Beefcake has been struck down with a man-cold. That is to say, we all have a cold, however Beefcake is dying and urgently needed to rush off to the pharmacy in order to dose himself thoroughly with whiney baby drugs.

Drugs, which I cannot have.

Arsehole.

Anyhow, it turned out well because he decided to stop working after a few hours today and we spent the rest of the day making comfort food. Comfort food involving pasta and cake, which I should not have. Beefcake makes a gorgeous ginger cake, which is baked in a large baking dish. This is lucky because we tend to need to eat that much of it. Today, being terribly ill, he had put it in the oven when I noted it was rather less thick than usual and lacking in volume. On questioning, it turns out that he had added the ingredients in a rather haphazard order and had somehow forgotten to add one of the cups of flour. We managed to rescue the cake but he has been banned from baking. Still, I have indulged heartily in the carbohydrates and will now need to spend the next couple of days whispering nasty things to myself as punishment.

I stupidly went to bed at about 8pm with Grub and will now be awake until a million o’clock but at the time it seemed I had no choice as I was about to pass out from tired. Since I got up again, Poss has been up  to get a drink and has begun laying the groundwork towards spending the day at home tomorrow. Think lots of moaning about blocked noses etc. We just heard her moaning in her sleep though so I think she may genuinely be sick.

Poor Rhubarb, he who brought the pestilence to our house, has been punished severely by enduring his first Monday fitness training for rowing squad. Poor baby had sport just before school finished and then went on to do 90 minutes of situps and rowing practice and the like. He seemed to enjoy it but I notice that his light was out early this evening, which can only mean he was knackered.

Right then, I might try and lay about and moan a bit before trying to head to bed again…… Or perhaps some more cake? Mmmmmm.

Pudding did not care that this was our last morning to have a sleep-in. After coming in to our bed at 7am he tossed and turned for 20 minutes before climbing out, standing next to my side of the bed and whispering loudly in his best toddler style that he wanted “bekky”. I told him he’d be fine and could leave Mummy and Daddy to sleep and tide himself over with a cracker from the pantry (yes, I know, I’m an excellent mother). He left the room and stood in the hallway wimpering and moaning about his bekky and how huuuuuungry he was. I decided it would be far nicer to get up and make it for him unencumbered than to wait for him to wake Grub with his wailing and have to do it with her on my hip. So, here I am, it’s now 7.40am.

Pudding was actually very cute in the kitchen.

“Toast is not for bekky” he said to me with the sweet rising intonation that means, “I am asking for toast but don’t want to ask explicitly in case there is some reason I can’t have toast because I get put out easily if things don’t go my way and it is best this way”.

Me: “Toast is perfect for brekky, would you like toast?”

P: “Yes, but you can have it at night”

Me: “Toast is lovely at any time”

P: “Yes”

He sat munching his toast on the kitchen sofa while I tidied up and I mentioned to him that his knees were lovely.

Me: “Did you buy the from the shop?”

P: “No”

Me: “You did, you bought them from the supermarket, in the knee aisle”

P: “No, they’re from Ikea”

We giggled.

Rhubarb just emerged from his cave to tell me that he vomited during the night. Now all six of us have been afflicted, the circle is complete. I sent him to bed with a bucket just in case. He wanted to know what he should do with it as it had been “fermenting in his room all night”. Why oh why would he choose now abandon his monosyllabic ways. I was eating a bowl of yoghurt with lumps of peach and mango in it. I can’t finish it now. Did I mention how thrilled I am that school goes back tomorrow?

If there is anything more delightful than a vomiting, weak and dehydrated baby, then it is surely four other members of the family being struck down by the pestilence and becoming weak, dehydrated, vomitous masses of whinging and moaning.

It was particularly unfortunate that Beefcake, Pudding and Poss were hit within a few hours of each other. Does anyone remember the ‘vomitorium’ in the  film ‘Stand By Me’? That’s what it was like. We were forced to call a doctor to come and give Beefcake an injection in the arse. There was just no other way we could manage the vomiting children and his vomiting all at once. I was fortunate enough to remain vomit-free, however I am still quite nauseous and there have been other side effects. Enough said.

Fortunately, all the lying around holding babies has meant some book reading time. Unfortunately, I chose the most annoyingly written book in the world. I will not name and shame here, let’s just say the term ‘writer’ should be used loosely when discussing this tense-switching, drivel-giving craptastician. I will persist, however, I rarely give up a book halfway through, I won’t let it win.

