Aka why not to breed.
At 2am Jellybean woke up crying for a cuddle. My Dad and Step Mum are staying so I rushed through before his wailing could wake them.
He'd kicked off his duvet and was chilled right through so I lay down with him to cuddle him warm again.
He has brand new bedding which is very, very snuggly - so I snuggled in and fell fast asleep with him and knew nothing until 3am...
At 3am what I heard was "No, no - Lizzie, I need help!" - my husband sounded fretful so I leapt from snuggly toddler bed and dashed through to our room where he was holding Midget Gem at arms length, the pair of them covered in vomit. Nice.
I took baby and cleaned him up whilst hubby face got himself sorted - then snuggled back into bed with the sleepy baby. Who sat up, looked at me, shouted "peekaboo!" as loud as possible - then noisily filled his nappy. The resulting substance - something which I can describe only as liquid Satan, mixed with fermented death for perfume, sprayed dramatically out of each side and the top of his nappy.
That took a little longer - and a lot of screaming - and then my Dad and his wife were woken (but are politely pretending they weren't) so it took a while for everyone else to settle back to sleep.
This morning my wonderful husband got up with the children and left me in bed. He fed them chocolate for breakfast - but that's ok, because I got a lie in and didn't see it so it doesn't exist.
When I got up we dressed the boys in their new Christmas present - Carlisle United football kits from my big brother. Cuteness in a Northern way.
Eventually we were dressed and decided we'd go for a walk (hurrah!) but it was raining. That's fine, I'm Cumbrian, I can handle the rain. So we coated up and got ready. I told Jellybean he needed to wear something warmer but the only way he'd let me dress him warmly was if he could put his football kit on on top of his warm clothes!
On our way out hubby nipped downstairs to put the bin bag outside - Jellybean followed - but he tripped at the top step and tumbled headfirst down the stairs.
Never have I run so fast. I think I flew to get him. His Daddy had already scooped him up - we gave cuddles and checked him over and he was fine, aside from the shock and a big grazed egg on his head.
I'm pretty sure his Daddy and I were far more shaken than he is - aside from the head bump he was fine and dandy: we were full of what if and oh my!
Worried that he had a concussion, but assured by my Dad that he was fine (and reminded of the awful things *I* did as a tot) we set off on our walk.
Off we trotted - and Midget Gem screamed. He wouldn't stop screaming so I had to lift him out and carry him. Sigh. A ten month old baby isn't the easiest of things to carry. One on the 98th centile is harder still. When he repeatedly slaps you in the face and pulls your hair? I repeat; sigh.
Eventually he fell asleep so was back in his pushchair. Big clambered into the back seat and said he was too tired to walk. ("oh god, is it concussion? Does your head hurt? Do you feel sick?" - "no, I tired, I'm a bored walking now Mummy")
After a stop in a cafe for the best beef stew of my life and the biggest cream cake known to man we trotted off again - I got extra arnica cream for the toddler's recent clumsy spell, which I anticipate continuance of, and we popped into TKMaxx.
There's a lift in TKMaxx. Upstairs is the wondrous homewares section. We went there. I was looking at stew pots, safe in the knowledge that Daddy had the boy.
Daddy was looking at suits at the far end, safe in the knowledge that Gwandad and Nana Fifi had the boy. Gwandad and Nana Fifi were looking at pasta machines, safe in the knowledge that I had the boy.
He got in the lift, went downstairs and had a wander on his own.
It was less than two minutes - but he was lost. Totally.
Daddy searched upstairs and headed for the lift. Nana Fifi rescued the baby in the pushchair as I abandoned him and ran to the stairs. Gwandad aimed himself towards the toys.
As I hit the bottom step in full flight for the second time in a day I saw him, standing near the door looking very worried and very, very small. My boy, alone and lost, chewing a shelf. (like you do!)
I teleported to his side, grabbed him, shouted "YOU!" and burst into tears as I pressed him against me, crushing him and making him cry too.
All safe, we decided town was too traumatic, and headed home.
I carried Jellybean the runaway all the way home. You could tell he'd scared himself, because he let me.
Injuries, vomit and runaways. Anxiety and panic. Terror, worry and children. It all goes together.
Just to top the day off nicely the baby burped his bedtime milk back up all over me.