The plague has descended on the Warwick household. Hubs is poorly and I know it’s bad because he’s trying to be helpful. The more ill he is the more he tries to do. Wills so far is plague free but seems to be vomiting a lot more than usual.
His first chunder of the day usually occurs as soon as I’ve put a clean vest on him. I change the vest, put trousers on him, then a top which he throws up on. Mostly I think sod it and leave that on. If I’m lucky I’ll get a bib on and he’ll throw up on that. This coupled with the copious amounts of drool means we are getting through those bibs. Just what my washing pile needs, more sodding stuff.
In addition to having a slightly soggy baby I myself spend most of the day covered in regurgitated milk. I’m feeling less than glamourous at the moment, my hair continues to fall out at a seemingly alarming rate, having a shower consists of just getting wet and carefully applied make-up is a thing of the past. To add insult to injury, the hair missing from my head appears to be growing out of my chin and neck. So eau de sick is pretty much the least of my worries.
This Friday my husband is taking me out for our first date since we had William. He has brought me a dress and booked a lovely restaurant, his mum is babysitting for us and I have a decision to make. Does she come here are babysit or do we send him there for the night. Knowing that I am really torn about this hubs has told me I don’t have to decide until the day.
My head tells me we could do with a night off. His nan is more than capable of looking after him. He will be safe and he will be happy.
But I won’t be there when he wakes up, what if he needs me? What if he thinks I’ve left him? What if his nan and granddad can’t interpret his behaviour like I can? What if he has a nightmare and I’m not there?
I’m not sure I’m ready for him to be anywhere other than the cot beside me yet. Because as much as I’m fed up with being thrown-up on every five minutes and looking like I should be appearing on some sort of extreme make over programme, he’s my little boy, and he’s totally worth it.
In other news:
Wills is now able to grip things tightly. Unfortunately his favourite thing to grip is my bingo wings. (The arm fat at the top that hangs down when you lift your arms)
The cats continue to act indifferently towards us.
Hubs is on the mend.