1.  The Dilemma

2.  The Doctor

3.  The Disturbance

Son 2 aged 2y 5m is still suffering.  He was sick again yesterday afternoon at home with Wonder Nanny after they’d picked up Son 1 aged 5y 4m from School.  I had to wake him in the evening to change his nappy, because the vile stench filled the boys’ bedroom.  He protested and cried and clung, lying on the changing mat with his legs in the weak diamond shape he only uses when he’s absolutely had it.  When I went to bed I smelled another dirty nappy. Should I wake him and change it, knowing how tired he was, knowing how late it was, knowing he’d howl the house down and wake Son 1?  Should I leave him in it, change him if he stirred in the night and risk ammonia burning the skin on his bottom off?  I asked The Man, who’d gone to bed long before.  “Ugh,” he said. I left the nappy on.  At 4am when Son 2 woke hot and crying, I changed it. His pyjamas were dirty, top and bottom, his sleeping bag was dirty, his bum was bright pink and he had dried poo superglued way up his back.  Everything had to be changed. And nothing would shift the shitty crusts until, with Son 2 screaming, wriggling, bellowing “NO!”, I reverted to baby oil and cotton wool.  Son 1 came in and plopped himself in the Double Bed.  “I think I’m going to have to sleep with Son 2 in there,” I said. “Can you go up with Daddy?”  “No.”   I told him I’d only be down two minutes to settle Son 2, and then I’d be up.  Of course I stayed down. Son 2 slept very badly, still needing water, still needing Calpol and Ibuprofen, still weak.

I didn’t go back to sleep. The morning was less rushed because I rang the School and said we’d be late… I had to fix a doctor’s appointment for Son 2. I couldn’t take him because of The Office, but I didn’t want to be The Woman Who Sent Her Nanny To The Doctor’s With Her Sick Son Because She Was Too Busy To Go Herself.  Which left The Man.  I wrote a little shopping list reminder for him. “Sick  since Tuesday, evil nappies, not eating, a snotty cold which is getting worse, temperature controlled with Calpol and Ibuprofen, and now batting  his right ear and saying it’s hurting.”  I rang from The Office. Tummy bug.  A lot of it about. Wax in both ears so the Doctor couldn’t see anything. Calpol, lots of liquids, dry food if possible. “Did you tell him everything on the list?” I asked. “I gave him the list. And Son 2 did a stinking squitty poo in the Doctor’s. And I didn’t take any changing stuff. The Doctor said: ‘Do you look after him often?’ And I said ‘No, the Nanny does, but my wife thought it would look bad sending him with her.’ He said: ‘No, we get loads of Nannies in here.’”    

Granny and Grandad arrived today.  They flew into The Airport this morning. By the time Son 1 and I got back, they were in the lounge and Son 2 was upstairs in the bath.  Son 1 chatted to them for a bit, but then vanished up to see Son 2.  Son 1 was shattered after a disturbed night and a long, full on School day.  Granny made dinner, and then she, The Man and Grandad cleared up. Bonus.  Son 2 called and cried throughout the evening and when I went up I took him in the Double Bed with me.

1.  Blotches

2.  Does Your Child?

3.  A Shade Different

Not a Good Night. Poor old Son 1 aged 5y 1m came in at 0230, and I had very little sleep after that. I went downstairs at 4, and then got up at 6, with Son 1 pad-pad-padding down behind me.  One Wednesday Friend - the Booming Businesswoman - is away in South Africa, doing Very Well without the children. The other texted. Swimming?  Nah. Can’t really. I have Son 1 as well as Son 2 aged 2y 2m.  He’s off school with a sore throat.  She would go swimming, we decided, and we three would see her in the cafe afterwards.  I made lunch. I loaded the Big Pram into the car. I loaded all the bags into the car. At about 1015, for some reason I still can’t remember, I checked Son 1’s tummy. There was a rash.  Red.  Not even a rash, particularly. Just big blotches and patches of red.  Nah, not red. Pink. Too faint for red. Nope. Not faint. There. Inescapable.  And, come to think of it, if we’re honest, and not trying to make the least of something, it’s red. Red. At his neck. Under his ears. On his chest. On his tummy.  I kept peering at him. He kept protesting.

