It’s Kit Kat time

Today has been a truly, truly trying day. One that deserves to be buried six feet under. And then set on fire. And then pulverised by the weapons of mass destruction that they may or may not have found in Iraq.

It all started last night, I think. It was a horrid night. Zac is going through a mental leap and his idea of sleep is to either permaboob (ie. latch on forever and ever, until he graduates from university) or sleep on a warm human body. In between, he cried and fussed.

And on the opposite spectrum, we have Aidan, who has this very strange need to be physically attached to my body when he sleeps. His lovey is, oddly enough, my belly button, and it is not unusual for him dig his fingers into my flesh, looking for said button in the middle of the night. When I am nursing Zac (which, remember, goes on forever and ever these days), he wakes up and screams to be carried by mama. Obviously mama can’t do that because mama has a baby hanging off her boob. He continues screaming and nobody gets any sleep.

Last night, he also ran a temperature so we found ourselves zipping across the island to pay a visit to our paediatrician bright and early this morning. Predictably, we spent the entire morning in the clinic burning a few holes in our pockets and by the time we left, it was noon. During this time, Zac caught little naps here and there, but nothing substantial.

Oh, did I also mention that the sky was pissing with rain? And that the walk between the carpark and the clinic was not sheltered?

We had lunch and on the way back, Aidan fell asleep in the car. Yay! Except he woke up once we lifted him out of the carseat and then he cried for mama when papa tried to put him back to sleep at home. Except mama was trying to nap baby, who would wake up once he was unlatched.

Once again, nobody got any sleep.

I decided to strap Zac to me and go for a walk. It was a very pleasant walk, actually. The weather was lovely and cool. We went to Yakun and I had my teh-si fix and then we took a bus back. Aidan had fun jumping into puddles in his wellies and we laughed and laughed.

And then it was time to head out for my father-in-law’s birthday dinner.

Just for the record, I would like to state that I had been vehemently AGAINST the idea of bringing a sick toddler and a 2.5-month-old baby out for a 7pm dinner. I knew that Aidan would not nap much in the day and would be a handful. I knew that Zac goes into meltdown mode at that hour and can only be comforted after a bath and a feed AT HOME. Our past weekend dinners at the in-laws have proven that to be true.

Because who ends up pacing the floor, soothing a cranky baby while the rest of the family enjoys dinner? ME. Everybody gets their turn at carrying baby and cooing at how cute he is, but when he cries, he gets dumped back into my arms.

So really, NO THANKS.

But my worries were summarily dismissed and I decided that should either of my children be crying during dinner, I will coolly eat my Peking duck and say, “Oh, by all means, carry him.” And I will continue crunching down on that Peking duck because, you know, PEKING DUCK.

Anyhow, we set off for the dinner. Zac started bawling even before we inserted the key into the ignition. Meanwhile, Aidan was chirpy but coughing up a storm. We drove and we jammed (the car sort) and Zac continued crying and Aidan continued coughing. I moved back to sit in between the carseats (IT’S A FEAT/FIT) and had one hand on each of my boys’ to comfort them.

As we drove onto CTE, Aidan coughed and he coughed and he…THREW UP ALL OVER HIMSELF. I stared at him, aghast and all, WITENBOF. As I hastily tried to clean him up, he vomited again. I almost cried, because he looked so miserable and the smell of vomit was awful. Good thing Zac had been crying, he probably cried enough for all of us.

We stopped the car and stripped Aidan out of his vomity clothes. The car seat was drenched as well. There was no way in hell I would allow my kids to go for the dinner in their various states and so we headed back. Zac was still crying.

By the time we got home, my poor bubba had been crying for an hour. And it was ALL FOR NOTHING. The car smelt of vomit and the car seat was in a disgusting state. I was exhausted and my head was pounding from the smell and the crying. But my Super Powers kicked in and I managed to whip up dinner for Aidan (macaroni in chicken soup, steamed salmon) and the adults (frozen pizza, NO JUDGING and thank you Dr Oetker).

We got the kids bathed and changed into their jammies. Finally, they fell asleep, even if Zac woke up and cried, before passing out at my boob. Again.

I crawled out of the room and devoured ice-cream. (The Inspired Chef‘s Divine Chocolate Tart, if anyone’s interested. You can thank me later.)

So yeah, not the best day of my life. When you add in the loss of my wallet (and all my credit cards and IC), the perpetual ill-health of the family, my idiotic rear-ending of our car…you can see how I am Just. So. Frigging. Tired.

Am going to slump onto my pillow and wait for someone to wake up soon. Am also mentally crooning Radiohead’s Fake Plastic Trees. Just because.