I hate the word ‘hate’, and it is used far too frequently for my liking, and therefore, as I type this, I have decided to go a different way.
Being unwell is not one of my favourite things.
I would go as far as saying I have a significant dislike of it.
This grows further when it gets in the way of stuff, exponentially, when that something, is celebrating a 60th birthday of someone very important to me, and us.
We should have spent Sunday, with around 25 others, celebrating my mother-in-law’s 60th, over a lunch in a private room at a very nice local hotel.
Something we have done for other grandparents’ birthdays.
But, instead, we spent this one exiting what our bodies decided they no longer needed, from opposite ends of our beings.
Max was ill on Saturday night, several times.
Vomiting followed by a very sweet, but sadly accurate, ‘I’m poorly Daddy.’
Luckily, or unlikely, he was already in bed with me, so I actually heard it coming.
And as he has had a runny nose for the last few days, I hoped it was just phlegm, which while foul, would hopefully mean once-up-and-out, he would be better.
But what I had on my hand, and eventually on my torso, was more a concoction of all things recently consumed.
A vile, yet very accurate description.
I decided to get in on the act in the early hours, but from the lower of the body's orifices.
But I am actually glad that we were both ill at the same time.
hate loathe finding my child unwell, and have similar feelings towards attempting to parent when you, yourself, are under-the-weather.
We were both feeling terrible, and both of us more so, as we were going to miss the shindig.
But even the boy knew we were going nowhere.
We moved from bed, to our chair-and-half, and back again.
In-between watching various DVDs and kids TV, texting our latest health updates to those that wanted them.
After what seemed like the most energy consuming bath of all time, Junior was in bed well before normal time, and I was about an hour behind him.
Then this morning we both feel fine.
Well enough to eat breakfast, recovered enough to build a snowman, improved sufficiently to walk to the pub for lunch and return later to cook a casserole.
He would also be ready to return to nursery, if it was open, which it is not, so further behind we both shall fall.
But we are planning on having much more fun doing so.
The Foolish King by Mark Price
5 hours ago