Our first night in Coffs was a restless one. Ethan wouldn't sleep more than 2 hour blocks at a time and unlike home, his cot was stuck in our bedroom. Which meant NOBODY was getting any sleep. This is especially bad for Craig who doesn't get back to sleep easily. In the end, Craig gave up and left to go watch TV but that was when things got even more exciting... By this stage, Ethan had migrated into our bed as I tried desperately to settle him but unfortunately, our bed wasn't up against a wall like it was at home. Yep, you guessed it. The little tike rolled off the bed. In my delirious state, I picked him up, dusted him off and gave the kid a cuddle. He seemed well enough but was still whinging about the whole ordeal and I desperately didn't want him to wake up his Uncle, Aunty, Nan and Pa. I made the mistake of giving him milk to try and settle him and that's when the night went really downhill. Ethan threw it all up....
Long story short, here we were, two tired parents and a worn out toddler - changing bed sheets, mopping up vomit with towels while the other took turns giving Ethan cuddles to try and calm him down. And even when Ethan did fall asleep, I was so wired up with thoughts that maybe he had fallen harder than I originally thought that I couldn't sleep either.
The next day, Ethan barely touched his food and what he did eat for breakfast, he promptly threw up all over his Nan's lovely cream carpet which she had specially cleaned just for the holidays. At this point in time, Craig was close to tearing his hair out as he tried to contain the damage with paper towels. By the afternoon, Ethan's poos morphed into acidic green diarrhoea and while he ceased vomiting, he still had no appetite. So much for the crumbed fish & chicken nuggets which I'd lovingly brought down in an esky! Quick Craig, we need to duck out to the pharmacy for panadol. It is Christmas Eve after all and there was little chance of anything being open during the next day.
Christmas morning. Despite the dose of panadol, Ethan still slept poorly and required two changes overnight for his runny bowels. Oh, this was SOOOOOOOO NOT how I envisioned our Christmas. By the afternoon, his butt was red-raw from all the poo & wipes that he began to cry every time we changed him. Since he was also chewing on his fingers and toys, I assured Craig that this was all simply teething but that night, I hoped I was right and my son hadn't picked up Gastro. Please don't let it be Gastro... Please Not Please No...
Thankfully, Ethan cut his molar on boxing day. Although he was still crying, still grumpy, still whinging and pooing liquid, there was nothing more reassuring than feeling that hard white tooth poking through those angry red gums. Brownie Points for my Mummy Instincts! Let's crack open the Moscato and Baileys!
Despite the craziness of our Christmas, it was still good to spend it together as a family. It's only after enduring the hard, difficult times together that I truly appreciate the precious moments. Like Ethan's cheeky grin after his tooth cut. Or the way he smashed down rice & black bean beef like a man who'd been starved for months. And let's not forget his enthusiastic side-to-side butt sway as he danced to the Wiggles. Now that's my kind of Christmas.
Cheers everyone. May 2014 bring more sleep, more teeth, and probably more nappy changes.
