Friday, October 03, 2014


I've been waiting for this moment, with hovering dread, since he was born.

I knew it was going to happen at some point, and I knew that when it did, it was going to be most foul.

Sebastian and I have been half lucky, half very very vigilant, not to be sick yet. This is why I give myself a veggie smoothie every morning, take all my pills and watch myself.

I also hoped, as he was being breastfed (now he is still getting a very small amount of my milk, just enough, I hope, to top up his antibodies to avoid getting really ill, like 'flu and whatnot), that he would avoid all the baby AIDS and lurgies around.

We have managed to, up until two nights ago.

I started to feel like Captain Vomitbucket in the afternoon, but like most things, tried to ignore it as I just don't have time to feel sick.
I was also having a friend over for dinner, and the Brit was still on his way back from working in Germany.

Put Sebby to bed, and around 8:30pm I started to feel the Thing. That unmistakable feeling whereby a cork being is being dislodged at the base of your oesophagus, and you're going to blow.

Then Sebby started screaming. So I went to his room, and immediately saw him literally lying in a massive, horrible puddle of vomit - the largest I'd ever seen. Was this little baby even capable of expelling so much?
Him and I were in shock - as myself, my friend and I stripped his bed, showered him down and sorted him out.
After putting him back down, I started to lose my lunch, breakfast, dinner, head over the bath.
And therein for 24 hours, that's how it was.
The Brit came back from Germany and was thrown into Daddy Daycare and doing five loads of laundry.

I could hear him running around, not being able to sit for very long, while he got on with everything. Coming into the room sweating, every now and then with a piece of dry toast:

"What time is his bottle again? What food do I give him for lunch? How long does he sleep again? Where is the Calpol?"

You just can't indluge in your own sickness when you have a child. You want someone to mop your brow, bring you chicken soup, basically be your mum, but you can't when you have boobs that need to feed a baby, and all the other stuff that goes on.

The Brit admitted how much hard work it is looking after a baby (and wife, especially when both aren't well), and the poor guy even managed to make dinner at the end of the day, and ensure nothing fell apart.

It's a very special birthday for him next week, and I can't wait to spoil him.

1 comment:

Val said...

Ah shame! Hope you have both recovered now and that the upcoming birthday will be magical. Happy Birthday Brit!