Sicked

Have you ever had one of those days where something seems slightly wrong but you can't put your finger on it?

Today seemed like any other. Throughout the night the little boom made me and the good lady play the sleepless tag team game, parenthood.

Eventually the dawn came and any hopes of getting more than a few hours sleep were dashed by the ridiculous notion of having to work for a living.

I had a shower and got dressed. I played with the little boom whilst the good lady made herself ready too.

As I lifted him into the sky and talked high pitched gibberish to him he puked in a gentle cascade down my front. A few months ago this would have seemed like high drama but now it is utterly normal to be sicked upon numerous times a day. In fact, on a day where I am not sicked upon I question if I am even awake.

When the good lady came down I passed him over and got changed into another shirt. Myself and the good lady had a bite of breakfast together. At one point she asked me to hold him momentarily whilst she fetched something.

Give me the little blighter!

I exclaimed like a hyperactive pirate.

I supported him whilst he stood on my knees which is his favourite thing these days. He laughed and giggled before vomiting peacefully on my shirt and trousers. He then laughed loudly in that proud I can't stop puking on Daddy baby way.

The good lady came in and saw me covered in cottage cheese sick and we shared a good laugh tinged with sleep deprived hysteria.

I got changed again, this time into a shirt and jersey.

It was nearing time for me to leave for work. I was careful when I was holding the little tyke because I was running out of clothes to change into. I gave him a hug then left to plough at the coalface for the man.

In my new basement office there are no windows and about mid-morning I turned to a colleague.

This place is smelling a bit foosty. Perhaps some damp is getting in?

Aye, stinks like feet.

He replied cagily.

I was glad that I had several meetings that day which got me out of my foosty shoebox of an office.

In one of them I struggled to concentrate on the goings on because I was knackered and seemed to be subtly haunted by the smell of baby sick.

I put it down to parenting PTSD and tried to focus. It lingered however. I quickly checked my clothing for sneaky puke attacks that I might not have noticed. Nope, all clear.

All throughout the day though, the smell was there. Just on the periphery. I became increasingly paranoid that it was me and that somehow I had been sicked on. I had to know, did I stink of sick?