As day follows night, then kids are followed by vomit.
Maxi-Minx threw up twice before midnight last night. A loud gurgling sound emerged from her room, followed by a wailing girl, lower face covered in sick, looking like an extra in a scary zombie film. The Boss tackled the creatively decorated surfaces (Christ Almighty, was she revolving while she barfed?!) while I took charge of the cuddling and hosing down.
After the second barf, I worried about running out of bedding. As the eldest of 7 kids, I am a compulsive hoarder of bedding, obviously scarred from experiences of running out as a nipper when we all had bugs. Luckily Miss Creosote calmed down and got some sleep after yammering away a million to the dozen for a bit. I think she might have been delirious. Goodness knows how she slept – that sharp nose-hair-frazzling tang of sick lay thick in her room, and rapidly permeated the entire house. I was particularly grumpy about that – I love the fug of roast chicken and duck-fat fried potatoes in the house that I’d lovingly created earlier that evening. Oh pants, you don’t think it was the chicken…?! No-one else has been ill, so I suspect it wasn’t my cooking.
I swear the washing machine shuddered when I chucked the second load of thickly sicked textiles and teddies into it. I have a stomach of steel and even I recoiled from cleaning out the rim and drum of the machine. Picking out half-digested bits with my cut fingers would scunner even the most devoted Mummy. Me and The Boss stood examining it like a pair of chimpanzees – was it leek? Onion skin? Cabbage? We reckon it was apple peel. There was so much of it, though!
My friends wished her well on Facebook. As she was mooning around behind me (bit of a relapse today, so I guess today will be a pyjamas in front of CBeebies day) I showed her how many people had said Get Well Soon. “Awww, that’s so kind of them!” she sighed. That’s my brave little girl!! <proud>
Now to attack the bloody awful smell that just won’t go away. I swear, if air freshener companies could somehow harness the cling power of vomit and apply it to fragrance, they’d be onto something.