Usually I am a cheery composite of cheeriness, skipping round like Fotherington Thomas - hello trees, hello sky; Pollyanna-like in my determination to see the bright side, but frankly I'm struggling to see the merry side of washing sick off every article of bed clothing my daughter possesses. The winter vomiting virus is alive and well, and living in my house. It was living in me, but now I'm better, in time to nurse daughter. This, and the virus I had before I had the wvv, is why I've been quiet on the blog, and this post will be short as I have to go off and buy new vatloads of disinfectant. Daughter is being force fed Radio 4 (do wonder what she thinks of Patti Smith's early life) as the only spare bed is in my office and even for sick kids I do not do Radio Pop. Thankfully she has now finished being sick.
Hah. Oh no she hasn't. That caught us both by surprise. Wonder, as I rub poor daughter's back until spasm has passed at just how you prioritise all this. Daughter comes first, though can't send her to bath (infinitely easier to disinfect) to clean up as that is booked by her duvet, soaked and waiting its turn in the machine, so decant her into shower, rescue previous pyjamas, thankfully now dry - thank God for the Aga - sort her out and turn to the bed, which has well and truly bitten the dust. Daughter now moved to sofa, and pray, PRAY that when she is next sick she either makes it to the loo or the bucket. Sermon in church on Sunday said praying for stuff like parking spaces was OK, so think praying for daughter not to miss the bucket and get better soon will definitely pass muster. I hope. Also thank God that books do not live in my study, as prospect of infectious stock not good.