Hello. It’s me, Mel. Remember me? I wish that I could tell you that I’ve been relaxing on a dessert island somewhere with no internet connection or that I was having some sort of digital detox. I wasn’t. We were hit by Norovirus.
It started at midnight last Sunday night. Sound asleep (as sound as you can be with a baby), I heard a noise and woke startled to find Bells re-enacting a scene from The Exorcist.
At first, I thought that I’d managed to over-feed her (I’ve always suspected that it’s completely feasible to overdose on milk). Then as time passed, I worried that she’d swallowed bath water and resigned myself to being a negligent mother.
However, 6 hours later with ‘Chunder Watch’ in full flow, sheer panic had taken hold and I knew that something was wrong. I’d spent the night too frightened to lay her back down and so instead, I counted down the hours until I could take her to the doctors, following the advice of 111.
During that time, Dickie had gotten up to go to work. I had of course told him to go to work, I’d be fine (completely not meaning it) and then proceeded to get in a proper grump when he took me at my word, naturally.
When we eventually made it to the doctors, they proceeded to send us to Children’s A&E and so we found ourselves surrounded by small people who had swallowed things they weren’t meant to and broken bones that they didn’t yet know they had.
After 12 hours there, we were finally sent home with strict instructions to administer Dioralyte every 10 minutes for the next 24 hours, welcomed advice following 36 hours straight of being awake, I’m sure you can imagine.
The very next morning, Bells was back to being her troublesome self, almost confused by the concerned looks that still buried themselves in our brows. Of course, as soon as she was fixed, my stomach turned and I knew that I was in trouble.
Thankfully, Dickie stayed home the next day. Having referred to all of my baby books and performed several searches on Google, I was unable to ascertain where I was meant to send my “mama sick note” and so Dickie took the reigns.
Every time I went downstairs to head to the bathroom, he’d grab Bells and wave some hand sanitiser in my direction petrified that she’d become ill again. I remember something being mentioned about me taking better care to protect myself (insert rolley eye emoji), but this came back to bite him in the arse when the very next day he fell ill too. My 24 hours of being allowed to be poorly quickly came to an abrupt end.
A week down the line and we’ve finally recovered… although my laundry pile hasn’t. How have you been?
p.s. have you ever tried to get a urine sample from a baby? WTAF?!?