When a woman is newly pregnant, she reads all the books possible about child rearing, and imagines the perfect life that awaits her and her impending bundle of joy. You take the vitamins, you try to eat right, you buy the right products, and microwave lunch meat and avoid delicious soft cheeses.
Once your babe arrives, you follow all the directions about feeding, sleep, back sleeping, safety, etc. You're tired, but you're there for your child every second, and life is bliss. The new mom is full of the "love hormone", and the bond between mother and child is impenetrable.
Fast forward three years, and your little manic, crazy, and bi-polar toddler has gotten you sick. You seek to help them get better on no sleep for yourself, and you can barely stay awake to make sure that you read "Cowboy and Octopus" just one more damn time. After all, the sick child needs to feel comforted.
Then later that day, you have a coughing fit while brushing your teeth, which starts a chain reaction of throwing up. The throwing up makes you throw up some more because um, gross.
As you hang your head over the toilet feeling sorry for yourself, you realize that all the kegals you did while pregnant have failed you, and you've peed your pants just a little during the coughing and vomiting-poloza.
In the other room, Patient Zero sleeps. Nary a worry in their little toe-head head.