On completing her morning feed, C pukes an entire bottle up milk back up along the left hand side of my lower torso. Then she smacks her lips, turns to the right and repeats this performance, somehow finding a second entire bottle of milk in the recesses of her stomach. As I am half-sitting, half-lying in bed, this leaves a sort of Spewrin Shroud imprint of my crotch and thighs on the bedsheets, replicated entirely in milky sick.
V is also sick, stricken with a hacking cough that wakes her every other half hour (C, who has the same cough, fills in on the hour). F had it, and is now boisterously better, so now it's my turn too. I have, if I follow established patterns, about a week of nasty sore throat, headaches, fevers and generally crappiness to look forward on. Being vomited on does nothing to lift my spirits.
Being a sick parent is rubbish. The very worst. V and I grouse at each other. It's not that you don't feel sorry for your partner, but the news that they need a couple of hours to sleep means you're going to be handling the rest of the household solo. What you're thinking is "what bad luck, poor you, go and sleep, you've earned it after all your hard work and of course I'll look after everyone while you rest."
What you say is "Oh. Right. I'll look after the kids, then," and then go and sulk in a corner of the kitchen, having unreasonable conversations with yourself about how really it's your turn to have a morning off and don't they appreciate everything you've already done and what the hell? Who said you could be ill anyway, we didn't discuss that!
It was my turn to malinger today, creeping back to bed after breakfast. "Ha, welcome to my world," V said darkly. C's upchucking had reduced the available dry space in our bed to a narrow strip down one side, which I gratefully balanced on for a couple of hours. Then we took it turns to try and get C to eat something, adding juice or milk to her with the nervous air of two people playing late-game Jenga.
Happy New Year. Obviously I am filled with revitalised cheer and a spirit of optimism, although if anyone else wakes my children up with fireworks, I shall have words.
