Pause in my writing of the most amazing evening with my sister and her boyfriend to just moan about the annoyance of gastroenteritis.
I have a really vivid memory of my first ‘real’ bout of gastro. I must’ve been around 5. I’m not sure how long I actually spent off school, but it seemed like 2 weeks. My mum, to this day, tells me how horrible it was.
Now it’s my turn. Cue returning home late Friday evening from Cape Town, hubby leaving Saturday evening to go to Cape Town, and the wheels falling off in the form of a temperature, fussiness, and the grossness which come with it (no vomit).
I watched the boxing with Stevie and we went to bed together. I’ve been trying to wean her off the boob (it’s been going way better than I ever imagined or hoped) but that’s gone out of the window, now. This is Day 3 or 4. Send help in the form of pizza!
