Bah.

So it’s not exactly hard to understand that my sleep deprived and stressed out self is a tad over it right now.

However all is not lost.  Mr hissychick has taken it upon himself to cheer me up.  By cheer me up I mean give me an affectionate pat on the bum as he walks past. “It’s a boy hug” he gleefully tells me, oblivious to the thunderous look on my face.

The vacant block next door is far too obvious a place……

*Let us not speak of the emergency ward stuff up where a doctor checked off that she had been examined but had in fact was not seen for six hours after admission, during which time I had the pleasure of soothing my terrified child when an eighteen year old screaming in agony from a bowel obstruction was admitted into the paed bed next to ours. The very same hospital that failed to diagnose my ectopic pregnancy six and a half years ago, not once, but twice.  Never again.

And that is more than you needed to know.

PS Niece is gorgeous.

PPS No I have not been hassling mr hissychick for number three since seeing said niece, see main body of post above.

And then there’s the worry of the ever present threat of dehydration. Memo to manufacturers of Gastrolyte et al: can you please make it palatable? That shit is so sickly sweet. And that’s coming from someone with a very sweet tooth.

I guess I can take comfort from the fact that A is OK for now. Just don’t tell the parenting police that she has watched TV for four hours straight thus far today, and that after going the screaming approach to her threenager demands I have now simply given up and she is getting exactly what she wants when she wants it. Am simply too drained to be effective at anything.

This gig sucks.

I’ve worn several episodes of regurgitated stomach contents in my nether regions (as well as in my hair, on my back, and as have the walls and carpet) since Saturday, when miss E suddenly succumbed to a nasty spew and rash virus that saw us spend several hours in hospital yesterday under observation.

And to think I’ve always pooh poohed old superstitions like bad luck happening in threes.

Said bug is on the way out, but I am absolutely wiped out, aching joints and lethargy and all that (but with some minor weight loss. Yay!).

I know that I need to eat food to restore some energy, but nothing appeals. Yes I’ve been munching on some fruit and vegies, mindful of too much fibre at the moment. I’ve unenthusiastically chomped down on some meat, knowing that I cannot afford to let my iron levels drop any further than they already have but also aware that the last thing I need is to have my digestive system working overtime trying to break down animal flesh.  Dairy is out for the obvious bloating and bottom trumpeting issues, but the bland crackers/noodles, bread etc that supposedly settle tummies seem to be having the same effect as dairy.

How the hell do people with wheat and dairy allergies actually eat?

OK, back to the couch. I want to reserve some energy for cuddles with my girls (mr hissychick will just give me an awkward pat and say “there there” a la Reverend Lovejoy )  and to dream up a much more meaningful post about the two most precious little people in my universe.

All went swimmingly well, until, in what is fast becoming a tradition chez hissychick when it comes to playcentres and illness, miss E woke from her afternoon nap. In a pool of her own vomit.

The poor little poppet has either been struck down by food poisoning from a custard that I took with us and fed to her (WWM 08 again) or, and I have everything crossed that it isn’t so, she has caught the nasty gastro bug that is doing the rounds at the moment.

Did I mention that as of this Thursday we are off for a Melbourne and Tasmania family getaway?

By my calculations that leaves each remaining as yet unaffected member of the family precisely 24 hours each to suffer and transmit the spew lurgy prior to our trip. Fun! Fun! Fun!

It also leaves me with an estimated average of seventy five loads of washing per day to ensure that a) all puked upon articles of bedding/towelling/clothing are cleaned and b) we will have clothes rather than garbage bags to wear on our little jaunt.

Say it ain’t going to be so…..

A: A short snappy post about something ludicrously funny from the world of parenting a threenager and a toddler, that may or may not include quotes from eldest daughter and/or photos of both girls  which may ruin any future political aspirations they may hold, or at least be a source of great amusement at their respective 21sts;

B: A well thought out and tenderly written milestone post, reflecting on the latest achievements of either or both girls- including sentimental ponderings about the fact that the last baby in this household (probably) is now in her own room- and revealing yet again that ms hissychick has a rather tender Hallmark side;

C: A bluntly honest post in which a still sickly hissychick whines about how she has completely dropped the bundle due to ongoing illness and exhaustion, yet again questions her mothering abilities  and wants a magical fairy to step in, clean up the dishes, dress the kids who are still in their jarmies and still watching TV at 11 am and make it all better.

D: None of the above. I’m not talking to you ms hissychick because you haven’t been commenting on my blog nor replying to your own comments, you slack tart you.

It’s over to you to decide.  And I’m talking to you! yes! you! look at me! i need your attention! look at me! look at meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee………………..

Pity it happened to be when the water was off while mr hissychick was installing a new bathroom tap. I just made it to the backyard and left a voluminous deposit that our local wildlife left untouched and said husband had to cover with sand this morning.  Then again, those marriage vows do say in sickness and in health and all…

Thankfully I have not had a repeat puke since but feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, with aches and chills and a constant headache. After watching what happened to E I’m guessing tomorrow is going to be spent on the toilet. Nice.

Ahem.

Anyway I’m pleased to report that miss E is on the mend, hideous poo aside. She had an absolutely revolting day and night of no sleep, and the fact that my milk supply did a sudden massive drop due to my own illness only made matters worse. However today she seems to be back to her usual cheery self and is blissfully asleep as I type, undertaking  her second long nap of the day.  Fingers crossed that means that we get a good night too.

Now it’s back to the couch for me, while I wait for husband and daughter number one to return from their social outing with  mr hissychick’s work colleagues.  A certain threenager has more of a life than her mother!

However we have hopefully, hopefully turned the corner. I took little miss E to the doctor this morning, and although concerned that this bug has gone on and on and that the spewing had returned,  seemed to think she might have a rotovirus*  but that she was probably on the mend**.

I was told that I was doing a fabulous job keeping E hydrated with mummy milk and to continue the breastfeeding as often as I wanted. Hooray for boobies, and hooray for doctors who are pro breastfeeding beyond twelve months!

Here’s hoping that I can get E eating again in the next few days though. I’m so proud of my body for adapting to going back to an almost newborn pattern of feeding but will be quite happy to resume sleeping for more than an hour at a time. Yes indeedy.

Speaking of zzzz I am going to take this opportunity to catch some…

*Even though E was immunised-sort of- she spat the drops out in disgust both times.

** If the satanic cornhole emissions continue to occur I have to capture a stool sample on Monday to check for giardia which is well known for its tendency to make spew and explosive poo reoccur. Just looked at the collection pot, and it’s even got a handy little pooper scooper. Choice.

ETA: No sleep for me, and very little for E. She woke screaming and I could smell the poo in the hallway before I had even opened the door to the bedroom. I’d put money on a ‘mild’ rotovirus now. Poor little darling.