The Love Bug

A resurgence of the tummy bug in our home has reminded us that words are not the only way to say ‘I love you’.

This time The Apprentice was one of the hardest hit by the bug, experiencing projectile expulsion of noxious matter from both ends. Her insides were so twisted in pain and her woeful moaning so loud during the night that Mr T wasn’t sure if she was in pain or the throws of passion. Unfortunately for TAB (The Apprentice’s Boyfriend), he was staying at our place, so he became The Apprentice’s nurse for the night.

While Mr T and I spent the night changing Tomboy’s bed sheets and holding her hair back while she vomited, TAB did the same for The Apprentice. When The Apprentice was stuck on the toilet and a bucket didn’t arrive in time, TAB didn’t hesitate to mop up the resultant mess. He helped her to the shower, cleaned her up and then sought new sheets for their bed. Not once did I hear him complain.

He was even chivalrous about The Apprentice’s mishaps. When I saw him changing the bed sheets, I said, ‘Oh no, did she get the bed too?’

TAB said nothing. He just gave me a sad, but knowing look. Then The Apprentice said, ‘It just shot out my bum before I knew it was even coming.’

‘You shit the bed?!’ I exclaimed.

TAB continued to change the sheets, and then helped The Apprentice back into bed before climbing in next to her. If getting back into bed with someone after they’ve shit in it doesn’t say ‘I love you’, I don’t know what does.

Internal Organs

Once again we are under attack as another tummy bug barges into our home. (More on that in a later post.) It doesn’t seem to matter how many dirty nappies the children watch me change or how much vomit they ogle when one of their siblings heaves into a bucket, they have an obscene fascination for the waste products that leave our bodies.

Sometimes this fascination extends to our internal organs as well. While waiting to pay the bill after having a renal ultrasound one morning, Boywonder asked me why we were at a different doctor to where we usually go. I explained that the doctor needed to look at my kidneys and bladder.

‘Did he take them out and have a look? Can I look too?’ asked Boywonder as he grabbed my shirt, ready to lift it and look for himself.

After I explained that the doctor uses a special machine to see my kidneys and bladder, and it certainly doesn’t involve taking them out, Boywonder then asked,

‘What’s a bladder? Can I look at your bladder?’

I enlightened my budding anatomist by placing a little pressure on his bladder and asking him if it made him want to wee.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘That’s your bladder!’

He was finally happy with these explanations. That was until I had to pick up another four-litre bottle so I could perform the 24-hour urine test again.

After we arrived home, Boywonder picked the bottle up and asked, ‘Do you have to wee in the bottle again, Mummy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I wee in it too?’

‘NO!’ I replied as I took the bottle from him.

‘But I have a bladder too!’ was Boywonder’s argument.

‘Everyone has a bladder, but they are not all going to be contributing to my bottle!’ I replied, hugging the bottle to my chest. I then hurried to the toilet with my bottle before Boywonder gave me the lecture on sharing that he’d heard so often from me.