Well last night was interesting, the boy had gone to bed pretty easily (I should’ve suspected something!) and I was feeling confident when I took the girl up to bed that she wouldn’t freak out and wake him up.
She didn’t, she was relatively quiet (playing her singing lion over and over doesn’t count.) I was distracted by a bad smell, while praying the boy hadn’t done a dirty nappy I was more than shocked to find he’d been sick a A LOT in his bed.
That meant lights on, waking up a grumpy boy, stripping him off as well as the bedding and reassembling. He forgave the early wake up call as he ran around the room like a crazy man playing with every toy he could in a manic few minutes. Toys are way more exciting when you’re meant to be tucked up in bed.
Luckily both kiddies went off to sleep with no real problems. (Hmmm)
Three hours later I go to bed and do my nightly tiptoe bedroom patrol to find an all too familiar scene. The boy had been sick AGAIN. This time I went into mild panic trying to work out how I could do all this with minimum side effects (ie waking up sleeping children.)
Waking the boy was inevitable but I needed to get the sheet off the bed so I attempted to do that magicians trick where they whip the table cloth off without so much as rattling a plate. Lets just say I wasn’t quite as successful and found myself hastily pulling off said sheet and dragging the boy out of his cot and into the bathroom quickly before the girl stirred. This was not what I needed on my way to bed.
Once again the boy was grumpy until he woke up properly and realised he was standing in the bath. Que lots of oohs and aahs. Once again he was stripped, cleaned, redressed, the (thankfully waterproof) mattress de-vommed, covered in a towel as I couldn’t find another sheet in the dark and boy redistributed back into cot all without so much as an eye opener from the girl. Just call me ninja mama.
Eventually I got into bed and then out again feeling too soon and nervously entered their room. Grateful isn’t sufficient a word to explain how I felt to find a nice clean boy in his cot.
The morning was hectic, the girl had her very last assessment at Birmingham University. We eventually arrived, a little late (as always) and she went off to ‘play.’
After her assessment they had a little farewell party for her which was very sweet and all the professors and students who have worked with her popped in for a chat. They’d even arranged a little present of a slinky which she always loved during her RIT sessions. I was very touched and it just proves to anyone who believed that they were only ‘studying her’ for their own benefits were mistaken.
We caught the train home feeling happy and sad at the same time as the study is the only therapy she receives so now it’s on me to fight to get her what she deserves. As we walked through the shops on the way home I looked down at my boy just in time to see him projectile vomit literally ALL OVER HIMSELF. It was one of those moments where you just have no idea what to do. Not only was he covered but also the pram. That warm glowy feeling I had before was most definitely extinguished.
Anyone whoever said parenting was easy, predictable or glamorous were lying or have a very expensive Nanny!