This week has been rubbish (hhmm, does anything good ever happen these days??). A got ill, then O (who took it much worse than her naturally) and then me. An excellent combination!
A was off school for 3 days and because of O's 3 day fever we were pretty much housebound. She was literally bouncing off the walls, sofa and me whilst poor feverish O clung to me desperately as he watched his overexcited sister. This is no party when you're nursing a fever yourself, but the lack of appetite was good for getting rid of excess weight.
By Saturday morning, everyone seemed to have recovered pretty much and off we trundled to a pre-arranged visit to some friends with young children in the afternoon. They had a beautiful house and A & O were happy to see so many new toys to play with. Come snack time, O then decided that the exquisite dining table and its expensive placemats were lacking something and thus decided to projectile decorate them himself. Even the Tommee Tippee bib overflowed with his work and I watched in embarrassment and horror as his "artwork" made its way all over my jeans. Now smart mummy always has a spare set of clothes or two for O but not-so-smart mummy never carries a set for herself. So despite my best attempts at cleaning myself up and rubbing alcohol hand gel into my jeans I smelt like .... Vomitted dairy is the worse type of vomit smell there is (is such a thing as good vomit smell??).
Our friends were very understanding, but I still felt very very bad for them and their other guests.
Despite O's regular projectile history, 99.9% of the time it was confined to when he was at home. Yesterday's episode was only the 2nd time he'd "released" elsewhere. Until today. We'd only popped downstairs for a quick bite for lunch and when my food came I plopped O back into his stroller and gave him a biscuit (which he has had on numerous occasions without much ado) to occupy him. Uh oh.
The employees of the restaurant didn't seem to notice what was going on, I was too busy trying to clean him off and prevent everything from pooling on the seat of the stroller. I left Hubby and A behind to pay the bill whilst I marched off home first but not before stopping to apologise to the middle aged couple (who didn't even offer us a napkin to help) in the next booth.
From the look on their face, you'd thought I'd smeared myself in dog poo, licked their food before making them eat it whilst insulting their mother. They obviously thought that I should go throw myself off something high for having a vomitting baby. For some stupid stupid reason, I let their reaction upset me more than my son being sick. I was furious at them and then at myself for letting it get to me.
Kids are napping now, I'm exhausted as I was sick in the sink after cleaning them up. I'm really hoping that next week will be a cheerier one, one with less angst and more patience in dealing with the kids and their demands. The muggy weather hasn't helped the tired and flary tempers at all. I promise not to write about vomit anymore.
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