Pukes and Whinges

Last night William vommed every thirty minutes throughout the night. He handled it with good grace and interest (pointing in to puddle of sick ‘Is that my tummy bug? Have I sicked it out?’). 

Unlike his brother who whinged wailed and whined intermittently all night. And all morning. 

With the heavy realisation I couldn’t, in all good faith, send W to nursery, and the realisation Alex was already operating on six times the recommended dose of Calpol, I shoved the lot of us in to the car and headed to my mum’s. 

My parents’ live three hours away and those little beauties slept the whole way. Glorious. I even managed a McD’s drive through at Thetford without them waking. I ordered a coffee, a tea and a mocha and drank all three by the end of the Elveden bypass. Made me love that dual carriage way all the more. 

Anyway, I’m writing this at mum and dad’s kitchen table while I drink a bottle of Bass and wait for bedtime. Roll on 9 o’clock.  

Before Calpol and grandparents.
Bonfires and horizons through haze of baby Neurofen

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