I had such a big weekend that it has taken me this long to get around to blogging about it. It wasn't a particularly good one, either.
I had big plans for the weekend. They involved getting several loads of backed-up washing done (it's been raining lots over the past couple of weeks) and getting my removal inventory done so I could put in my application for removal. Because I'm organised like that.
Thunder Maker's band had a gig on Saturday night. It was the 50th birthday party of one of the band members. We were all going to go, but I realised at the last minute (Saturday afternoon) that unless they had a raised performance area that 2 year olds can't climb, that the band was going to have themselves a new drummer by the name of Seagull. In light of this, I decided to stay home with the boys.
My first inkling that something wasn't right was when I was talking to my Dad on the phone. I had a headache, so I went and grabbed a glass of water. By the time we finished talking, my tummy felt a bit funny. Sometimes it does that when I'm hungry. I was feeling lazy, so I made toast for us all. I only got through one slice before I realised that I was feeling sick, not hungry. I thought it would be a good idea for us all to get an early night and hopefully I would sleep it off.
Alas, it was not to be. I'd just got both of the boys ready for bed when I felt the overwhelming urge to dash for the toilet. With business taken care of, I got some water into me and crawled into bed. Where Wombat proceeded to crawl over me, using me as a platform for his nocturnal acrobatics whilst having a feed. Of course, he would only fall asleep while laying across my torso. Having an 11kg baby sleep across your torso is uncomfortable at the best of times, let alone when you've just been heaving your guts up.
Once Wombat was finally asleep, I needed to make another dash to the toilet, where both ends decided to let go in unison. I did the only thing one can do in that situation - sat on the toilet and ditched the contents out of the bin beside the toilet very quickly. I was cursing the fact that this had to happen on one of the rare nights Thunder Maker was out, of all nights. I crawled back into bed and tried to get warm.
My night was broken by the delerium of my fever and Wombat's acrobatics. At some point, I had a split second of lucidity and thought that Wombat was probably cutting a tooth. Great. Later, I woke up as Thunder Maker snuck into our room very quietly and realised that I'd actually managed to get some sleep in. I told him about my evening and asked for some lemonade. Thankfully, we had a small bottle in the cupboard. I hooked in gratefully and went back to sleep.
In the morning, Wombat was a much happier chappy. He was grinning away, proudly showing me his new tooth. In a strange way, it made the absolute crapfullness of the previous night worth it.
Thunder Maker was kind enough to take the boys off my hands the next day to give me a chance to lay around in bed and recover.