As a side note, why are husbands so intolerable when they are unwell? Beefcake has just informed me that he feels he has pneumonia. He has no reason to suspect this, no symptoms, just his unshakable husbandly wussiness. He can moan like no other. Man-gastro is waaaaaaaay worse than a man-cold. He also suggested he may have some form of cancer this afternoon. I’ll have to spend the next week convincing him that he is hale and hearty.

School goes back on Tuesday. I wish I felt more sad, I just can’t. I’m sure I’ll miss them a bit but thank fuck.  We went during the week and spent an amount of money, too outrageously large to mention, buying the required school uniform for Rhubarb to begin High School. Seriously, I’m not really sure why a shirt with school logo is worth three times a plain white shirt. We are assured it is. He enjoyed his rowing camp, it seems, but came back even more grunty and monosyllabic as well as slightly sunburnt. It does not bode well for how the High School environment may impact upon his mood. I feel a bit sorry for the kids, actually. The weather is predicted to be over fourty on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday this week. School will be horrible. Better them than me.

Take one freshly bathed baby, infected with horrible gastro bug to induce vomiting. Allow vomit  to cover baby, you, the couch, the carpet. Shower yourself and baby. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat, but this time replace couch with bed. Repeat. Take 355 clean towels and make sure each one cops some vomit, requiring it to be washed. Spend night trying to comfort baby who wakes every ten minutes in obvious discomfort.

Seriously, once you try this recipe you will never want to sample it again.

Two things can be gleaned from this adventure:

1. There is nothing more distressing than a really sick baby (thank Toejam the vomiting appears to have stopped).
2. You can never have too much in the way of  linen, towels or pyjamas.

I have a very scary deep dark secret, I love Hungry Jack’s (Burger King everywhere else). I love it in an “I know it’s wrong to love you and I feel cheap and dirty after we have had an encounter (not to mention unwell) but I can’t seem to get over you” way. That is why I was quite wrongly excited to hear that Burger King in the US is releasing* a fragrance that apparently smells like a flame-grilled whopper. I tried to buy some but it would not let me as I am not in the US. This just sounds so disgusting, I can’t believe it’s real. I hope so because, OMFG, how awesome, or disgusting, I don’t know .

*I would like to add that I am not entirely sure if this is real or not so if it’s not, don’t laugh and call me an idiot. My radar for such things is temporarily out of action**.

**That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I have mentioned my pelvis on this blog before. I’m not sure if I have explained exactly what is wrong with it and I can not be bothered right now going back to check what’s been said, so…

When I was pregnant with Pudding, I was working full-time in a job that, in theory,  shouldn’t really involve lifting heavy objects or be physically demanding in any way, really. That’s good, except that it involved lifting at least one heavy case in and out of my car twice a day, often more. It also involved getting down on the floor for the occasional playtime and made frequent use of small, preschooler sized chairs. It is a field, which is dominated by women and I had seen many of them work throughout their pregnancies, up to 37 or 38 weeks in many cases, with little problem. I was not about to be all wussy and claim pregnancy-related difficulty. I was a “new grad” fresh from uni and I was very much under scrutiny, I had to prove myself. To my moronic ‘I must be perfect and the best at everything’ mind it seemed worthwhile to take on two special projects, which were senior roles and kind of trebled the stress and demands of my job. They gave me a choice but at the time it seemed as though there was noone else. I thought I would achieve recognition for undertaking it and I knew it would be good for my professional skills. Have I mentioned I was being a moron??

One day, I took a group of families on a library visit. I was 18 weeks pregnant and actually feeling really awesome. I decided to get down on the floor with some of the small children to play and read some stories.  All was fine until I stood up, when I kind of felt this wrenching pain in my lower back. Oh crap. Plaster frozen smile on face. Farewell families. Head back to office. Collapse in weeping heap on desk only to get sent home by boss feeling sheepish and inadequate.

I recovered from that little incident and vowed to be more careful, however the daily grind of lifting my equipment and driving long distances was taking a toll. My midwife told me to cut down my hours. I did, to 0.9. That’s a half day off a week or one whole day off a fortnight. Go me!. Also, because I have a really good gauge of my own limits, we were renovating a house at the time. Think, gutting it completely, new kitchen, new bathroom (there hadn’t previously been an indoor bathroom so we had to build one) and me painting and crawling around on the floor prepping floors to be sanded. Moron. I went on like this for several weeks until, after a failed attempt at a morning walk with Beefcake the little aches and pains began to coalesce in my mind to something significant. I found a reference to pubic symphysis dysfunction in a book. I called my midwife, I was placed  on a waiting list but knew I couldn’t last the 5 weeks it would take to see a public physio. I could no longer walk without excruciating pain in my groin and my sacrum.

