A new arrival

Two days ago heralded the arrival of a new niece- One Lyla Mary Tolan- here she is with her big brother Fin. Strange coincidence number one- Lyla and Fin share a birthday. Strange coincidence number two- so do their mum (my little sister Lauren), and I!- Seriously, what are the odds?! We should have put some money on it

Yesterday Mark and I  made our way over to see Lauren and her hubby Jordan, and the kids, decked out with flowers, birthday presents, and belated shrove tuesday pancakes.

A bit of dinner, a bit of pancake eating and some football later, when they were just getting Fin into his pyjamas, disaster strikes- The sort of vomming not seen since the Exorcist. Poor old Jordan (my brother in law) got covered and Fin was having a right old mare, so they trooped off upstairs for a clean up session.

Now, me and Mark are not what you would call responsible adults, preferring to spend the majority of our down time watching cartoons and eating pizza, and so were more than happy to spend some time hosing all the lumps out of the front room carpet, while trying not to gag too much, rather than having to worry about calming down a distraught two year old, so were quietly congratulating ourselves on getting the better deal, when we realised that we’d been left in charge of Lyla, who was merrily snoozing on the sofa. Cue five minutes of standing over her suspiciously and a conversation that went thus:
mark’is she cold?
me-‘how can you tell?’
mark-‘i have no idea’
me- ‘well lets get a blanket’
mark-‘but the blankets are covered in sick’
me-‘errrm, ok lets use a teatowel’

then a bit later
mark-‘she looks ridiculous in that teatowel…maybe you should pick her up
‘me- ‘no, you pick her up’
mark- ‘okay okay’… deep breath
me-‘aren’t you meant to support the head?’

followed by
mark- ‘oh bugger, she’s been sick on me’
me-‘errrm, there are some baby wipes down here- it says theyre sensitive ones…
mark- ‘I don’t think you can use them on babies faces’
me- ‘errrmmm….ok, well lets take her sicky clothes off
then 30 seconds of chuckle brothers-esque to me-to-you-ing, by which point we were no further forward and Lyla was looking at us wondering what the hell was going on

Thankfully, my sister came back downstairs then and relieved us from our inept pseudo-parenting. I honestly don’t know how parents do it- It must just be a 24-7 panic that you’re doing something wrong and blagging your way through it- Do they deliver an instruction manual with the placenta, perhaps? Here’s hoping, or I might never know what to do!


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