I’ve concluded that the girls have never actually been ill before. All that came before this, were mere practice runs and over-reactions. This was the real deal.
They were poorly, they had record-breaking high temperatures, they had rashes, they were sick, they had headaches and sore throats and I think even their hair was aching.
It was awful.
All they did for 3 days solidly was refuse food, refuse to sleep, and shout… a lot. Mostly because they needed cuddles. But unfortunately, only cuddles from Mummy were acceptable. Everyone else was screamed at, shouted at, sobbed at and pushed away. It didn’t take long before everyone else in the house realised this was a blessing and crept back to their own corner to feel horrible.
Me? I was stuck with the gruesome twosome.
All I wanted to do was to make them feel better but there was little I could do. I dosed out the prescribed medication every 4 hours and watched helplessly as a large proportion of it was spat back onto my shoulder. This season, I will mostly be wearing Calpol Pink.
I rubbed backs and stroked heads and even tried singing to them. Note to self… in future, don’t bother with the singing. I think it made them yell louder.
We lay on the sofa, we lay on the floor, we went for endless walks around our neighbourhood in the hope that a change of scene might brighten their moods. (It didn’t).
And then yesterday, there was a glimmer of hope. I prepared food that wasn’t rejected at first glance. I celebrated the 2 or 3 tentative spoonfuls that made it to their mouths. After 7 days of milk, water and malted milk biscuits, this was a major breakthrough.
Things continued to improve. By last night, both the blonde and the brunette had each managed a smile. It was fleeting, and followed by a certain amount of grizzling, but it was definitely noted.
And then this morning there was wall to wall rejoicing. My beautiful, sweet, funny twin girls had been returned to me. Someone must have come in the night and removed the hideous, mucus-drenched bundles of discontentment and replaced them with my daughters.
I felt like telling them I’d missed them.
Post-tea tonight (readily eaten to the point that we had two empty bowls), the two of them performed a dance for their brother to the Charlie & Lola theme music. Even he seemed swayed by the re-appearance of the human toddlers and for once, didn’t complain that they were getting in the way of the tv. Arms were waved, bottoms were wiggled as they strutted their stuff with a vengeance.
At bedtime there were smiles, and giggles and much talk of “Meemy” (or “Miffy”, to her friends). And for the first time in over a week, I’m going to go to bed and not dread tomorrow. Wahey!