Okay, so, I'm pretty lame. Last night I was in bed by 11:30, and that was after I got up to put away soup and start a load of laundry. We started out the evening (at least, the post-Sylvia portion of it) with a Sanctuary marathon. I lasted all of about 10 minutes before I was gone, which is ultimately why we both decided staying up to ring in the new year officially was probably a waste of good sleep time. It's amazing how tiring having a two-year-old is, and what a fuddy-duddy having a kid makes us at least.
At some point during the night, Sylvia came in to bed with us. She woke me up and I pulled her up into the bed, at which point I thought she smelled a little funny. A bit like chocolate and fruit juice. I figured she'd spilled some on her clothes, and the smell was kind of nauseating (as it has been since Sylvia projectile vomited fruit juice at Uncle Philip's wedding two years ago), so I pulled off her shirt and then let her go to sleep next to me.
This morning, Sylvia got up and went to her room for a book, and then came back and informed me her bed was "poopy." I wasn't sure what she meant, so I went into her room and discovered she'd puked all over her bed, The fruity, chocolaty smelling stuff coated her pillows, both the regular one and her pillow pet; her new bedsheets and (fortunately) her new mattress cover; and the Smilodon Derrick put her to bed with. At that point I realized why Sylvia smelled the way she did when she crawled into bed with me and I was suddenly very glad I'd pulled her shirt off, though still grossed out by the flakes of dried vomit that transferred themselves from Sylvia's hair to my bed. Derrick was nice enough to take care of the laundry while I cleaned up Sylvia, for which I am very grateful. Not quite what we were hoping to do to start the year off right.