Spending the majority of the night tending to a whimpering and poorly Little Z who won’t or can’t quite tell you what’s wrong. Convincing yourself, that despite the bad night, we’re still going to the dinner and all will be fine by morning.
Swinging from thinking you’re going to be late to possibly not making it to probably not making it to admitting defeat around an hour before you have to leave and calling your brother to say you can’t go.
Watching Little Z start suddenly bouncing around completely fine despite the bad night. You think the visit to the loo did it!
Making a run for it, grabbing everything in sight and attempting to get to the spot where everyone is meant to be meeting.
Thankfully making it on time, then reluctantly shuffling onto the mini bus that your dad has hired on account of half the passengers being struck down with bad colds.
Having Little Z display impressive projectile vomiting, twice, all over my outfit. Then carry on playing seconds later.
Having to stop at a service station and spend half an hour soaping and washing dress using the rubbish soap dispensers and the taps you have to press down every 5 seconds.
Re-enacting the famous Marilyn Monroe scene completely incorrectly using a Dysons handryer, in a bid to dry dress and stop it smelling of sick.
Feeling like you’re in a scene out of ‘East is East’ and wanting to shout “The Indians are ere!” as the mini bus pulls into its destination spot.
Enjoying the engagement dinner with the “new family” whilst praying Little Zs meal doesn’t make an encore.
Driving home thankful for no more sick but wondering if pre-school is happening in the morning.
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