I’ve been sick this week, just in case my 34 complaining posts didn’t inform you. I don’t get sick often. In fact, the last time was years ago – apart from pregnancy sickness. And I now know why I don’t get sick – mothers who are unwell and have to look after kids don’t mix.
I’m not taking man flu here. Every bone in my body ached. My head hurt. The husband had to go to work. The baby was already sick, and I had a hyperactive three year old to deal with. It was 804am and I had 12 hours before I could put them all to bed. There’s something about kids and sick mothers. They sniff it, and they’re twice as bad. They whinge more, they muck up more and they talk non stop. And every inch of them grates on your brain when you’re sick. The sight of them makes your symptoms twice as bad. You want to be anywhere but within a three country radius of your offspring.
So I did what any normal mother would do, and let them go for it. I left the dishes. I sat on the lounge, and they watched some tv. They whinged. They cried and screamed. And then I got desperate. By now it was only 921am. So in a moment of mummy madness, I bribed them. With chocolate.
I found a mashed up leftover easter egg and fed it to them under the proviso they’d be nice to me for the rest of the day. We had a deal. They ate that chocolate faster than I eat a Big Mac pregnant. And then – disaster struck.
The chocolate mixed with being cooped up inside sent them into a sugar induced frenzy. The toddler was climbing the walls (literally) they destroyed every room in the house. The baby who is a weird bum shuffling crawler did circle work like a terrier gone mad for an hour with her eyeballs bugging out of her head. They yelled and laughed and ganged up on me and refused to nap. When I cried they told me to be quiet.
Im better now. Thank God. And not only am I never getting sick again, those ungrateful spawn of mine are never getting another scrap of my chocolate.