It’s 2am at the time of writing. Little Miss Five has thrown up about six times so far.
It all began with a muffled cry from upstairs late in the evening. I cut W off mid-conversation, and we both listened. The silence was suddenly pierced by a proper cry, which ejected us from the couch, and found us in the youngest’s bedroom moments later.
In between sobs, she struggled to tell us that she had been sick…
“… and George is eating it
After a rapid change of pyjamas, re-making of the bed, and brush of her teeth to get rid of the smell, we put her back in bed. We were back inside ten minutes.
She’s asleep on the couch now, just across from me, with a washing up bowl below her on the floor. W went to bed an hour ago. We had been invited to talk to prospective adopters tomorrow, to relate our experiences (I’ll write about this soon, honest)- I had booked the day off work. It looks like my day will now be spent looking after a rather poorly little girl.
I’m sat here in the dark, the music channels are pumping out Katy Perry quietly in the background, the lights are off, and my young charge is snoring gently.
I wonder for how long?