I got my Book out.  Rashes With Fever.  Does Your Child Have A Fever? Yes.  Is the rash red, widespread, and vanishes when pressed? Yes. Does Your Child Have A Sore Throat? Yes.  = Scarlet Fever. See Your Doctor.  I looked at Son 1.  I looked at The Rash. I looked at The Book.  I looked at The Rash. I rang the Doctor. The receptionist was vaguely interested. “There’s only emergency appointments left. Is it an emergency?” “Well… he’s got a sore throat, a fever and a rash, and I’d like him someone to look at him today.”  ”Four Fifteen. You’ll have to come and wait.” “That’s fine.”  “So it’s sore throat and fever? His symptoms?” “And The Rash. On his neck. And his body.”  “Could you please just excuse me.  I’m putting you on hold. ”  I tum ti tummed. “Sorry, I can’t get the Duty Doctor. Can he ring you back?”  Of course he can. He rang. ”Bring him in now, I’ll have a look at him between appointments.” 

“Open wide. Say Aaaah. He’s got white spots on his throat and palate. Rashes are hard… that could be viral.. or… what’s his highest temperature been?” “37.9.  And 38 last night, but that was when he was in bed with all his covers on so I didn’t think it counted. But I don’t really do temperatures. I’ve just been giving him Calpol and Ibuprofen to help him when he’s clearly too hot.”  “Over 38 is probably an infection.  What do you think it is? Scarlet Fever?”  ”Well,” I said. “I’ve got this Book. And it says fever, sore throat and rash = Scarlet Fever.  And we’ve been on holiday so he’s been on a plane. And we spent a lot of time in a Spa Bath, and I’ve read somewhere they’re high risk for Scarlet Fever… and… if you tell me it’s not, I’ll be happy.” “It’s not one of those where you take chances,” he said, swabbing Son 1’s cheek. “Usually, if there’s any doubt, you don’t give children antibiotics. Except for suspected Strep, when you do. ” The printer buzzed. ”No school till at least a day after the rash goes and his temperature is normal.  No mixing with other children till you’ve had a clear day.” “What about Son 2?” I asked. “Oh if he’s getting it, he’s got it. Ring on Friday for the Swab result.” Outside, I rang The Man. I told the people we’d been with over the last few days.  Only suspected, I said. Could still be viral. Yes, he did…er.. go red before my very eyes.   At home, the boys watched telly. I made tea.  Son 1 couldn’t eat any. At bedtime, I took off his top to put him in the shower.   His back was shiny, coated in the rash.  No white bits. And I’ve kind of hunted here and there for the right word to describe the shade.  Deep red?  Crimson?  Nah, a just  a few shades pinker.  Vermilion? A bit too orangey.  Scarlet.  Definitely scarlet.

1.  Overture

2.  La Donna E Mobile

3.  Finale

A little crittur aged 4y 3m slid into the Big Bed at an Ungodly Hour.  Thin snakey arms around my neck, bony body snugged into mine, fingers eventually falling away from my eyebrows and eyelashes.  He was in a coma.  I wasn’t.  The alarm went at 6.  I reached over him and switched it off, and then the fingers got going again.  I’ll wait till he goes back to sleep, I thought, and then get up and get drinks and snacks.   I lay still and silent till a stage whisper enquired “Mummy are we getting up yet?”   

The day of my Heart Scan. The Man is still away.  So I had to wait for Wonder Nanny, zoom to the Doctor’s to pick up the letter for the cardio people, and then head out to The Hospital in the Big Town.  Yet again, I was late leaving.  But I was ok.  If the roads were all clear, if there was somewhere to park, if I’d worn different shoes so that I could stride across the car park rather than totter.  I got to a Roundabout two miles out.  Something Was Up.  Stationary traffic, cars doing U-turns, nothing coming the other way.    I can get in the queue, I thought, and cut cross country.  I moved 20 yards in 5 minutes.  I’ll have to ring and tell them I’m stuck.  So.  Still parked,  I opened the doctor’s letter.  The appointment was back in The Town.  At the surgery next door to ours.  Ah.   I reversed and drove back.  “I work in the community,” said the physiologist.  “I’m cheaper than The Hospital, even with the cost of the consultant.  People had to wait eighteen months for this before the PCT started using me.”  She is a Good Thing.  My heart is fine, thank you for asking.  Another Good Thing.

