My darling daughter not long ago presented herself downstairs looking pale and a bit scared....I thought "she's still awake and I think she's broken something because she looks like she knows she's in trouble, what has she done and why is she awake at 1am, what?!?"....instead of shouting out the normal response of "why are you awake, why are you out of bed?!", I asked gently and kindly, like any good Mummy, what was up Sweetie?
She shuffled closer and it was then I noticed her Christmas onesie was wet, and next the waft of piles of undigested cheesy Wotsits assailed my nostrils.
From this I was able to deduce that she'd vomited all over herself and now stunk of the very same foodstuff that I'D just been stuffing down my neck only 5 minutes previously, causing my stomach to start roiling around (yes, roiling, not rolling, roiling...its the perfect word to describe that hitching and swaying movement of everything liquid in your stomach threatening to eject at a moments notice). I also deduced by the fact that she'd started saying "sorry Mummy" over and over that there was one hell of a mess up there to clean up.
When she said she'd been in my bed, and middle child was also in my bed, along with 2 iPads that I just thought "do I really want to go up there? Can't we just set the house on fire and live in the car?! Please?".
Still, I peeled her soggy stinky onesie off, wiped her down, cuddled her and told her to stay put and then raced up the stairs (OK, dragged my fat arse and breathless shrivelled lung slowly up the stairs, gasping for air) as I started to think of my luxury memory foam mattress and whether or not it was taking a soaking.
It WAS taking a soaking. She'd done a right job on my bed. She'd not only managed to vomit all over herself, but pulled the duvet right back to vomit straight onto my bottom sheet - and my God there was a LOT - had managed to hit the duvet cover heavily, and the duvet inside, 3 of my pillows, an ipad, and had just about managed to miss her brother who was lying in deep sleep next to the biggest pile of spew I'd ever witnessed, snoring happily.
Obviously I had to remove middle child, except he didnt understand when I tried to gently awaken him, and proceeded to roll straight into the big pile of huey before I managed to walk him out of the room and plonk him on the hallway floor while I undertook emergency cleaning duties. I came so very close to simply binning all the sicky sheets and duvets, but the fact they were my hotel grade Egyptian cotton sets and cost a fortune made me chuck them in the washing machine instead.
I am now sat in my bed, with my cheap bedding set from Studio Catalogue on, which is which SHOULD have been on (but no, I couldn't be arsed to change my sheets on Christmas Eve could I?), with towels and disposable bedmats under the entire bottom sheet to soak up the freshly scrubbed soggy mattress juice (ew, mattress juice?! Wtf?! I sicken myself, I'm so sorry if your stomach is now roiling too!), aswell as protecting against further projectile vomiting directly into my £700 mattress....
As I put middle son back in my bed afterwards and tucked her Ladyship up with a sick bucket, ready for me to move into action at the slightest cough, he briefly woke up, smiled at me and said "no one ever said being a mum was easy Mummy" which is rather deep (and also correct) for a 7 year old who's just woken up and rolled straight into vomit.
I smiled sweetly and replied "but I always knew it was worth it Son", and tucked him in. It was a touching scene. I didnt want to spoil the moment so I waited til he was asleep before muttering "bollocking, fucking bastards! My bloody bed, you little sod, why MY bed?!" under my breath whilst accidentally kicking the open door of the sheet cupboard with the back of my heel and swearing rather more heavily.
So, pretty normal Christmas here then, how about you?? 😁