Vomit
- Details
- Category: Blog Thursday - Euan
Occasionally I become a single parent.
My wife works as a nurse at the children’s hospital in Manchester. This means she can disappear for a few days at a time on a shift pattern that would make a BA employee weep into their free airline food (on their immensely reduced flight).
Having two parents around to play tag team means getting out of the door to get to pre-school can be relatively painless. So that is what I got used to. Kids were out of my way by 8:30am and I could get on with work. I work for a church which, contrary to popular opinion, is a proper job but does however mean I work from home a lot.
But when Vix's maternity leave finished and she had to re-enter the world of employment, I was thrust kicking and screaming into occasional single parent-ness.
On my first day as a lone parent (can you tell I have a tendency for the dramatic?) everything was going well. The girls were up, dressed, and fed. I had just about negotiated putting Abi’s hair into bunches (which involves incredible finger dexterity) when she started to gag. I did what any parent does in this situation and looked out a suitable vomit-catching receptacle.
In my wisdom, I grabbed the bin.
The bin is made of wicker.
Even my one-year-old could see this was a bad idea.
