Nothing says Happy Mother's Day better than a shower of projectile vomit.
I retired to bed the night before full of excitement about my second official Mothering Sunday. I laid out Sofia's specially selected outfit - a beautiful white dress with embroidered flowers and petticoats, and was looking forward to a day at my parents with the whole family.
The morning dawned and with it the scene of carnage in Sofia's cot. Looking at her sheets it was evident that I gave into lazy parenting the evening before and fed my angel greasy fish and chip shop supper with plenty of ketchup.... Ugh. Not sure I can look at a tinned row the same ever again...
I blamed myself for an unfortunate choice of dinner and after breakfast, got her dressed for the day.
A few minutes later the white dress was unrecognisable, and completely awash with regurgitated weetabix and banana.
Suddenly it was obvious that she had the dreaded sickness bug. The friend I met for coffee yesterday admitted to having the norovirus bug just a couple of days before, when it had spread like wildfire throughout her whole family. She's such a sharer and clearly didn't want me to miss out on the action! (Who needs enemies when your friends do such a good job of raining (vomit) on your parade?)
By Sunday night I caught it too and my house was the scene of devastation.
Mothering Sunday 2012 ended up being a day that required me to be the best mother I could possibly be, to use every parenting skill I have learned. I had to pull out my last reserves of energy to get us both through the sickness. There was much mopping, cleaning, cuddling, stroking, soothing, and singing. In fact, if Mother's Day is a recognition of the role of mother to child, then I have never felt it more profoundly, and never been a better mum to my baby girl.
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