Rites of passage
The time is 23h20. You wake up… you’re not sure why. The three year old is sleeping in your bed because she’s not feeling well. Your wife is sleeping in the other bedroom with the 7 month old. Your foot is throbbing slightly… because it’s broken.
Suddenly the three year old sits up in bed, makes a concerning gagging sound and then vomits all over you…
Warmth. But not the good kind.
You’re in a bit of a pickle. You can’t exactly leap up and into action… so you do what any grown man would do under the circumstances… you phone your wife from the opposite side of the house to come and assist you.
Fish fingers and French fries and grape juice. In case you’re interested. Still quite chunky. Like more chunky that you’d expect after three or four hours of digestion.
The Basset wakes up. Ooh fish fingers. Yum! You try to dissuade that vile creature from partaking in the second hand sustenance while trying to wipe down the pillows, sheets, wall… husband. I am obviously relegated to last on the list of priorities (as usual). ‘Want to come sleep by mommy?’ She nods. Everyone exits stage left, except me.
Ok… well… I’m fine. Thanks for asking… yeah… I shift a little more right of the wet patch. Hello? Anyone out there?
My foot hurts….