The time at the Heart Scan made me late to The Office, and Very Late Indeed getting away.  Poor Wonder Nanny bathed the boys and was trying to keep them awake so I’d see them when I got back.  Son 2 aged 16m was grizzling and tantruming… Son 1 was just lying down with his eyes closed on the middle of the bed in Son 2’s room.  I am slowly cutting down on the time it takes to get Son 2 to sleep.  He has his lullaby, three rounds of “Summertime,” 5 counts down from 100 and then a “night night darling, I’m just going to say night night to Son 1 and then I’ll come back.”  WAAAAAAAH.  Three nights in a row now, although he is only crying for about five minutes before he drops off.   It makes me sick inside, but as the songs and counts take place when I’m bending into the cot with my head next to his, I do think it is A Good Thing that we’re trying.

1.  Bananas in Pyjamas

2.  Third Time Lucky

3.  The Last Breastfeed

Last night I stuck my hand in my pyjama drawer and found a designer pair from the BC days.  Cream.  Cotton/microfibre mix. Soft.  Lace at wrists and ankles.  This morning I sat in my glam nightwear propped up on pillows with Son 1 aged 4 and Son 2 aged 13m reading baby books.   Son 1 went to the loo, Son 2, who’d kicked off his pyjama bottoms, crawled after him.  I sipped my coffee. This is great, I thought.  I can’t believe I haven’t worn these lovely pyjamas for more than four years.  Son 1 called from the bathroom: “Son 2’s done a poo!”  And then: “And it’s all down his leg!” Son 2 crawled back into the bedroom, his nappy hanging off, leaving a great turd on the floor.  I picked him up and took him to the changing mat. He thrust his hands down to his willy and coated them.  I held him upright, him crying indignantly, his legs pedalling furiously in the air, and called to The Man. “I need help here.”  “I’m clearing this up. ” “I need help.” “In a minute.”  At last, The Man finished with the floor problem.  By which time Son 2 had pedalled squashy brown flecks onto my lace, my buttons, my sleeves, my shoulder and my stomach. I looked like I’d been shot by a paint gun filled with poo.  All over my beautiful, beautiful pyjamas.     

I made another appointment for Son 1 at the doctor’s, The Man took him up.  Son 1 has an ear infection and needs antibiotics.  Earache. Moaning about his ear.  Sensitive to touch. And waking screaming and feverish, night after night.  This is of course a positive blog.  But.  I believed the doctor who looked in his ears on Tuesday and said there was nothing wrong.  And, having heaved him all the way up there yesterday, I would have liked the Duty Doctor to ring back, as promised.   Son 1 wasn’t well enough to go to his friend’s party.  Looking on the bright side, we have now established that he only hollers at night when there is indeed something wrong.

I fed Son 2 for the last time tonight.  I’ve reduced the lengths of the feeds; I’m offering him milk from his cup.  I couldn’t really see him feeding in the gloom, and wondered vaguely when I last watched him.  Guilt - I know he still loves it, and he’s finally settled down to find the last feed of the day comforting.  Dread - really not looking forward to tomorrow night.  I hope it’s not hard for him.  Regret - bye bye babyhood.  Grief - no more little babies for me.   Pride - I did it, even though it was very, very hard. And I know in a week’s time we will both be fine.    Relief, maybe. I’ve picked a day, and I’m sticking with it.

1.  Night Manoeuvres

2.  The Doctor

3.  A Clever Little Boy

Son 1 aged 4 arrived at about 0100. Still hot. Still crying if he couldn’t have my face close to his so he can comfort-stroke my eyebrow.  “I want a drink.” “I need the loo,” “My ear is sore.”  I went to the loo while he was finally asleep. And came back to him T-boned across the King Size bed, head on the pillow my side, legs sticking out The Man’s side.  I slept on a slither of bed the width of a bookmark.  90 seconds later.  I heard Son 2 aged 13 m wake up with The Man downstairs.  I drowsed.  The Man brought me a coffee.  He switched the light on. “Don’t do that, you’ll wake Son 1,” I snapped.  “Son 1’s downstairs with Son 2,” he said. ”They’re waiting for  you.”

