Poor Little Love

had the spewies yesterday arve for the first time in his life. He woke up from his rather big sleep and fed me every piece of his chopped-up banana and orange. I was thinking he was being very generous and showing off his forking technique but he really didn't want his fruit at all. So next we went into the kitchen to see if a cheese and vegemite sandwich would satisfy but instead he did a big chunder on the floor. (And right on cue Telstra called to try and convert me - don't ya love 'em?)

I was hoping it was just a one-off, and that maybe he had scoffed-down one too many dog bickies that morning before I could drag him away from the dog bowl, but no, his vomits increased in frequency and intensity until about 10 o'clock last night where he shook his head vigourously at the spew bucket as I held his limp little body over it and refused to have another one.

I figured he'd be physically worn out and sleep well but nay. He spent the entire night awake on one titty while scratching and clawing the other one to shreds. That habit of his is so punishing! It totally does my head in. It's torturous!! My chest this morning is lacerated. Looks like I've been flagilating. It's a miracle I continue this breastfeeding relationship of ours - but I suffer through it, sometimes not so stoically, sometimes cursing and wailing. We gave him ice and water all night too - he must have been feeling very dehydrated.

This morning he's very sooky (even more highly unusual than pooing in his nappy) and has a temperature. He's having a sleep at the moment, I'm hoping he wakes up feeling fortified, the little trouper.

Izzy is at home today in his capacity as a carer and a "go-for" (and admittedly because I felt too had-it this morning to get his lunchbox organised.) He's been burning inscense sticks in his room - "Nag Champa". I caught him puffing on the end of one like I use to do with a hunk of mosquito coil. I didn't turn out to be a smoker so I just reminded him he's "smarter than smoking".