islandhippy

My first weekend alone with Olive didn’t turn out quite as I expected. Sandy and her Joy Luck Club Monday mothers meetup group flew off for a much-deserved weekend break in Thailand leaving babies with fathers. I had been really looking forward to this weekend of father–daughter bonding. Sandy had taken all the hard work out of it by drafting a feeding schedule and pre-cooking all Olive’s food so apart from the fact I had no food of my own and would probably have to beg scraps from Olive, I was confident we would both survive the weekend and have some fun adventures along the way.

However, things started to go wrong on Friday afternoon before Sandy had even left as Olive came down with a fever and took herself off to bed for a second afternoon nap, which is very peculiar for her. I received an urgent phone call from Sandy asking me to come back home early from work. Olive’s forehead was really hot and we had horrible flashbacks of febrile convulsions. Very reluctantly, Sandy left for the airport and I waited for Olive to wake, slightly less confident than I had been only a few hours earlier and sure enough, within an hour of Olive waking, I was covered head to toe in vomit. Olive hadn’t digested her lunch and had instead saved it all for daddy.

I bathed Olive then made a quick call to a neighbour, whose Filipina helper kindly dried and dressed Olive while I showered and threw my clothes in the washing machine (where they stayed for a couple of days while I studied the washing machine instruction manual). Olive refused all food, drink and medication on Friday evening until she woke at 1am — she usually sleeps from 8pm to 8am every night — when I managed to get her to take Calpol and some water. The poor little thing only managed a little bread and pasta and some sips of milk and water on Saturday and was now refusing to sleep alone. She became hysterical at the sight of her cot and would only sleep next to me in bed. Saturday was really rough on Olive (and the neighbours). On Saturday night she only slept for two hours at a time, perhaps because she was in daddy’s bed and I kept whacking her in the head with my elbow. By Sunday morning I was getting really concerned about her lack of fluid intake. I phoned a different neighbour — hoping that the two different sets of neighbours wouldn't confer with the other and realize I am totally useless — and invited myself round for breakfast in the hope that Olive might drink some milk if she saw her playmates eating. When I arrived both sets of neighbours were already waiting for me and they kindly took Olive and tried various foods but to no avail. Olive’s temperature had subsided though and she was more playful when we returned home. Unfortunately she became hysterical at the sight of food and drink so I had no choice but to take her to the clinic. The doctor pretty much confirmed what we thought, that if she had a virus and was feeling cranky she probably wouldn’t eat for a couple of days and that’s nothing to worry about as long as she is taking fluids. The doctor said to hospitalize her if she still refused all drinks after another eight hours.

Olive is no fan of hospitals and she obviously overheard the doctor because as soon as we arrived home, she turned to me and said “Num num”, which I translated as “Give me food now, man, I’m bloody starving and I don’t want another IV drip in my arm”. Incredibly she was suddenly back to her normal self. She basically ate and drank for the whole of Sunday afternoon and played all the games I’d been hoping we would play over the weekend. We read the new books and played the new game I’d bought her, then bounced on the bed, blew bubbles, played hide-and-seek, watched some cheesy Chinese baby songs on YouTube, went for a bike ride, pulled the neighbour’s dog’s ears, built the KL Tower with Lego … she was a baby transformed.

Am I disappointed that Olive and I missed out on an action-packed weekend of laughter and games? Yes. But, you know what, we probably bonded more due to her being ill than if she’d been her usual self. Now, a day after Mummy has returned, she’s still calling for Daddy when she wants comforting … that is the nicest thing you can ever hear.

If I learnt anything at all from the weekend it is (a) that Sandy does an amazing job and deserves to spend every weekend in Thailand — er, perhaps not — (b) that our neighbours are great — and I’m sorry they’ve now fallen ill, I don’t think it was from Olive — and (c) that it’s not advisable to leave vomit in the washing machine for two days.

Baby didn't ship with a manual (part II)
Baby didn't ship with a manual (part I)