Many, many years ago an event happened. I will not go into all of the details. It is sufficient to say: we were young, stupid and a little out of control. The important part of the story (at least in relation to this particular story I'm about to tell you) is that I threw up in my best friend Stacy's bra (among other places, such as my car, the steps to our apartment, etc, etc, etc).
This morning I woke up to Reagan throwing up and, well, explosive diahrea (poor, poor kid). This evening, the throwing up continued...and, much to my chagrin, the circle of life also continued and she threw up in MY bra.
There is nothing quite like having warm, sticky, smelly bodily fluids, along with chunks of partially digested banana, cascading over your skin. It's quite enough to make you want to thrust everything from you and run at breakneck speed into your shower.
However, being a mom, I held my baby close and told her it was going to be ok...while she puked down my bra a second time. Now, if that isn't true love...what is?