 I made an appointment for Son 1 to see the doctor, to get his ear and throat checked out.  The Positive Point was that I rang at 10 past 8 and got an appointment at 10 past 9. So I will not dwell on having to tell the Woman Who Answers The Phone what was wrong with Son 1.  He didn’t want to go.  Because of the “noodles.”  Which was his MMR top up a year ago.  He’d gone in happy, looking forward to the Play House.  He came out crying, not consoled at all by the bag of chocolate money I gave him.  “I hate doctors.” The Man had to take him.  I wrote everything down for him.    He forgot to ring me after, and wasn’t answering his mobile.  At lunchtime he rang back.  The doctor said Son 1’s throat was a bit sore, there was nothing wrong with his ear.  Give him Calpol.  Son 1 had extracted the Smarties from The Man’s pocket  before they were out of the consulting room.

I went like the clappers at the Office to get out in time for Son 1’s Parents’ Evening at The New Nursery.  The Man got stuck behind a slow lorry and didn’t get there on time.  Son 1’s Teacher said he’s settling in well, takes part in class, chats to his friends, has good focus, an excellent vocabulary, he’s a clever little boy, he’s polite, eats his lunch well with a knife and fork, cares about his friends - if someone’s hurt he’ll go and tell an adult, and plays well in the playground.  And has great memory retention… two days after listening to her tell him something about elephants he repeated it back to her.  Any questions?  “What does he do all day?” I asked.  He always tells me he can’t remember.  The Man got there for the last few minutes.  We drove home different ways as an experiment to see which route is fastest, and arrived back at the same time.  Wonder Nanny smiled when I walked in. “I think Son 2 has chickenpox.”  

1.   Sludge

2.   Reading Matter 

3.  Cheek to Cheek 

4.30am.  Son 2 aged 10m crying in the cot.  I could tell from the bed that he stunk - and I have hardly any sense of smell.  Sludge had gone through his nappy, vest and sleeping bag.  I changed him, cleaned him, put his stuff in the washing machine, fed him, and lay him down next to me on a towel.  At 8am I felt him shuffling around, and opened my eyes to see him down by my hip, sitting up and peering round in the gloom.   He smiled.  He stunk.  He had slug-slimed sludge off the towel and across the bed.

Back to the doctor. In the waiting room, Son 1 aged 3 y 9m helped himself to some pamphlets from a rack of leaflets.  He trailed back over.  He has chosen the only two with cartoons on the front: “4 Boys - a below the belt guide to the male body,” and “4 Girls - a below the bra guide to the female body.”  He opens 4 Boys.  Page 2 and 3 is a spread of 9 naked men of varying heights, builds and races.  “Mummy why are they all holding their willies?”  “They’re not.  Just that one.”  “They’ve all got willies, haven’t they?”  “Yes they have.”  “What are they all doing?” “It’s just supposed to show that men come in all shapes and… er… kinds.”  Thankfully Son 2 started eating 4 Girls, which distracted him before he got to the masturbation pages. 

Duty Doctor said Son 2 could be ill for another week.  “A week isn’t a particularly long time for diarrhoea like this.”  “But I’ve got to go back to The Office on Monday, “I said.  “I had a week’s leave last week, I’ve taken this week off, I have to go back.  But they won’t have him in Nursery with nappies like this. ” Duty Doctor just looked at me.   By this evening, The Man had said he’d look after Son 2 on Monday - he wants to go on a Business Trip on Tuesday and come back Wednesday night.  Putting Son 2 to bed, he felt like a little scrap in my arms.  He fed, he cried and cried, he flopped asleep with his head against my shoulder, snugging the softest cheek in the world against mine.   

1.   The Doctor

2.   Support

3.   Scoop

I like this doctor.  All the partners at our practice are great - I just can’t really work out what you have to do to get to see them.  If I try and get an appointment, there’s an interrogation by the telephonist, who gives you the following options: A phone call from a locum doctor in the next half hour or a phone call from one of the partners (someone we may have seen before) at some point today.  When they will decide if they need to see you.  Argue past that, and you’re offered an appointment with a locum.  I did all this yesterday at 8am, and was offered a 3pm locum appointment.  I said, for the third time, that my baby had been ill for five days, had been very sick twice that morning, had rampant diarrhoea and was hospitalised for it last week, and that I’d prefer to see someone sooner if possible.  The telephonist then said “Yes, i suppose they might want to see him a bit sooner” and gave me a 0905 appointment with the Duty Doctor. 

