[Dutch Lock Down Day Three Hundred Sixty Three]
Let’s talk about appropriate alarm clocks, shall we?
Bringing me breakfast in bed.
Bringing me chocolate in bed.
Brining me English Breakfast tea with generous milk in bed.
And now for inappropriate alarm clocks.
Screaming from another room.
Literally all other alarm clocks except for the aforementioned three appropriate alarm clocks.
But first the news:
- Election interview: ‘Coronavirus has shown how vulnerable we are’
- Some 1.4 million vaccinated against Covid-19
- Doctors and experts react to government suspension of AstraZeneca vaccine
Considering she’s now sleeping soundly next to me while I write this, I don’t think she’s learned her lesson.
This morning around three (holy hell) a little person howled from the other room. I leapt out of bed and checked it out. There was a little puke.
As far as night pukes go, it was nothing. A bit on the sheet, but none on the pillow, the blanket, the pajamas or the child – I sent her to snuggle with Papa while I changed her sheets and bed protection.
Dear past self – good call on the bed protection.
She wanted to snuggle a bit before getting back into her own bed, but eventually she did.
I laid down in my own bed, but didn’t fall asleep.
The brain has a lot to think about these days, my precious.
Enough time passed that I was starting to drift but not enough to solidly get back to REM when there was a rustling and I was wide awake again.
I know that rustle.
That’s the rustle followed by silence that indicates a child has missed the bathroom path and is now peeing somewhere in the bedroom. Or the rustle followed by silence that indicates a child is starting happy birthday party time in the middle of the night but knows they’ll get in trouble if the parents catch them. Or the rustle followed by silence that indicates a child is now puking in her bed. Again.
I got up.
This time the puke was on the sheets and the pillow and the blanket and the pajamas but not the child, so I stripped her down, slapped on a new shirt and sent her to cuddle with papa again.
I stripped down the bed and the pillow and the blanket and instead of remaking the bed recognized this for what it became – a multiple iteration of puking, cleaning, and snoozing HELL.
We came downstairs.
The child tried to sleep. Woke up. Puked a bit. Laid back down. Repeat.
Confused Cat sang the song of her people.
Thank you, Confused Cat; the song of your people is Not Needed Right Now ™.
Girl Twin is finally back asleep. There are two blankets covered in puke in piles around us. We both have bits of puke on our shirts. But she’s asleep. And Confused Cat is asleep.
But I’m not asleep.
Because my ACTUAL alarm clock went off.
It’s ACTUALLY time to wake up.
And while the last three hours have been absolute hell, sure, there were also moments of delight. Playing with shadow puppets in the light of Mama’s cell phone. Super snuggles between pukes. Serious discussions, “the cat maow, Mama”
And I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Except, maybe, to add a snooze button.