Plague House
This week we've been wearing bells around our necks and painting warning signs over our front door - yes, it's plague house! Don't read this if you're squeamish!
Both of the boys and myself have been struck down with some sort of sickness bug which has included a decent dose of diarrhoea action as well. NB started with it on Saturday afternoon, waking up from his nap and vomiting all over his bed.
I like to work smart not hard, so I cleaned him up, brought him downstairs, laid down plastic sheeting and towels and made him a little 'vomit-proof' bed in the lounge while I stripped the cot sheets and put in a wash. About half an hour later, he crawled off his little safe area and vomited liberally all over the sofa. At this point I realised that had I had the appropriate experience I would have known not to put the washing machine on straight away - should have waited for the follow up.
Undaunted, I reassembled the vomit-proof bed and laid him on it, all sad and droopy. Meanwhile, OB woke up from his nap and had to be physically restrained from bothering NB with toys, hugs and other annoying intrusions. Perhaps because of OB's ministrations, NB soon decided that he was feeling better and would get off his little bed and start playing with his toys again. I was delighted to see him doing so well.
Fifteen minutes later he vomited on the carpet, towels and toys.
Thankfully, NB seemed to be fine by Sunday morning and we all got on with our lives as usual. Those of you who are parents may well be laughing indulgently at me now. It simply never occured to me that when a bug hits one member of a household of dribbly, huggy, kissy kids, soon everybody will suffer! Yeah, I'll know better next time!
It hit me and OB on Tuesday evening. I'm not bad with vomit - it doesn't bother me that much - but trying to mop up someone else's when you're practically stuffing your socks in your mouth to keep your own lunch down is less than ideal.
Still, we all survived the night. I finally stopped being sick at about 2am and OB, having missed his bedtime milk, woke up starving at 4.30 and decided that his day had begun. When I went to get him up there was a puddle of sick on his sheet - don't know at what point in the night he did that, but the monitor didn't pick anything up!
I think that's the most stressful thing about the little ones being sick - there's no warning. They're just sitting there playing with their toys and then suddenly, partially digested tangerine pieces are falling out of them. It's made me paranoid every time one of them hiccups or coughs.
Yesterday we spent the day recovering slowly. Well, at least I did. The boys seemed fine in general and enjoyed having 'crawling on the adult' competitions which wasn't all that welcome considering the state my poor stomach was in. At one point NB did gip up a bit of his tea onto his leg and had managed to pick a bit of ravioli up and eat it before I got to him. Pleasant.
This morning, however, we had a new form of torture. Went to get NB up and he had diarrhoea literally in his armpits. Straight from bed to shower, and I didn't even try to save his vest.
And so the washing machine rumbles on ...
Both of the boys and myself have been struck down with some sort of sickness bug which has included a decent dose of diarrhoea action as well. NB started with it on Saturday afternoon, waking up from his nap and vomiting all over his bed.
I like to work smart not hard, so I cleaned him up, brought him downstairs, laid down plastic sheeting and towels and made him a little 'vomit-proof' bed in the lounge while I stripped the cot sheets and put in a wash. About half an hour later, he crawled off his little safe area and vomited liberally all over the sofa. At this point I realised that had I had the appropriate experience I would have known not to put the washing machine on straight away - should have waited for the follow up.
Undaunted, I reassembled the vomit-proof bed and laid him on it, all sad and droopy. Meanwhile, OB woke up from his nap and had to be physically restrained from bothering NB with toys, hugs and other annoying intrusions. Perhaps because of OB's ministrations, NB soon decided that he was feeling better and would get off his little bed and start playing with his toys again. I was delighted to see him doing so well.
Fifteen minutes later he vomited on the carpet, towels and toys.
Thankfully, NB seemed to be fine by Sunday morning and we all got on with our lives as usual. Those of you who are parents may well be laughing indulgently at me now. It simply never occured to me that when a bug hits one member of a household of dribbly, huggy, kissy kids, soon everybody will suffer! Yeah, I'll know better next time!
It hit me and OB on Tuesday evening. I'm not bad with vomit - it doesn't bother me that much - but trying to mop up someone else's when you're practically stuffing your socks in your mouth to keep your own lunch down is less than ideal.
Still, we all survived the night. I finally stopped being sick at about 2am and OB, having missed his bedtime milk, woke up starving at 4.30 and decided that his day had begun. When I went to get him up there was a puddle of sick on his sheet - don't know at what point in the night he did that, but the monitor didn't pick anything up!
I think that's the most stressful thing about the little ones being sick - there's no warning. They're just sitting there playing with their toys and then suddenly, partially digested tangerine pieces are falling out of them. It's made me paranoid every time one of them hiccups or coughs.
Yesterday we spent the day recovering slowly. Well, at least I did. The boys seemed fine in general and enjoyed having 'crawling on the adult' competitions which wasn't all that welcome considering the state my poor stomach was in. At one point NB did gip up a bit of his tea onto his leg and had managed to pick a bit of ravioli up and eat it before I got to him. Pleasant.
This morning, however, we had a new form of torture. Went to get NB up and he had diarrhoea literally in his armpits. Straight from bed to shower, and I didn't even try to save his vest.
And so the washing machine rumbles on ...
Interested to know whether ALL soiled washing made it machine or, as in my case sometimes, some vests etc that are just beyond help go staright in the bin? x
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