Sick southern softie

On Friday night I had planned to post a little thing about trying to follow in Mark’s footsteps having blitzed the kitchen to a level even he would be impressed by.  On Saturday night I was going to give an update on Trouble Monkey’s walking having lost him earlier that day when in Tesco’s (he had tottered off and was hiding amongst the ladies jackets). 

As it was both nights were spent soothing a sick little baby and all I managed to do on the blog front was upload I post I had written a few days earlier. 

Once again the nasty bugs from nursery have knocked my southern softie of a son down and, almost identical to the time he was ill just after Mark left, I have a pale, sicky little boy on my hands.  Thankfully he isn’t anywhere near as bad as he was last time – or at least not yet, but I’ve still had to change the bedding on his cot and my bed twice over the weekend and am currently (somewhat embarrassingly) typing away still in a jumper which has seen better days. 

At 11pm on Friday night Alby and I cuddled in front of the telly watching Baby Einstein: Beethoven, whilst Percy snored at my feet.  On Saturday night, having cancelled a Skype date with my best friend to do yet another emergency laundry load, I found myself waking up at 3am, lying across my bed, still in my jeans and jumper, with Alby beside me.  And tonight I have just, very carefully, climbed out of his cot hoping that my movement doesn’t wake him.

Poor little pale treasure.

Whilst I did manage to finish cleaning the kitchen yesterday, scrubbing areas I don’t think even Mark has managed to touch in the past year, sickness in the house just seems to render me useless. 

My brain turns off – I can see the crumbs on the floor, the dishes by the sink waiting to be scrubbed but I don’t have the wherewithal to actually pull it together get the jobs done, not even when Alby is sleeping. (In part I guess as I’m side tracked by the growing mountain of laundry but I think biology may also play a part).

Domestic goddess wannabe aside, even as a nurse I can be found wanting.  Conscious (as I was the last time he was ill) that feeding only makes him sick, I’ve tried not to just offer comfort that way and be more organised to ensure plenty of alternative sleeping options (Baby Einstein in DVD player, gloves and blankets by buggy).  But still there are times when he cries out and I just don’t know what to do. 

Whilst I’m sure medicine would do him the world of good he refuses it point blank.  My attempts to force feed him Tixylix have all resulted in me feeling like a bully as I pin my thrashing child day and both of us being covered in sweet, sticky glop (one of the reasons for the ever increasing laundry pile).

The silver lining to all of this is seeing my little man fall asleep beside me rather than latched onto me.  As I fret about feeing him to the point of sickness, three times now he has settled down at my side, our foreheads touching, my arm over his body.  It is the cutest, loveliest thing.