Who, as I said, I like.  Son 2 was lethargic, fretful and clingy.  I reported yesterday’s saga. Duty Doctor said it’s infectious diarrhoea, he’s not dehydrated, there’s nothing that can be done except watch him and “support” him if he gets any worse.  Which is what they did last week in the hospital.  Did I want to take him to the Hospital Here to have him assessed? - Not if I don’t need to.   - Bring him back tomorrow then, I’ll weigh him again and we’ll see how he is.  1120 appointment. Or come earlier and get reception to call him when we arrive.  He’ll see us when he’s finished with his next patient.   Simple.

Wonder Nanny took Son 1 aged 3y and 9m for a hair cut while we were seeing the GP. It’s short, and he loves it.  He looks rock hard.  Son 2 and I perfected a new game while they were out.  Son 2 clings on to a chair, because standing is still his favourite thing.  Only he can’t quite do it at the moment, because he’s ill.  So his knees buckle and he topples.  And I rescue him with a big melodramatic scoop and cuddle and scores of kisses, and Son 2 giggles and giggles.  After a couple of times he was deliberately falling towards me to make me do it.  When Son 1 watched this game, he was over like a shot.  Scooping up Son 2 and kissing him.  Which Son 2 didn’t like, because he only wants me at the moment.   Son 1 gave up. “Come upstairs and watch telly with me mummy.  Leave him.” It must be agony having Mummy home for a bonus week and watching her giving the baby every drip of attention.  I sat him on my knee and we watched Scooby Doo.  

1.  The lie-in

2.  Bouncing

3.  A clear sample

Son 2 aged 10m woke at 5-ish and was put back to sleep by The Man.  Son 1 aged 3 y 9m was exhausted after an 8.30 bedtime.  So I was wakened at 0730 by The Man, bringing coffee and lifting up the blackout blinds.  Loudly.  Son 2 had been sick in the cot.  Son 2 threw up his breast feed.  I had my shower and sat Son 2 on the bathroom floor playing with the duplo.  Finished, went to get my clothes, came back, and Son 2 had been sick, and was sitting in a pile of porridge, patting it with his hands.  I went to pick him up and then realised it wasn’t sick.  He’d done a poo slick, and he’s lost so much weight now that it ran out of the side of his nappy.  Took him to the doctor.    Who said he looked well, considering what he’s been through, he’s still infectious, so don’t take him near other children or mother.  We are apparently all immune after 48 symptom-free hours.  He said he’d chase up the sample from the Holiday Hospital, and gave me a kit to take another today.  Ring him back at 5pm.

Son 2 could not sleep, so we put him in the Big Pram and walked through the town. I promised Son 1 an ice cream to make up for his disappointment in not seeing his friends today.   The Man came out for his lunch hour.  I let Son 1 bounce on the bouncy castle.  I bounced Son 2, who liked it, but couldn’t keep going very long.  I sat down with him on my knee to give him his banana lunch.  He had a little banana, but was more interested in drinking milk from the bottle.    A little bit more banana.  A little bit more milk.  And then a huge wet patch on  my skirt which quickly dripped all the way down to the pavement.  A great big pile of porridgey liquid poo.  Son 2’s, that is.  Took him to a baby change, cleaned him up.  Couldn’t clean me up, no spare clothes.  Took Son 2 out in his nappy.  No spare shorts/trousers, because we cleared out all our supplies on the Long Trip back.  This was 1330, and the doc had said get the sample back for 2pm if we wanted it to go today.   Being positive, my skirt was brown, so it didn’t show.      This was a low point indeed.

Rang the doctor at 5pm, who said the sample from the Holiday Hospital was clear.  It isn’t e coli, listeria, rotovirus or something else I’d never heard of.  He’d like to have another look at Son 2 tomorrow morning to see how he is.   Something else for Pollyanna to be Glad about.  Son 2’s stomach will apparently be inflamed for a while after the infection, which could be why he’s being so sick and having such bad diarrhoea.  He is just skin and bone now - he was slender before, but now his ribs stick out and his sternum’s really pronounced.  Poor little mite.  A friend came round this evening.  “I was going to tell you what had happened in a jokey way and say everything’s fine,”  I wailed.  “But it isn’t.  It’s awful.”  “He’ll get better,” she said.  ”He will turn into a big strapping lad, like they all do, and none of us will remember this.”