Holy Toledo Batman nobody told me about this part! If you think it’s bad when your kids get sick when they are little, wait until they get BIG. I mean, if you think about it logically it makes sense; bigger little person, bigger sick. But somehow this has come as somewhat of a shock to me. I think possibly tonight it could be due to the fact I have spent the entire day, and I mean entire day clearing up sick. Actually some people consider 5am still to be nighttime! This all began at 5am this morning and is seemingly showing no signs of slowing down whatsoever.
Many times have I had the “2 versus 3” conversation with fellow females that can’t bare the thought of “not doing it again.” You know, pregnancy, birth (ok so realistically not many wish to do that bit again) and then of course the all important baby bit. Are they really ready to hang up their baby making shoes? But wouldn’t Franella and Francesca greatly benefit from having a little brother or sister? What if my ovaries dry up and my sex life is done forever?? Ladies. Let’s be real about this. God gave you two arms. He gave you two legs, two feet and mot importantly, two hands. Now you do the math.
So my wake up call this morning was that of my 9 year old ceremoniously vomiting all over the floor of my en suite and calling to me as he was also swiftly discovering he had a rather unpleasant case of diarrhea. What a peach! Having cleared up both the floor and the child, I proceeded to start making plans for the day ahead, quickly realizing as us mothers do, that I was distinctly fucked from that moment forward with two other children to awaken and get ready for school not to mention a school run and then work. My youngest is a nightmare on wax in the morning and I would have had more joy waking the dead so despite my best efforts of guilt-laying that his dear darling brother was in fact extremely unwell and I/he needed youngest child’s help this morning like the superstar he is etc etc etc, this morning’s wake up call was no less harrowing than any other. The eldest is pretty good in general with a few nudges so he was happy to go about his business.
As we all know, when a man does one or maybe even two jobs in the home, we will generally be presented with a running commentary of what exactly he did, how he did it and how he now, sat on the sofa with a beer, needs a rest. Alright, so this may be a somewhat clichéd picture painted but I know you know what I mean. This morning I cleaned up the middle child (several times), showered and dressed (even applied eye liner and mascara), woke more children having laid out their uniforms (even though I am the meanest mummy EVER and I NEVER do ANYTHING to help them), ran downstairs (though this sounds like a normal a task as ever, please bare in mind at this point that I live in a four story town house and my bedroom is on the top floor), fed the cat, changed the washing over, emptied the litter tray and whizzed back upstairs to once again clean up middle child before elegantly placing bowls of cereal on the breakfast table for the other two (no I didn’t so much as throw them…). Long story short, I managed to get everyone in the car, middle child throwing up into the bowl he was clutching as he came down the four flights of stairs, got everyone to school and came back home with the sick one. I then hoovered the ground floor and sorted some more washing, all the while checking on the middle child who was now in the spare bedroom to save me one flight of stairs each trip.
After a little time he decided he was feeling up to coming to sit on the sofa (my brand spanking new sofa I might add), so I set him up on a towel and continued pottering about in the kitchen etc. I could hear the cat scratching at the carpet. You know the way they do, just to piss you off and pull bits out of different areas of the carpet. I walked out of the kitchen, started to go down the stairs and there she is having a pooh on the carpet!!! I ran down and put the liner and litter in the tray, apologized profusely to the cat and cursed her under my breath as the stench hit me whilst clearing it up. This is a day that just keeps on giving.
Fast forward several hours, middle child is being rather wonderful in not making a fuss about having to go in the car once again though to collect his brothers from school this time. We make it home unscathed though both brothers are not in the best of moods, which is disappointing after such a trying day in the home. I made an executive decision that they were either tired or sickening for the same bug so we had a film together to chill. The eldest had popcorn with me and the youngest asked for Cheerios mixed with Crunchie Nut Cornflakes and milk. With a glass of milk on the side. We watched “Bratz” the movie (I will admit I do like the song at the end) and Cofi announced he wasn’t feeling well so went to lie down in the spare room. At this point now, I have been up and down the stairs so many times my thighs actually hurt. I have done that many loads of washing AND folded it all, I think I deserve a prize. I have cleaned every bathroom to within an inch of it’s life, gone through countless bottles of bleach and anti-bac wipes, and washed my hands so many times they are already red raw and sore. For one child to get a sick bug sucks. Two? Yeah that is pretty unlucky. But three?? All with sickness and explosive diarrhea?! It has not been my best day I gotta tell you.
My boys are exceptionally good at being sick. They do not make a fuss, they tend not to cry (not that there’s anything wrong with crying), or be mela-dramatic. I put this down to my coldness when they were little. The eldest suffered from projectile vomiting, I say he suffered, I beg to differ that it was in fact me scraping sweetcorn from the walls and finding weird and wonderful chunks everywhere after an episode but who am I to judge. If I were to chance upon my son when he was drenched in vomit from head to toe, I would carry him in my fingertips by his armpits to the bathroom where I would strip him and shower him in the bath before wrapping him in a soft, fluffy towel, offering him a great big comforting mummy cuddle. Why on earth would I want to get covered in vomit as well as the child? That makes double as much work, there are beds to be stripped at this point, a child to be cleaned and put back to sleep and the last thing I want is to have second hand carrots dripping down my cleavage and to be making yet another trip to my washing machine which was outside at the time! Needless to say, not one of my three boys is dramatic or ridiculous when it comes to being sick. And I for one, happen to be quite proud of that fact. They know you are either sick in the bowl or sick in the toilet. Those are your two options. This is neither unreasonable nor unrealistic as my children have been trained almost from birth and have never made any objections.
It’s amazing how big kids get sick and all hell breaks loose. My boys are generally very good about being poorly, especially when it’s the dreaded sick bug, but my God is it hard work when all three of them go down at the same time! Talk about a welcome to single motherhood! When it’s all over, and tomorrow they pootle off to their fathers for their midweek visit, enjoying a cheeky day off school, I have no doubt in my mind that I will come down with it hard and fast and the next few days will be an absolute write off!! Ah the joys.