Now, I don’t consider myself a sickly person, bar the twice-yearly case of man-flu that seems to descend on our house. And you know what? That’s a bloody good job. Being a parent to small children when you’re laid low is HELL. A hangover is bad enough, but if you are floored by flu and can barely drag your sorry arse out of bed, then I can vouch that your teeny-tiny-spawn-of-satan offspring will have ZERO sympathy for you. As a parent, you know if you have are having to have a sick day, things must be BAD. As I can vouch for this past weekend…
6.20am – Get woken up by Freddie (4), who deposits himself in middle of me and OH, demanding Milkshake on CH5. Realise last night’s ‘tiredness’ was actually onset of massive bout of ‘Manflu’. Feel dreadful and like a thousand evil pixies are using jackhammers all over my body. Tongue flails out of mouth, sticking to side of pillow. Lie there, willing OH to get up.
6.30am – Small boy is joined by Sasha (2), who climbs into bed, sitting on my head, nearly ripping my nose stud out in the process. Wake up IMMEDIATELY….
7.15am – Swift kick to OH’s shins to take, by now, feral children downstairs, all whilst telepathically willing OH to bring Lemsip up. Realise telepathy has slim chance of garnering favoured result, therefore whimper for Lemsip instead.
7.25am – Children deposited downstairs, Lemsip brought upstairs. Now fully awake, despite imminent death from Manflu (Screw you, body clock). Decant Lemsip in cake-hole.
7.40am – Attempt to go back to sleep after reassurance from OH that everything will be under control.
8.00am – All is clearly not under control, as per the wailing/fighting/terse voices coming from downstairs in the abyss. Drag arse to the living room to add ‘presence’ to ganged up on OH, crawl under blanket on sofa.
8.05am – Small children swarm around sofa like flies round sh*t, excited at the prospect of a ‘patient’, and trot off to gather together plastic doctor’s implements.
8.10am – Said implements are shoved in any free orifice “to check if you’re okay to catch the train!” and, “let’s see how much Calpol you need!” as mouth is wrenched open. According to all that probing, I am “fine, just about”.
8.20am – Lie on sofa face down, dozing. Kids present toy cars, and play the “let’s pretend Mummy’s a mountain!” game, which is actually bearable, and used often in past hangover situations. Kids entertained, and a massage in one #winning (slightly)
9.00am – Small children taken out by OH to the shops/library to be ‘exercised’. Retreat to bed.
11.00am – Woken up in cold sweat from vivid sick dreams in terrifying fashion, after discovering F’s face about half a cm from mine.
11.10am – F gets into bed to ‘help’ me sleep. Closely followed by S. “Let’s build a den, Mummy!” she says. Let’s not…
11.15am – Sasha – “Why are you in bed?” Me – “Because I’m poorly”. Repeat x 10 in space of ten minutes.
11.25am – OH retrieves small children (eventually).
12.00pm – Repeat ad infinitum until bedtime….
Linking up with ‘Let’s Talk Mommy’ and ‘Share With Me’