Joy of Joys, the girls have Slapped Cheek. Before you call the NSPCC, this is the common name for the parvovirus, so called because usually the first you know about it is a bright red rash on their cheeks which looks like Mummy has finally flipped over THE AMOUNT OF FOOD THAT GEST FLUNG ON THE FLOOR AT MEALTIMES WHICH COULD FEED AN UN-SMALL AFRICAN VILLAGE.
NB I haven’t. Yet…
The rash is now over both their top halves, and they’re hot and bothered and achey and even (this is when I knew something really was amiss) off their jelly. But nothing to be done apart from Calpol (Charlotte can now say Calpol, and Romilly loves playing with the empty syringe, I’m not sure this is entirely healthy!) And as soon as the rash appears, they’re not infectious, so hopefully they’ll be back at nursery by the end of the week.
In the meantime it’s the beanbag and Peter Rabbit on repeat and cuddles on demand. The real killer is they’re not sleeping properly. Hourly waking during the night. God it makes me realise how utterly blessed we’ve been that they’ve slept right through from a few weeks. I have been completely useless today. I shudder to think what life would have been like if that had been a regular occurrence and my heart goes out to those of you who suffer!
So it only took a month from starting at nursery to begin the long and inevitable run of every single childhood infection. Given Slapped Cheek incubates for 21 days they pretty much got it on Day One. I was rereading Saint Gina Ford last night who, hilariously, counsels keeping twins’ feeding/bathing/cleaning/etc equipment separate at all times to avoid cross infection, not just when they’re ill. Like that would be worth the effort. Given modern nurseries are now sterilised to the hilt, and they still pass on everything to each other, short of keeping the girls on different floors of the house in oxygen bubbles, I’m not sure what can be done.
I just wish they were big enough that I could explain to them what was going on, and not to be scared. That’s the bit that’s tough. Joe was 4 when he got chickenpox so he could understand and the stoical soldier resisted scratching the spots until the very last one. Which sadly was right in the middle of his forehead. He still has a nude ‘bindi’ 15 years later!
They’re crotchety, so there have been random outbreaks of twin on twin violence (and I’m not hard hearted enough to utilise my usual discipline of playpen banishment given they’re crook). And they’ve also, theory-of-mind style, started teasing each other. So they’ll dangle a piece of banana at their sister, who reaches out and goes ‘pleeeeeease’, and then snatch it away, cackling. But also some hyper cute sharing of cuddly toys and stroking. They genuinely get concerned when the other one is upset.
On which note, I don’t think I have ever been more proud than yesterday at nursery. They’re still screaming the place down each morning when I drop them off. But a new baby started, and her harassed Dad, and she was sobbing her heart out. The twins both stopped crying and stared at her for a minute, then handed her the dollies they were holding. Little lambs.
We’re still not toddling; am hoping nursery will inspire them because otherwise I am going to have to bite my lip and count to 1000 at the next health visit when she witters on about physiotherapist checks. They’ll walk when they’re ready! They’re twins! They walk later! And Romilly’s a bottom shuffler! They average 22 months! But, eesh, GET A MOVE ON GIRLS! Both can stumble along unaided now with the bricks trolley, and if they have both hands held, and will cruise round furniture. And Charlotte can manage the stairs. But I can see why, frankly, they can’t be bothered. I’m always down on the floor with them, their sister’s on the floor, their toys are on the floor. Maybe I should start suspending everything from the ceiling!
So that’s them. On the Mummy front, gosh, it’s been a newsy week.
I passed my driving test!!!!!!!! I was in a complete borderline panic attack beforehand, but it suddenly occurred to me just to forget about the whole ‘test’ thing and to pretend I was driving the girls for the first time, and that someone was there to check/help me. None of that’s lunacy – I HAVE to make sure I’m confidently safe with them. And it really helped with things like observations when doing manoeuvres. They can be a bit of an abstract routine. But if you’re thinking ‘ I’d rather something didn’t smash into the back doors’ then which way to look becomes quite natural!
It is going to revolutionise my life. Even just driving to nursery will be brilliant. Yesterday I had to brave the hill (that’s the 1:3 Very Long Hill!) THREE times in the rain with my two heffalumps and their juggernaut of a buggy – nursery, GP, and then back to the GP because SOMEONE had dropped Charlie Bear en route.
Except I still haven’t plucked up the courage to go out for a drive on my own. Am now using the excuse of waiting for my P Plates…
I’ve also applied for a part time voluntary job with Addaction in Liverpool, helping addicts, the mentally ill and the homeless. AND have just pressed ‘send’ on my form to do the Psychology Masters at Chester University, starting next Autumn. It only takes 12 months, and then the plan would be to do my Doctorate and combine working in one of the local hospitals with private consultancy. All fitted nicely round the girls. In my dreams…
Oh, and I THINK I have found our new house. Just the perfect, rambling, slightly higgledy piggledy, packed-with-storage, large family home on the edge of a Cheshire village with cows in the next door fields and – wait for it – a WI IN THE VILLAGE! Fingers crossed. Jon hasn’t seen it yet but I may just buy it as a nice surprise. What could possibly go wrong with that?! It is slightly concerning me how under priced it is, so am expecting to find a hidden sewage works on the next viewing. Or that it’s on the HS2 route. Actually, there’s a thought…
Right. Afternoon unpaid healthcare assistant duties beckons. Call me the Mummy with the Lamp. And of course we won’t mention the fact that I HAVE IT TOO!!!