Thursday morning started as any other. 4.30am Hurricane Boy wakes and comes into our bed. He climbs over the top and settles back to sleep in his favourite spot. Smack bang in the middle of mummy and daddy, arms on our pillows, feet on the dog. Our bed gets a bit full at times.
6 am, Hurricane boy wakes with a cough and a splutter. You know the type that turns into a chunder?! I spring into action! Jump straight out of bed, drag Hurricane Boy to the edge of the bed and hang him over the edge. I’d rather clean up vomit off my floor than in my bed. I send Handy Hubby for a towel and Hurricane Boy assures me that “I not be sick mummy”. I resettle him in bed and Mr Giggles wakes.
I leave Handy Hubby and Hurricane Boy in bed and start the morning. It travels like any other morning, until the deathly pale Hurricane Boy agrees to toast instead of weet bix for brekky. This would normally elicit screams and the onset of WWIII.
He picked at the toast, and then promptly grabbed his “bunny” and “bankie”, curled up into a ball on the lounge and laid down. ALARM BELLS!
And then I heard it, the rumble that could only signify that bad things are coming.
Spew. And more spew. And then some more. And just when you think your in the clear, a bit more. You could be mistaken for thinking that a sequel of “The Exorcist” was being filmed in my living room. On the plus side it was only the top end and no one else seems to be effected. So far.
In between mopping up spew, i was trying to keep a now speedy, crawling Mr Giggles out of the vomit bucket and away from his miserable brother. Thankfully I have a linen cupboard full of towels, a really good washing machine and a mother who was more than willing to help out by watching the little one while I mopped up after Hurricane Boy and got my shit together so we could take a trip to the doctors. Fingers crossed its all resolved and he’s on the mend.
God knows I deal with enough of it at work!