A bright star in an otherwise dark firmament

For the umpteenth time in the last umpteen days I find myself unable to lever my lead body out of bed at early 0'clock. So I roll over, hide under duvet and leave boyfried to brave the morning and the kids solo, again, whilst I slip in and out of a coma. When I do finally haul my sorry ass out of bed (still early o'clock) I realise, yet again, I have woken in a deeply pissy mood.

So I spend the next hour pep-talking myself into some positive frame of mind and promise to do and be better today. It normally takes the form of some matronly abuse like: "Will you just belt up? Get outside, get some air, do something useful, smile, BE happy. And if you really want to lose weight just don't eat any chocolate today. And if you can't do any of that, FOR FUCK'S SAKE QUIT SULKING."

And this seems to be working, sort of. So I emerge from my bedroom, feeling sort of OK. I may not look the part - I am dressed like a woman who has clearly let go of herself but I just don't feel there's any point in wearing anything decent - but in my mind, I am confident I can stay in the good place. Until, until...

I am searching for Felix. He's gone very quiet. So I gently push open the door to Jasmine's room and find him on the other side, lips shut, slightly puffy cheeked, looking extremely happy with himself. I know that look, I've seen it on my sister's cat. It's the look of a baby (or indeed, cat) who has put something in his mouth. And instinctively, I just know what that something is. It's one of those bloody stars. You know, one of the silver, pointy, decorative, not quite paper, not quite card, not quite plastic, art'n'craft sort of stars. No more than a centimetre wide, but still wide enough to cause major trouble. And I haven't a clue where they came from, but I have found a few this last week whilst doing my habitual eye-scan of the carpet. And there was one in Jambeans' room, I am positive, but I was too lazy-ass stupid to pick it up last night.

So there it is, in Felix' mouth. And his look of satisfaction is fading to one of discomfort. So I try to stick my fiinger in his mouth and see if I can get the star out, but clearly, there's no hope in hell of that happening. They're hard enough to pick up when they're dry and on a flat surface. So I put him on his back and try to see where it is, which makes him cry, and doubtless makes it worse and sends it to the back of his throat. Then he makes some choky, swallowy noises. Then the swallowy noises stop and it's just choky noises. Plus some major screaming. Then screaming is hampered by more choking. And I am rubbing and whacking his back and trying to get him to cough it up, and all I can think is it's bloody well stuck to the side of his throat isn't it? And NOTHING is working, but Felix is getting more and more distressed and choky. So I am just on the point where mentally I am taking him to the hospital, and have the mobi out ready to call.. to call.. who? Anyone who can tell me what to do. 999 crosses my mind. Then the GP? Or NHS Direct, if I had their sodding number and am prepared to go on hold whilst my baby chokes to death. So I decide 999 and am just about to get through.... when Felix finally does a mega vomit all over himself, all over me, all over the carpet.

And before I can even be relieved, and knowing about the fact I knew there was no point putting decent clothes on today, with lightning speed Felix spots that twinkly shiny little star amidst all the vomit and cereal hoops and curdled milk and phlegm, picks it up adeptly between finger and thumb and moves to pop it straight back in his mouth. Cheeky little blighter.

And arse. My pep talk disappears. Poof. Away it goes. Drowned in vomit. Together with my sort of good mood. For the rest of the day.