Rough Night
4am and I'm up scrubbing your mattress clean, your brand new mattress, while you sleep fitfully in your former crib.
At 3am you woke, sprayed your room with a stinking, slimy, mess and cried until I came for you.
By 3:40 you'd fouled your bathwater and been washed again. I tied your hair up like Pebbles.
5am, just after your sister fell into a sick, exhausted sleep, and I'd started the laundry again and climbed into my bed again, you woke and came, unsure, to the door. Then returned to your brother's lower bunk, and erupted on his pillow and bear. He slept soundly, curled at the foot.
5:30am, I made you a palate on the floor of towels and tucking you in, went to scrape and switch the laundry.
At 6am, you woke and called. I held you. I helped wash your little hands. Again, and again. Locked in a sick ritual of sick.
Midnight, I arranged my nest of 8-month-gestation pillows and shut off the light at my bedside.
8am, you raised your joyous blonde head from your displaced pillows on the floor and came to my door.
We had toast with honey and cinnamon.
So ya, it was a rough one. It's been that sort of week. Weeks? I don't even know anymore. We started with a whooping cough scare and now we have a stomach bug. In the meantime, I've moved into that phase of the pregnancy where I can barely string a sentence... thing. I tried. I think it was a... well, it was an effort anyway. Wish me better luck and I'll see you next time.
