The past few weeks I’ve felt like a big failure. I’ve been pretty ill. So ill in fact that I couldn’t even look after my own baby. This, in my world, means I’m a failure.
It all started during the Jubilee weekend with what I thought was a little stomach bug. Turns out it was Noro Virus and I managed to pass it on to some of my nearest and dearest too. Day 2 of me being ill was when the OH came down with it. Sympathetic as always I was mightily peed off that I wasn’t even allowed to be sick without him stealing my pity thunder. I had no choice but to carry on my normal day in between visiting the bathroom every 10 minutes (I kid you not). This was not fun for Dexter and he started to become very whiny and irritating, sorry I mean irritated. The OH got over it pretty quick before my bout number 2 arrived. This was much more horrific than the first and I was quarantined at home with a black cross painted on the front door whilst my family were shipped to the grandparents.
I sobbed a lot over the next 24 hours. I missed my baby and I missed the OH getting me water and ice lollies. I pretended I felt better so they’d come home early. In a genius move they returned 36 hours later to me feeling 50% better but with zilch appetite (FYI no obvious weight loss as far as I can see, who do I send my complaint too?)
We were nearing the weekend and I should’ve been all geared up to go on my best friends hen do. Secretly I just wanted to eat ritz crackers in my jogging bottoms. “Must get better, must get better”. This was my hourly chant until Saturday morning when I started to feel more like the normal Lindsey and even licked my lips at the thought of a pimms.
The weekend was a success (for another post) and I returned a little shaky and very tired. Early Monday morning was when bout number 3 arrived. Now I was cursing Noro and all who sail in him. How could one person be so unfortunate? We’d deep cleaned the bathrooms, changed the bedding, even opened the windows (it was chilly). I went to the doctors and they told me it was viral (brilliant) to drink lots of water (really?) and that it should just run its course. As you can imagine I skipped and hopped out of there with excitement!
You’ll be pleased to hear (or not, depending on how much you like me) that I’ve been Noro clean for 5 days now. 2 weeks of it was pretty rubbish but I think the real casualty was poor Dexter. Mummy did not want to play. Mummy didn’t want to feed him food and Mummy did not want her belly to be used as the normal bouncing device. I’m 100% back to being me. Dexter has been run ragged this week. He’s beaming smile is back and I feel like I’ve got some catching up to do.
Thanks for reading
Mummy over and out