepily, her little fingers toy with mummy's, upsy daisy sings a merry tune on the dvd... all is good in the world.   And then it happens... the wee cherub looks concerned, opens her mouth, maybe lets out a little burp, and then it comes... the flood.... the fountain... the tsunami.  From her delicate wee mouth pours a river of the entire day's curdled milk and partially digested pureed vegetables... and still it comes... and that sweet little mouth becomes the gateway of puke town.  And still it comes...she looks horrified, mummy is horrified - and is wearing it all, from chest to knee... and still it comes and soon there is a mini-swimming pool around mummy's bottom where it nestles into the couch... the overflow floods the pillow, the rest of the couch, and avalanches onto the floor...
There is nothing to do but let it all come...then when it is finally over, with a cough and a wail, cautiously lift the child, trying to hold onto the pool in her lap, and slip slop into the shower, dribbling unhappily into the carpet along the way.  Mummy and child sit under the shower and peel off their clothes as the drain clogs and the stench infiltrates mummy's pores.  Even long after the shower she can still feel the bits of her that have been bathed in today's puke treatment, and it ain't no day spa feeling.
So then its time to wash the child, dry the child, sooth the child, re-feed the child, settle the child to sleep.... and then mummy has the lovely task of putting everything in the washing, getting re-dressed herself, cleaning up the pools of congealing puke on the couch and floor, disinfecting surfaces... and then finally she might be able to face cooking some dinner for herself, or perhaps just collapse on the slightly damp couch with a stiff drink.  Again....

All I can say is Bluck.  This is not the fun bit.