My younger sister and her husband, who is newly married and now expecting their first child, watched our two boys the other night while my husband and I did some Christmas shopping.

After a few hours of kid (read stress) free shopping and feeling blissfully connected to my husband - we returned to my sister's house just to have her open the door frazzled, with a wild look in her eyes and my youngest cradled in her arms.

"He just puked." she simply stated.

I took him out of her arms and asked all of the proper questions. When, where, how many times, how much, what did he eat or drink before and after - compiling data as quickly as it was coming in to provide a complete analysis of the situation.

One time, on the floor, while he was laying down watching a movie, he didn't eat much dinner, no fever, and nothing else out of the ordinary other than a runny nose. So my first conclusion was that he did as many young kids have done before they learn to fully blow their nose. Gulp. Please don't make me explain this; I gag just thinking about it.

We wrapped our son in a borrowed, old towel and headed home. Unfortunately our son's favorite snuggly, a ratty old teddy bear he insisted on bringing home from the sand box in the park after some strange dog had been carrying it around in its mouth, was a casualty and had to go into the wash while my son was in the tub.

By the time we were done, everyone had gone to bed, so I turned off the lights and sat rocking my baby gently to soothe his broken heart until his Tata returned. We snuggled in content warmth, gazing at the lights of our Christmas tree, enjoying the idyllic quiet.

Then there was a noise that shook me out of my peaceful reprieve. It is a noise very similar to the one that pet owners are used to hearing while Fluffy or Spot works on ejecting the latest fur ball or grass slime while in the other room. However quieter, more subtle.

Too far from the nearest sink, toilet or trash can. Too close to my beautiful leather sofa, cream colored carpet and exquisitely decorated tree.

So with time of the essence, I sat back down in the glow of the Christmas tree lights with my dear child's face buried in my bosom, pulling the blanket in closer around us - waiting for the quiet of that dark night to return.