It all started with a black poo
If I tell you that Scarlett has been ill again, I bet you won't believe me.
We headed off to London after swimming on Friday to see the very lovely Harriet and Skye. We walked to Balham and had a coffee (oh how Yummy Mummy in concept but Slummy Mummy in practice as I tried to push a buggy one-handed) and then put the girls in the bath. They just had soo much fun together.
Saturday morning there was a very foul-smelling black-as-night poo in Scarlett's nappy for Harriet and I to ponder (as only first time mothers can). We headed to Richmond for a walk (not Kew as we needed shops to dive into if the rains came) with both girls a little grumpy doing tag-team crying, especially on the way home.
When I put Scarlett in the bath she was covered in bright red spots! Chicken Pox! Surely ...
By the morning (at which point Harriet and Skye were full of colds and Harriet had spent much of the night plotting what she could and couldn't do with a baby within the chicken pox incubation period) there were no spots...
We headed home but no sooner had we got home than Scarlett started to cry and get hot. Unfortunately, as I walked through the door, I was hit by the putrid smell of pus or poo or something I couldn't quite name (thank goodness). Within a few minutes I found a caked collar on Matisse so with Scarlett screaming (and screaming) in her high chair I bathed the offending canine before realising that the smell was also on his bed, our sofa, our bed and the carpet at the top of the stairs.
I was a Mother on the Edge and I suspect it is no surprise then that all my good intentions to be calmer, more organised and generally a better person collapsed around my ears with a loud thud. Once Scarlett was fed and in bed, I cried and cried. I thought about getting someone to come and sit in the house so that I could go out. I even thought very dark thoughts (about myself) that I cannot repeat.
When Dan came home from work I had washed everything that smelled bad and we were all a little calmer. Using thought processes that Holmes and Watson would have been proud of we worked out that our elderly (aggressive) cat had been caught short on Saturday night and Matisse had rolled in it. He had then hopped onto the sofa and our bed, for good measure. Not thinking that Matisse was involved he was overlooked in the clear-up and the cat took the full blame (if he noticed).
If only my mood was so easy to solve.
Today is a better day. Scarlett is really smiley and has kept Dan amused all day. I have been at work and have been calm and happier. I have made plans so that I have something in my diary for every day that I am not working. I have eaten lots of sweet food.
I have tried to remember that how I feel is normal.
We headed off to London after swimming on Friday to see the very lovely Harriet and Skye. We walked to Balham and had a coffee (oh how Yummy Mummy in concept but Slummy Mummy in practice as I tried to push a buggy one-handed) and then put the girls in the bath. They just had soo much fun together.
Saturday morning there was a very foul-smelling black-as-night poo in Scarlett's nappy for Harriet and I to ponder (as only first time mothers can). We headed to Richmond for a walk (not Kew as we needed shops to dive into if the rains came) with both girls a little grumpy doing tag-team crying, especially on the way home.
When I put Scarlett in the bath she was covered in bright red spots! Chicken Pox! Surely ...
By the morning (at which point Harriet and Skye were full of colds and Harriet had spent much of the night plotting what she could and couldn't do with a baby within the chicken pox incubation period) there were no spots...
We headed home but no sooner had we got home than Scarlett started to cry and get hot. Unfortunately, as I walked through the door, I was hit by the putrid smell of pus or poo or something I couldn't quite name (thank goodness). Within a few minutes I found a caked collar on Matisse so with Scarlett screaming (and screaming) in her high chair I bathed the offending canine before realising that the smell was also on his bed, our sofa, our bed and the carpet at the top of the stairs.
I was a Mother on the Edge and I suspect it is no surprise then that all my good intentions to be calmer, more organised and generally a better person collapsed around my ears with a loud thud. Once Scarlett was fed and in bed, I cried and cried. I thought about getting someone to come and sit in the house so that I could go out. I even thought very dark thoughts (about myself) that I cannot repeat.
When Dan came home from work I had washed everything that smelled bad and we were all a little calmer. Using thought processes that Holmes and Watson would have been proud of we worked out that our elderly (aggressive) cat had been caught short on Saturday night and Matisse had rolled in it. He had then hopped onto the sofa and our bed, for good measure. Not thinking that Matisse was involved he was overlooked in the clear-up and the cat took the full blame (if he noticed).
If only my mood was so easy to solve.
Today is a better day. Scarlett is really smiley and has kept Dan amused all day. I have been at work and have been calm and happier. I have made plans so that I have something in my diary for every day that I am not working. I have eaten lots of sweet food.
I have tried to remember that how I feel is normal.
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