Performance Reviews, Vomit and a Big Willy

Last night I was late leaving work: I’d been having my Performance Review, which went well, but lasted a little longer than I’d hope for. I ended up talking with my line manager about a lot of issues that are coming up. Primarily to do with our realignment process, and the “slotting in” which is due to take place. All the new role profiles have been published and if you are doing 70% of the profile within your current position, you will be “slotted in” to the new position. There are some team members whose jobs are changing significantly, and there may not be an obvious new role profile for them. We can both see trouble ahead. So I arrived home about 40 minutes later than normal, which wasn’t bad considering the prevalent freezing fog blanketing the area. I was somewhat surprised to find that Godzooky 1 had already taken himself off to bed. Apparently he was complaining of a headache and feeling cold, although he had a bit of a temperature according to Mrs Zilla. He had asked if he could go to bed, which in itself is pretty unusual, although he has been known to ask to go if he’s really tired. I went upstairs to see him, as he’d only gone to bed 5 minutes before I got through the front door. He didn’t look great, quite pale and shivery, but he brightened slightly as he regaled me with tales from his day. One of his friends, Jordan, had been sick at school and it had run everywhere. All the children were both excited and disgusted by this and Jordan had to go home. On reflection I should have known this was a significant event, but I can be fairly naïve, alright, stupid, at times. I tucked him up and told him to get a good night’s sleep, then he would feel better in the morning. Parent’s Advice Handbook page 2. After a pleasant meal. Mrs Zilla suggested an early night. Remembering Friday afternoon’s delights I readily agreed. It turned out that Mrs Zilla actually wanted an early night and to watch a bit of TV in bed. I tried to hide my disappointment, but subtlety isn’t my strongest suit. As we were settling down and I was trying to persuade Mrs Zilla that a bit of sensual lovemaking might help her drift off to sleep in a rather delightful way, Godzooky 1 entered the room. He apparently thought it was morning, bless him, even though he’d only been in bed for 3 hours. He was gently but firmly returned to bed. Mrs Zilla then had the excuse that he might return at any moment, therefore sensuality was off limits. About an hour later I was dozing, when the sound of small feet running to the bathroom roused me instantly. The sound of retching soon reached me and I swung out of bed to check the situation. I sleep in the nude and had neglected to put any garments on, such was my concern. I was grateful for this at that moment: as I entered the room Godzooky 1 swung to look at me, just as a stream of projectile vomit left his mouth. It landed straight on my thigh and ran downwards in a pretty stream of colours. As I comforted him I was left wondering how he’d managed to get some of the vomit into his hair, across most of the bathroom floor and when would it be best for me to try and salvage my own personal situation. Once he’d finished retching I cleaned him and myself up in the best way I could. He then said something that took me totally by surprise “Why is your willy so big daddy?” I should emphasise that I was far from excited, and whilst I’ve had no complaints, I am unlikely to be worrying Ron Jeremy or John Holmes in that department. This wasn’t really the time I wanted to be discussing such matters, so I managed to distract him by “discovering” some more vomit in his hair. An awkward situation neatly avoided I thought. Until I was putting him back in bed, when he asked again. So I tried to explain that as you got bigger all parts of you grew bigger too. I obviously made it far too tedious, or the illness had taken hold again, because he suddenly announced “ I want to go to sleep now!” He was sick twice more in the night. The next time I made sure I had some undergarments on, before venturing into the danger zone. Just call me a coward.