As well as my buggered ankle, the week was also a none starter from The Preschooler's point of view too. For a few days he'd been complaining on and off with tummy ache with an accompaniment of shall we say 'squirty farts'. Yes this parenting lark is terribly grim isn't it? I do so hope you weren't eating.
Tuesday Morning he woke up complaining of tummy ache. He often does. It’s usually a mixture of needing a wee and being hungry after sleeping all night. As usual he put his clothes on the bed and trotted off to the bathroom to relieve himself but then utterly departed from the norm and declared be wanted to be sick. He wasn’t sick but chambered back on to my bed and randomly fell back asleep, instantly. When he finally woke up he threw up some phlegm and we went downstairs to curl up on the sofa together only for him to fall asleep, again. Every time his sleepy little head rested on my bump I felt Moomin kick. Either she was trying to say hello or else she’s already jealous of me sharing my attention and beating up on her little big brother.
Having snoozed the morning away he reached out a small hand, eyes still closed, located some chocolate by touch and commenced to devour it before finally opening his eyes fully. He woke up an entirely different boy to that which I'd spent the morning with.
He then commenced to precede every request throughout the rest of the day, usually a demand for ice pops, with the famous words 'because I'm poorly Mummy...'