As I type this, the girls are all peacefully sleeping in their cots. It’s 7.40pm, rain noise and ewan the sheep sounding in the background. I have little faith this will last but I’m desperately hopeful at the same time.
It’s been a tough couple of weeks. The girls started the creche and in the first two days of adaptation they caught a small gastroenteritis. Three vomiting babies at once is something to tell your grandchildren when you’re older. Add to that Mr H catching it as well the second night and projectile vomiting when running for the toilet. During four days the washing machine was constantly on, the house, which we usually keep on top of, was a sh*thole, no creche, crying babies, suffering husband trying to do as much as he could and all resemblance of routine disappeared. Total chaos. No sleep.
Then Ana also developed Roseola which of course is only visible once the contagion period is finished. We’re expecting the other two to follow suit.
Their sleep has been atrocious and so have ours. We tried isolating Ana from the other two at night as she was the loudest complainer. It only made us twice as sleep deprived. They’re all back in the nursery together tonight. Hopefully it’ll all come back to normal. Hopefully…
Sleep deprivation brings out the very worst in me. I can’t think straight, I become insecure, I doubt all my choices, I lose it, I snap, I cry, I recover and start the day all over again dreading the once amazing and longed for bedtime.
Today the three completed their first full day in the creche. I spent the day hoping not to get a call to pick them up. The phone never rang, they do fine there, they come home exhausted from all the daily action.
I sit here and hope they sleep like they used to before falling ill.
Sh*t gets real with three ill babies.