Eighteen

Awake. Kicking in his bouncer.

What a sad day. It's still early on this beautiful Sunday morning but it is with a heavy heart I bid farewell to a dear friend.

So long chocolate egg.

We've had some great times. From chasing my siblings around the farm looking for you hiding in every nook and cranny on Easter Sunday, to enjoying you with a glass of red of an evening after dinner.

You have served me well, kept me sane at times and have provided me with a much needed reward after a long day.

But it's time to part.

Was it something I said? Something I did?

Who knows. All I really know is that it is over. For now.

Today started so well. The little master slept through to 5.30am. After his feed he went back to sleep until 7.15am.

Then it turned ugly.

The projectile vomit had covered the little master's sleeping bag, pyjamas, sheets and the cot railings. Not to mention in his ears. I know, how awful.

Why chocolate egg? Why did you have to target his little ears? So mean.

But how could a chocolate egg do such a thing you ask?

Let's take a step back. Now that the little master is feeding on solids, last night I opened an Easter gift containing a Disney Cars cutlery set with a chocolate egg.

With the bowl, spoon and cup now washed and in the cupboard ready to use, I eggerly, sorry eagerly, ripped open the egg and happily munched on the chocolaty goodness after dinner.

With my recent conversion to soy milk after learning that cows milk upsets the little masters tummy, I failed to realise that perhaps the milk solids in the egg may wreak havoc the following day.

Oops. My bad.

On a positive note, the little master is fine. Who would have thought he could vomit with such a big grin on his chubby face. And to get a bath first thing in the morning, well hasn't all his Easters arrived at once!

Anyway, back to my broken friendship. Hopefully one day, I can make peace with the chocolate egg and we can meet again.

But for now, it's over man. You mess with my little boy, you mess with me. Move on egg. 

*Sniff*

Awake, ready for his morning nap.

Let's hope he wakes vomit free.

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Fifteen

Awake. Muttering to himself, looking at his hands.

So earlier this week I may have offended someone.

It looks at though our favourite friend, the poo, who we shall now refer to as Mr P, caught wind (pun absolutely intended) of my harsh review of his antics.

Clearly upset with his tainted reputation, today it was game on.

It started fairly. He made an appearance at the little masters aunt's house during a morning play session with his cousin. It was a little unwelcome, especially up the back and onto the singlet. That's kind of annoying, even more so when the spare singlet in the nappy bag was used the day prior. With little time up my sleeve this morning, I didn't replace it.

AP:0, Mr P: 1

Oops, oh well, it's no big deal. All changed and clean, we carried on just without a singlet under his top. Completely under control.

Until that is, once we were at home and with the little master sitting on my lap, I thought 'I should really get a singlet on him'.

Literally 10 seconds later, I felt the warm patch appear on my lap.

Ohh he's done a wee. Sigh, rolls the eyes, that's ok little master.

Until I realised I was wrong. Very wrong.

Mr P had reared his ugly head again, up the back for round two and all over my favourite blue jeans. Then just to make his point, a couple of blobs on the carpet.

AP:0, Mr P: 2

In all honesty (and I may regret being too honest here) my main concern wasn't necessarily with the little master – he was fine, much lighter and happier. But me – my jeans! Not my jeans, I love these jeans, please don't bring them into it. It's not fair. This is not fair game!

Asleep.

Within moments the little master was lying safely on the floor, bare bottom wrapped in a sheet, kicking happily.

Thank goodness he was blissfully unaware of his mother running around the house with no pants on, frantically emptying the pockets, throwing them in the machine, then like a germ obsessed mad woman, on her hands and knees (still pantless) scrubbing the floor with baby wipes.

Baby wipes? Yes, I know. Apparently pressure produces diamonds. Well not in this case, it was my only option at the time ok!

Once the little master was changed (again), resettled by his still pantless mother, I gathered my thoughts, slipped my trakkie dacks on (about time) and remembered the carpet spot cleaner in the laundry.

Gold! Actually no, it's orange. The magnificent Orange Power.

Back on my hands and knees scrubbing frantically, I then managed to pin point other stains I just couldn't leave behind. Buddy dog stains, shoe stains, baby vomit stains. Then my obsessive side really kicked in and in no time it was as if we had brand new carpet. Thanks Orange Power, you're the best!

But I wasn't satisfied. Mr P's presence remained; I could still smell him when I re-entered the room. I'll give it another charge of this stuff, it's worked a treat everywhere else.

By this stage the windows were open, Buddy had retreated to another room in disgust and I was left scratching my head wondering why I could still smell it.

Then I glanced at him.


Kicking away in his bouncer, chomping on his Sophie le Giraffe, happy as.

Surely not. Couldn't be. Really?

I was two sets down and really thought it was the best of three. Mr P had won, it was game over. I didn't want to play anymore.

Looks like it was the best of five sets.

He had arrived again but in a much more civilised manner. He knew I was tired, had had enough. But needed to win one last point.

AP: 0, Mr P: 3

Game, set, match, championship. Whatever.

It was my turn to pick up my bat and ball and go home.

At least this time I had my pants on.

Asleep.

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Six

Awake.

Cranky pants.

Culprit - mass poo on it's way.

End result - one relieved child and one frantic mother washing what was once a white cotton top.

Mine that is, not his.

Oh yes, it seeped through the lot - nappy, singlet, top then me. Bliss.

Smile! At least it happened at home.

Asleep. And much lighter for that matter.

That is all.

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Three

Reflections on the previous night.

6.00pm

Asleep

2.20am

Awake, change, feed, asleep

6.20am

Awake, change, feed, asleep

7.45am

Awake, smiles, refreshed and Mum feeling like a million bucks.

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