*This is a sponsored post for Nurofen
I have reported mostly on the glamorous going ons from our Port Douglas vacay recently but the inside story was far from it.
Whilst away, I was prepared for the Vicklets routine to be out of whack, for there to be some night time wakings. That’s the way kids roll when away from their homely comforts. It’s all a part of their ‘don’t let the parentals have a holiday’ conquest. With that said, Little Vick is a traveling gem. We broke him in to be an adaptable traveler young and he has stayed solid. Sleeps like a bear with a cold once he’s gone down no matter where he is. His brother is not so obliging. Not even at home.
Two nights in and Baby Vick’s piercing cries rung out in the darkness and although I had expected it, I could hear the sense of urgency in his call this time. I leaped to my feet before Mr Vick even had a chance to stir (he had been assigned night duty). I could sense the fear in my baby’s call. I swept him up and instantly felt the heat radiating from his little body. His brow was sweaty and he looked flushed. He was distressed and unsettled by a fever ravaging his body. This quickest comfort I could offer was my breast – the very thing I had been stubbornly refusing for the passed two weeks at nights. However that night I did not question it because I knew my baby needed my milk’s healing and comforting properties and bingo! It eased his tears and gradually lulled him back to sleep.
Time and time again that night his cries rung out. The fever did not relent. I sung to him and I dabbed him down with a cold face washer and I was sure glad I had put that bottle of Nurofen in my hand bag for “just in case”. Those unexpected, in case moments are almost always night time affairs when chemists have long gone home.
Kiddy illness is always crapola and terrible but when you’re away somewhere foreign it makes you feel just that bit more vulnerable. My mind raced with a possible diagnosis: could this be something viral? Teething symptoms? An earache? Was he bitten by some tropical, disease infected insect? The questions didn’t let up after four further nights of fever dancing through Baby Vick.
I was getting up a lot each night. I was miffed at the irony of it all given this was supposed to be my ‘holiday’ but I had little choice and at these times nothing other than restoring your kids health matters does it? I was curious to know how much of a mummy warrior I was so I counted just how many times I was getting up and attending to my sickly Vicklet. In that one evening I got up seven times. SEVEN. I think my weariness was justified.
The daytime seemed to bring reprieve from the fevers. Again, the irony. Although Baby Vick was becoming dehydrated and consequently constipated. Little comforts helped: cuddles, breastfeeds and playing in the sandy waters of the beach.
I plodded on through the days mostly in robot function laced up with fatigue and no chance of a Nanna nap to repair or recoup. We kept up with our itinerary of Daintree road trips, snorkeling, and attending wedding celebrations. We were there for less than a week, there was always a sense of keeping on going to utilise the limited time.
I loved our trip but it was grueling for me. A marathon of endurance. My biggest challenge was acting like a normal happy human during the daylight hours. My auto response was to grump, snap, and snarl because the ordinary seemed overwhelming on a sniff of sleep. I went to thaw out in the sun and have my soul fill up with life’s goodies but instead I became the mother whose work did not stop once the Vicklets lay down to sleep, in fact the hard yakka would just kick off. Our restoring family vacay wasn’t quite going as it played out in my head and it was certainly different on the inside to how it might have appeared on the outer. This motherhood game, hey?
The first night home, the fevers stopped. Baby Vick pooped. He was himself, happy again.
The irony, I tell ya. THE IRONY.