36 hours of torture, anyone?
I’m trying to decide if I can post this tonight. I really shouldn’t. I’m writing this now – yes actually now, (well, when it’s first published) and my eyes are heavy and stomach still sore. It’s been a painful beginning to the week… And I really need to go to bed. But it’s been quiet on the blog (all will be explained) so hey-ho, let’s do this one without too much thought before I press the big button of ‘publish’ness.
What a lovely weekend we had. Family, food, fun blah blah blah. Sunday afternoon, I didn’t feel great though. Sunday night was a world of pain. All I will say is it involved countless trips to the bathroom, I saw every hour of the night and at one stage I didn’t know which way to turn. In a literal sense.
Oh, and then one child needed new bedsheets at 3am and the other was awake at 5am for the day. Screaming.
Have you ever looked after two small children when you were ill? And I don’t mean feeling a bit off or a snotty cold. Actually broken. If you haven’t, or don’t have children yet, LUCKY YOU. It. Is. Horrendous.
Deciding between the safety of your now crawling 9 month old and the urgency of your bathroom trip is completely miserable, especially with a sleep deprived and thumping head.
And “MUMMY MUMMY MUMMY can you set up my Scalextric track? Little’s P’s eating my car again! What’s for luuuuunch?” whilst jumping around like the Duracell Bunny makes waterboarding a more preferable choice of torture.
But I did it! We survived! There were even moments where the telly wasn’t on! And I feel slightly like a Superhero now – but mainly glad to be alive. (And very thankful for every day I feel well now. Nothing like a good kick up the backside about that, is there?)
Put nicely by my lovely little boy when I was actually talking to him – not just existing and ‘mm-hmm’-ing whilst dying – “Mummy you’re working again!”
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