Midnight paranoia

There's something going round the two-year-old set, and the older-kids set too, and it's not a happy propensity to say please and thank you. It's a mysterious on-again off-again fever, and/or an upset tummy. With vomiting. Lots and lots of vomiting.

Last night, all the day's talk of how many times x's child had thrown up on Monday night, and how many loads of laundry y had done, and just how many baths it took to get the puke out of z's hair finally got to me and I started to think I was feeling a bit queasy. As I lay in bed, my thoughts went something like this:

... I feel a bit funny.
Crap.
I'm obviously getting It. And if I'm getting it, the kids are bound to get it too. It's not like I can maintain a healthy distance from them.
How quickly can I leap out of bed and get to the bathroom, I wonder?
I wonder if Mabel will throw up in her sleep, or wake up and call for me first?
Maybe I should put a towel under her pre-emptively. I really don't want to have to wash her whole duvet. Why did I ever think duvets were a good idea? Stupid IKEA with their brainwashing and their meatballs.
Ooh, my brain feels sort of swoopy.
I wonder is that because I'm about to throw up, or because I'm really very tired now?
Maybe I should get a bowl or something.

[Gets out of bed. Finds red plastic bucket under bathroom sink. Pulls a few towels out of the linen cupboard. Looks at Mabel. Leaves towels on her bedroom floor, where they will be no use at all until after the deluge. Goes back to bed. Takes bucket with her.]

Okay. Now I don't have to make it to the bathroom. But I'll still have to wash all Mabel's sheets. What if Monkey's the one who succumbs first, while I'm all busy shoring up defences for the wrong child?
I don't have an actual pain in my stomach, just a funny feeling. Will it hurt more before I throw up? Is that how I'll know in time?
...
Oh. Now I'm awake. Maybe that's because I'm about to throw up.
No. Hmm.

[- Waah. Mummy?]
[Gets up. Goes to Mabel. Brings bucket. Gets into bed with Mabel.]

Okay, well now I'll be on the spot and can surely intervene before she throws up. And the bucket is here for both of us. And the towels.
Hmm. Now she's on top of me. So when she throws up we'll both be covered in it. Ok, there, I'll just move her off.

[Cough, cough.]

Now, is that a pre-vomit cough or a cold cough? You'd think I could tell. Is she sitting up? I think it's just a cold cough.
Now she's behind me. So it'll go in my hair. I'll have to wash all the puke out of my hair before I can go back to bed. I don't want to do that. But I'm too tired to move, and she'll wake up if I do. So I'll just lie here and think about whether I'll have to shampoo it or if I can just rinse it. It'll be really stinky, though.
Look, it's 2am. I should really be asleep by now.
...
Huh. I'd forgotten how many large statues there are in the sea along the coastline from Dalkey to Monkstown. You can see them all from this train I'm on. There's my school, look! What are those Indian people doing in those buildings? They'll be caught when the tide comes in...
...
There's Monkey getting up. Is he going to tell B that he's sick? But, hang on, is that daylight coming through the curtains? How is that possible? I only just fell asleep a minute ago.

[Squints hard at the clock, which is just near enough to make out very fuzzily with myopic eyes.]

I think that says 5:59. Maybe he's not sick.
I don't actually feel quite so funny any more. Maybe we'll all get through the night. Maybe I don't even have to call off the entire weekend's activities after all.

[Mabel sits up. Mabel does not throw up.
- I want to go downstairs.
- Okay, you go and see Daddy.
Rolls over. Groans. Returns to strangely watery train line.]