Gastro Boy

What goes up, must come down, right?? Basic physics and all that.

After my fantabulous day touring the wineries on the Mornington Peninsula, I floated home. And before you start pointing an alcoholic finger at me, no, it was not because I had consumed too much of the good stuff.

Yes, I enjoyed tastings at three wineries. Yes, I had a lovely lunch at the Pig and Whistle on Arthurs Seat. Yes, I carried two rather delectable bottles of wine back home to consume at a later date.

Far and away, the best part of the day was the company. As well as my gorgeous Mrs.Wilson, I met some really fun women who, by the end of the day, I was sad to leave.

Even though I had gone on the tour sporting a sizeable sore throat, head cold and threatening chesty cough, I had a ball (I had even considered staying at home in bed...for a few minutes). So it was my own fault that by Saturday night, I had no voice. I wasn't really that fussed to be truthful. I thought that a decent sleep and a hot cup of tea would have me sorted by Sunday morning.

Unfortunately, by the time I woke on Sunday, my throat had closed over completely. My nose was blocked, my eyes were puffy - overnight I had strayed into definite paperbag territory. To top it all off, I had a thumper of a headache. Now, this I would not have minded so much if I'd actually overindulged at the wineries....but I have witnesses who can vouch for me when I tell you I didn't even come within cooee of tipsy. More's the pity.

To give me a bit of peace and quiet, Christian took the big kids to swimming and left the Mouse and I at home. I was under strict instructions to rest, so I did. I only cleaned up a little bit to make things easier for Monday morning. Like washing the dishes. And vacuuming. And mopping the floor, cleaning the bathroom and toilet, putting the folded washing away, picking up the toys on the floor, and beginning to tackle the mess that is our bedroom. It was while vacuuming the kids' room that I found it. The beginning of the end.

One of the cats (Bella, we presume) must have been locked out of the laundry at some time or another....and had been so desperate to relieve herself that she had pooed under Phoebe's bed. Which meant that there was a cat poo waaaaaaaaay up the back, underneath a bottom bunk bed only a short distance off the floor.

So Sunday afternoon saw me, armed with PineOCleen, gloves, paper towel and a plastic bag, commando-ing under Phoebalina's bed to scrub cat poo off the carpet. My darling husband thought it was an appropriate time to tickle my bum. Let's just say he was not my favourite person at that point in time.

Thankfully, it did not take this claustrophobic mumma very long to clean up the offending mess and wriggle backwards out from under the bed.

Unfortunately, I was not to know this was only the beginning of our adventures with poo.

Like clockwork, Bella first deposited another steamer in the litter tray....followed only minutes later by the Mouse exclaiming that there was a "Doo!" in her nappy. Our poor little (and I do mean little!) unit was filled with far too many savoury aromas.

We had paused the Masterchef finale to settle Maisie into bed. By the time we were both sitting on the couch, the telly had done something weird and we'd missed most of the first hour. Not phased too much, Christian and I decided to do what needed to be done around the house before watching the second hour properly.

And then poor Jack discovered he had gastro.

Unfortunately, Jack's problem surfaced around 8:25pm, which meant that we once again paused the telly, cleaned him up, settled him on the couch under a blanket, and hit 'play'. We saw forty minutes of the second hour. No joke, just as Kate's scores were about to be read out, the telly froze. And it turned out, instead of pausing the show, we had recorded it...and the timer stopped recording at 9:30 on the knocker.

So I had plenty of time to wonder what had happened, while Christian and I cleaned poor little Jack up again, and again. He eventually nodded off on a mattress on our bedroom floor about 1am. All the Glen20 in the world wouldn't have helped our house last night.

And so it was that this morning, I stayed at home to look after my sick boy. Phoebs went off to kinder to escape the germs in the house. The Mouse stayed with me too, since she was not looking crash-hot either (might have had something to do with the two-hour screaming jag she had between 2am and 4am?) And I tried valiantly to rid the house of the ingrained stink.

I am absolutely, 100% sure that someone (God? Buddha? Some dead comedian?) is making me pay for the fun I had on Saturday. And do you know what?? I'm going to tempt fate and say that no amount of poo could make me feel guilty about having such a great time. It was worth every minute, and I'm so glad I went. And now - I'd like all of you to cross your fingers, squinch your eyes tightly closed, and pray frantically repeat after me, "No one will poo tonight. No one will poo tonight. No one will poo tonight....."

Thank you.