Life is what happens while you're making other plans...

It was going to be a blissful evening. I had planned a quiet night of Christmas gift wrapping once the kids were in bed. I was so looking forward to reviewing all the gifts I had carefully chosen for each recipient, getting that fuzzy feeling of knowing how much they're going to love their gifts. I was looking forward to some creative and colourful wrapping, and making pretty gift tags. I had it all planned - down to the frosty cold beer to sip while I worked.

Yes, I drink beer. I do it for two reasons. One, I like it. And two, my mother says it's un-ladylike, and that makes me want to do it even more.

Anyway, 8pm rolled around and everything was on track. Kids in bed, fed and happy. Nikhil had complained of some tummy ache, but he was medicated and asleep. I donned my rubber gloves and started the washing up, my last task before the much-anticipated wrapping session.

And then, Nikhil moaned.

Brad went up to check on him, and shouted down the stairs for reinforcements. I threw down the rubber gloves, and motored up the stairs, armed with towels. When I arrived on the scene, Brad had a shrieking Nikhil undressed in the bath, and I was deployed to the bedroom, where I discovered it.

Vomit. Puke. Regurgitation.

I tried to stifle my own gag reflex, and stoically set about the cleaning operations. Twice more, I lifted the toilet lid because I thought I was going to lose control and deposit my own dinner in the toilet bowl.

The worst of the mess cleaned up, I found there was still a mattress to strip and scrub, duvet covers to remove, and bedding to be replaced. And would you believe it, I couldn't find one bloody sheet to fit the bed. Where's the domestic worker when you need her???

Nikhil was washed and changed, but we still had to rehydrate him and re-medicate him. Then he only wanted me to put him back to bed (couldn't deny the poor guy that - he'd been through enough for one night).

Ten pm. I'm hot, sweaty, and drained. The dishes are almost washed, the gifts remain unwrapped, and my beer is warm and flat. And as a bonus, I have 2 extra loads of laundry to do tomorrow - one of sheets and clothes, one for the duvet.

I just have one question to ask, and I ask your forgiveness for even asking it: Why the heck do people continue to have children, generation after generation, without learning from previous generations?