Death, much better than this

Friday night: after two days of taking care of a sick child by myself, I got her to bed and settled down for a well-deserved break. I had a bottle of red on standby, a baked potato in the oven, and a dvd ready to go. But suddenly the baked potato didn’t seem so appealing and the thought of drinking wine was making me gag and I was so tired that I couldn’t believe my eyes when the clock read only 8.30. I was afraid I was coming down with whatever the Noble Child had been ill with and thought it best if I go to bed in case it was a long night. Boy, was I right. I was up no less than six times in the night, kneeling before that cruelest of deities, the Porcelain God. The babe woke up at 2am and I tried to get her to sleep in bed with us in the vain hope that she would sleep later but to no avail. The girl is an independent sleeper and doesn’t like to be cuddled in bed. So back to her room she went.

Saturday morning: The Noble Child awakens again at 6am. I force Paul out of bed and tell him to get her while I do my little dance between the toilet (to puke), the sink (to wash hands and brush teeth), the kitchen (for fresh water) and the bed (to DIE). He lasted until nearly 9am whereupon he announced that he too was feeling ill and needed to come back to bed. I could’ve killed him. I’d taken care of a sick baby for two days with no help from him and now that I was sick there was no one to take care of me. The nerve! Hmmph. After goading him and accusing him of just being hungover or lying through his teeth to get out of baby duty, I saw how green he looked and recognised that look. Aww shit. We both had it — bad.

Saturday — noon: In an increasingly lethargic state, unable to pick up The Noble Child or play with her in between bouts of Toilet Tango, I began to panic. There was simply no way I could cope with looking after her all day and night in this state. I began calling for help. First, my inlaws. They were out of town shopping and wouldn’t be back for another couple hours. Shit. So I called Lisa, who lives very nearby. She’s pregnant so can’t risk getting this shit but I hoped her husband or brother could help out, take the kid out for a couple hours or something. But they were doing a construction project on their bathroom and couldn’t leave it. Double shit. Lisa called Sara who said she could come over at 1.30. Even though that was only 90 minutes away, it seemed like an eternity. I cried at the thought of another long hour and a half of trying to chase after a crawling baby and keep her out of the bathroom and listening to her cry while I was heaving my guts up on the bathroom floor. Finally, Sara arrived and whisked Amelia away in her pushchair so I could crawl back into bed. Sweet relief! Paul’s parents arrived just as Sara was bringing her back so they just did a handoff and didn’t even wake us up. Bless their hearts. I owe them all BIG TIME.

Saturday night: Paul’s parents brought Amelia back at her bedtime and got her to bed and went to the store and got us some Sick People Essentials like Lucozade, grapes and crackers, and left us in peace on the sofa. I nibbled on two grapes and drank about a gallon of Lucozade and crashed out at 8pm. Paul fell asleep on the couch, too tired to move. We were such a pitiful state. We were too tired to even watch tv. The thought of hearing voices and having to comprehend English didn’t seem like a feasible thing at the time. At least the puking portion of the day was over though.

Sunday morning: Amelia up at 6am. I did early baby duty and didn’t feel all that bad, just extremely weak and tired. Paul’s parents picked Amelia up at 7.30 and took her for the entire day so we could rest some more, get ourselves and the house back in order. I seriously don’t know what we would’ve done without them. I shudder to think.

I wouldn’t wish that nasty bug (aka The Stomach Virus That Fucked Me, Repeatedly, Until I Begged For Mercy) on my worst enemy. Well, I could think of a couple people….