The private physio laughed when I asked her if I should cut down my hours at work. My pubic symphysis and sacro-iliac joints had separated very badly, this is normal to some extent during pregnancy but not my extent. You should not be able to use your pelvis like Rolf Harris does a wobble board. She told me I should be on bed rest. For the rest of my pregnancy. I was 31 weeks pregnant and had planned to stop work at 36 weeks.

We all moved into our new home sans kitchen and bathroom. I had to front up to my boss two days later and tell her I was flaking out on my contract. Again, go me!  I rested, in my house with no indoor bathroom, and waited for Pudding to arrive. I tried to do my physio stuff and just keep my pain under control. It got a little better once his head was engaged and I was able to walk for short periods, for example, around the supermarket! Yay!

The physio tried to talk me into a caesarean because she was worried that a vaginal birth might be too hard. The birth was fine but afterwards the pain didn’t magically go away. It gradually got better, up until the point where it just stayed the same. I would have good days and bad days. Many bad days in London, perhaps because of the cold and perhaps because of the multitudes of stairs, which are not so common in Australia and are the natural enemy of my wobble board pelvis.

I fell pregnant with Grub while we were in London and I exercised and tried to ensure it wouldn’t be as bad. It got pretty bad, only this time I refused (or more to the point couldn’t manage with a toddler) being bedridden and just wore my supports (elasticy strappy things) and committed to a mostly sedentary lifestyle. Yay, bring on the fat!

So here we are. I have had my ups and downs since Grub was born. I am currently having a down. Usually a bad pelvis episode of this magnitude is caused by something obvious. I fall over or I really overdo it. Ordinarily, I can rest for a day or so and be better. This time I’ve been steadily getting worse for over a week. I don’t really know why. My muscles have all waved their little white flags and I just have to try and find the position, which causes the least muscles to be in spasm at any,  one time. My entire back, shoulders, neck, everything, has joined in now, it’s a fabulous party if you’re a spasm hungry muscle. I can’t sit up for more than a few seconds. I am lying here flat on my back, with a complicated arrangement of pillows under my bum and knees. I will have to see someone tomorrow I suppose but I have a dread fear of health professionals, and am wishing it will get better on it’s own.

So, my laptop is my sole entertainment, which is good in that I get to catch up on reading blogs, however I am not in the best frame of mind, not so good. Please ignore all strange, pain-induced-hysteria fueled commenting. I am a moron.

I awoke this morning to the sound of Poss whimpering and making various loud clattering noises as she moved about the hallway. As I never really sleep, but drift in and out of a state of semi conciousness, I heard this and called out to her, registering her response as a sore throat I told her to get a drink (oh no) and I drifted back into my state of semiconcious sleepiness.

At 8am I was once again roused (Beefcake was up and packing lunches etc by then – shutup I’m tired) to the sound of someone loudly vomiting in what I hoped was the bathroom. Ah. Not sore throat. Sore tummy. Fabulous.

I’m not very good with bodily fluids. I mean, I will deal with that stuff in babies and for others if I HAVE TO but if Beefcake is around, or likely to be around within a reasonable time frame, then I ain’t touching it.

I did what would make me feel better and obsessively disinfected the bathroom. I then developed a paranoia that Poss was actually suffering from potential appendicitis. I do have some basis for this, I suffered a ruptured appendix at much the same age, after being repeatedly misdiagnosed with gastro for months and months. I made Beefcake take her to the doctor (not cos I’m crap, although I am, but cos I’m needed by Grub), who he assures me examined her thoroughly. She just has gastro.

I had to cancel our playdate today as I was worried we may all start vomiting at any moment. My friend must think I am trying to avoid her as I haven’t made it to a playdate for three weeks. Now Pudding has developed a seriously runny nose and keeps insisting that there is something up his nose that he can’t get out. There is, it’s snot.

I started to write this at 11am but have only now had a chance to return to it. It’s 10:30pm. In the intervening hours, in an attempt keep Pudding from driving me insane I made peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. Pudding thoroughly enjoyed it but I must be insane because the mess he made made me want to cry. The cookies are fabulous but I’ve eaten way to many and can feel my thighs laying down new layers of blubber as a result.

Here’s hoping tomorrow less annoying.