Mopping up

Life in the last 24 hours has been like something out of the exorcist for me. Last night I fed Ivy dinner, popped her in the bath, gave her a bottle and got her into her sleeping bag ready for bed. Just as I was about to lift her into the cot she gave a dainty little cough and then projectile vomited a pungent mix of fermented formula, cheese and carrot into my hair, all over my arms, my top, my pants, my socks, her pajamas, sleeping bag, down the doors of her chest of drawers, the floor and even onto the head of her teddy bear. It took five towels, 40 minutes, a shower and at least half a bottle of red wine for me to bounce back from that one.

This morning everything was hunky dory until I put Ivy on her change table to get her dressed so we could go out. In a flash she squirmed away from me, flipped over and smacked her face on the table edge. She looked up at me and did a fairly good impersonation of dracula complete with scary face, fangs hanging out and blood dripping from her mouth. I rush her to the bathroom as she screams and try and make my way through the pools of blood to see what the damage is - in the end nothing too drastic just a split on the inside and the outside but the bathroom looked like a crime scene. The colleteral damage from this little escapade? Two facewashers, her top, singlet, my top and cardigan (all covered in blood) not to mention me having a great urge to lie down on the floor with that other half bottle of red wine. Only thing that stopped me was the fact it was 9am.

Now scuse me, I have to go and put another load of washing on. (And consider lining the house in plastic for future escapades..)