That Was Confusing…

Sorry – I wrote this on 3 Feb, but must have hit ‘save’ instead of ‘publish’. Oops.

I didn’t sleep much on Friday night (1st Feb): poor Midi Minx has croup (yet again) so she coughed all night into my lug-hole, deafening me with those sharp seal-barks.  I didn’t mind her cuddling in beside me too much – her breathing sounded so awful that I wanted to be right next to her to keep a check on it.  And yes, I did check more than once for lip- or nail-bed cyanosis…

On Saturday morning, I had one of Those Moments as I woke up.  You know, when it’s only a split second, but it feels like minutes.  Anyway, I woke up feeling hot and wet.  Oh God, my cold has turned into something worse – it’s a fever!, I thought at first.  Nope, forehead is fine.  Then it’s a hot flush!  Nope, cheeks aren’t hot.  Then it’s little Midi, she must be running a terrible fever!, I panicked.  No, her forehead felt normal.

Just at that moment, I heard Maxi wailing in from the bedroom: “Mu-uuuuu-um! [Mini]’s just wet herself in bed!”

Nope, she can’t have, she’s not in here.  Hang on, she’s in there.  And Midi’s in here.  And that wet feeling… it’s not sweat, it’s clinging kind of one-sided… in fact, it feels a lot like a puddle… it feels awfully like pee…

Aw, pants!  Midi had coughed so hard that her sipping-water-all-night full bladder had cut loose.  Right at the same time as Mini had been bouncing on her bed and lost control of hers.  I think me and The Boss levitated out of bed yelling at the exact same time, for different reasons.  He dealt with Midi and our bed, I got the smaller girl and her bed.  Maxi helpfully ew-ed and yuck-ed and moaned about how the whole house smelled of pee.  And then we discovered that our waterproof undersheet on our bed isn’t waterproof.  Great.  Just wonderful.  The washing machine saw a lot of action that day…!

I took Maxi to her art class at another village and instead of knitting, I treated myself to a trip to the local shop, planning to buy a newspaper, magazine and croissant, and settle back for a whole hour in the silence of the car to read them.  There was a young boy serving at the counter.  I’ve no idea how old – 14? 16?  He mooned about the shop for a bit while I waited to pay, then he shuffled behind the counter.  He faffed with a plastic bag of change before an older man grumpily took it off him and nudged him in my direction.  Struggling, he managed to lift the big heavy barcode scanner (needed to eat more porridge, the wee lamb) and scanned my purchases.  I don’t know if he was shaking in his shoes at my bright red hair or my scary ‘tired’ face, but he

Grumpy Old Trout of a standard Saturday morning

Grumpy Old Trout of a standard Saturday morning

managed to add 2 things to the bill that I hadn’t bought.  He tried to take them off, but messed it up.  Now, I might have only had a few hours sleep, but I can happily add 85p, £1.60 and 55p in my sleep-addled head.  And it doesn’t add up to £3.32!  I asked him if he was sure it was £3.32.  He gulped and looked like he was about to cry.  £3.32? I asked again, incredulously.  I think he realised his mistake, but didn’t know what to do.  He looked at the queue building up behind me, glanced at the grumpy man, and let out a tiny whimper.  I surprised myself by taking enormous pity on him, paid silently, and mentally hoped that it was worth paying an extra 32p to avoid getting him into trouble.

When we got home, I’d time to have another coffee before it was time to shuttle Midi to A&E to see the out-of-hours GP.  He was lovely with her and sent us on our way with some prednisolone.  Although he warned that she’d probably not get better immediately, last night was better – just coughing.  And tonight so far her fever’s back (needing calpol + nurofen + no clothes and she’s *still* too hot) but the coughing’s a little better.

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