I don't do sick...

...I don't.  I really, really don't.

Before I had children I perfected the art of avoiding sick of school trips by positioning myself always next to the window on a coach and then inviting a complete keeno teacher (normally a trainee or an NQT) to sit next to me.  It is quite likely that the aforementioned unfortunate seat-partner had been pretty much ignored at work by me until this point and so was pleased that I was being so friendly.  Little did they know that the moment a pupil vomited, they were purely my buffer to that situation.  Happy days.  Worked a treat.

Unfortunately, you are then a Mother and there is no buffer.  Well, no buffer that is going to efficiently enough clean puke stains from your house...

Zak started vomming at about 7pm last night.  Mummy had just returned from the pub, (such lucky children), and Daddy sent me up to see Zak as he was feeling sick.  It was his class assembly today and he is not a natural performer so I thought he was suffering from nerves.  We were having a lovely cuddle in bed and I was giving him a pep talk about it not mattering if things went wrong, he forgot his words or he wasn't loud enough, thinking I was making it all better; when he threw up all over both of us.  Not nerves then.

No more grim details, I promise, let's just say there were four hours of grimness following.  This is one of our busiest weekends of the year (of course).  Zak's assembly was today then I was straight up to London for a financial meeting with my Dad and a piss-up lunch.  Tomorrow is Sebi's first stage school performance, which Stu's parents are down for.  Then Sunday is Zak's birthday BBQ and Monday is his actual birthday and party.  He couldn't really have timed it better.

Or course I was going to sacrifice a snazzy lunch in London with pretty much my favourite person on the planet today if Zak had been really ill.  I was totally prepared for it at 11pm as I settled down for the night expecting not to be asleep for particularly long.  However, as I woke up at 7am this morning I figured out the worst could be over and I might in fact make it.  Of course, if Mummy and Grandad are out on the piss, Granny is always available.  It worried me slightly that mid-retch last night Zak was gasping at me:

"You... must.. phone... Granny..."

"No darling, it's ok, Mummy's here."

"But Granny always looks after us when we're poorly..."

Yikes.  At least we all know where we stand.

So I now only have 72 hours or so to watch Sebi like a hawk to see if we can get through weekend-of-the-year with no further sicky disasters.  Knowing Seb, he will save it up for mid tap dance tomorrow, just in case the focus is off him for a second...