How to enjoy your hour of freedom

The freedom hour.  That beautiful blissful hour (or two if i’m very lucky) where the baby is asleep and it seems that anything is possible.  But there is always that dilemma.  Do I sleep and take advantage of another power hour? Let’s face it after being dragged from sleep three times last night I could do with another hour… but in order to sleep I have to sacrifice the hour of peace and solitude.  Time goes too fast when you are asleep.  It is like eating an Easter egg in one go.  Amazing at the time but once it’s gone it’s gone.  Staying awake and enjoying the hour piece by piece is sometimes more satisfying.

Sometimes the morning nap can work to my advantage if I am going somewhere and I can nicely time the nap with the car journey.  This was my plan last week when I went to visit my friend who lives just over an hour away – perfect.  A nice, quiet journey of music and the Top 10 at 10 was the plan.

Sadly this did not happen.  Instead of getting the baby into the car at 10am as planned, I decided to tidy up the kitchen before I left.  It was my turn to wash up (well it is most days) and the kitchen was an unsightly state.  The other half had made a roast the night before and had used every pot and pan in the whole place! Last week we’d had a stupid row over who had or hadn’t washed up and so I couldn’t face coming home to an atmosphere or resentment that i’d been off all day and still hadn’t washed up.

So I popped the baby in front of Disney Junior and rolled up my sleeves.  My mother instinct clock was ticking telling me that I didn’t have much time.  Emilie had also developed a cough and the day before had made herself sick three times through coughing.  I’d already packed four changes of clothes, bottles, food galore and was all but ready to go. Shoes were on and the baby even had her coat on.

I chose to wash up.  This was my first mistake.

I left her just that little bit too long… she started whinging .  I ignored her and plunged another pan . Bubbles and splash-backs flew as I ferociously made my way through the stack of dishes.

The whinging started to turn to crying.  Ignoring her again was my second mistake.  I only had two more glasses… surely she could wait.  Wrong.

Two glasses and a hand dry later and I was in the living room.  She threw up her adorable hands aka pick me up up ‘mamma mamma’ was being blubbed through the tears.  I felt so guilty for leaving her for a whole minute.  I picked her up.  She stopped crying, smiled and all seemed well.  Then she started crying again.  This baby was tired.  Very tired and needed to sleep. NOW.

Time to leave the house and get her into the car.  I really should have put her down ten minutes earlier, so I grabbed my stuff to leave.  I put her on my hip and leaned down to pick up the baby bag.  Mistake number three!  As I lent down, I must have squeezed her… she heaved, wretched and vomited straight into the bag. I lifted her back up to survey the damage.  She was still crying and a trail of watery goup was dangling.  Damn cough making her sick.  I sat down on the sofa to calm her down.  The more she cried the more she coughed.  And then the inevitable happened.  Up it came.  The all too familiar volcanic eruption right in between my legs, soaking my crotch in my clean on jeans and covering her from head to toe.

I looked around like a woman defeated.  I was so near. Almost at the car, almost in the hour of solitude, almost on the way to adult conversation with my best mate.  And here I was sat in puke nursing a screaming and very tired baby.

She needed changing and to go to sleep.  I dragged one of the many changes of clothes out of the bag and whipped off the spew soaked Minnie Mouse ensemble.  Quick as a flash she was dry and snuggling into my chest.  Pulling her snugly blanket over her face, a sure sign that sleep was imminent.

I had a split second decision.  Put her in her cot and cancel my long awaiting day trip (I don’t usually have the car and had borrowed my mum’s for a day of freedom) This way I could change, shower and clean the sick stained carpet.

OR

Leave the carpet, wipe myself down with a baby wipe, make a dash for the car and get the hell out of there and on my way to Adultville.  So I did… still wearing the sick soaked jeans.

She slept all the way there… I dried my jeans on the blower and we both enjoyed a lovely day with Aunty Emma.

Not including the three more times she was sick and the five changes of clothes in total that day… I on the other hand wore the same jeans all day and she kindly completed the look by vomiting down my top twice and again on the other leg.  So I may have stunk of sick, but I had a nice day with my friend and saved myself some washing!

Sick 3.jpg

P.S In the blissful hour that it has taken me to write this, the baby is still asleep, I have procrastinated on Facebook and Ebay, chatted to a friend and drank a hot cup of tea.  All hail nap time and long may they continue.

 

If You’d like to read more of my blog follow me on Twitter

@littl_sick_book

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Author:

Welcome to my blog and thanks for joining me. It isn't all about sick... honest. I'm a Mum to a one year old ex-refluxer (hence the blog name) Blogging about life as a mum, Step mum, teacher and occasionally about just being a person. Excited for #Blogfest16 This is the blog of my journey throughout motherhood and all the fun along the way.

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