Firstly, apologies for this being the first blog in a wee while. I had kind of mentally decided, without informing you, my blog reading public, that I was going to go down to one blog every two weeks, as life just seems a little too busy right now. So, I was due one last weekend, and then got struck down with the mother of all colds. I tried to pull myself out of my sick bed to write something, to keep you all entertained, but I realised pretty quickly that a) I wasn’t going to be pulling myself anywhere and b) I was not in a fit state to entertain. However, I did have an epiphany, while lying there surrounded by a forest’s worth of used tissues, sulking in my own misery, wishing I had a manservant/husband to fetch hot lemon drinks for me. And the epiphany was this – thank god I don’t have kids.
Now, if my tally is right – and my workmates, who constantly hear me adding to this list will no doubt correct me if not – that is reason 346 why I think kids are a bad idea (for me). Seriously, I don’t know how you parents – and mothers especially – do it. You are feeling rubbish, like you are incapable of doing anything to help yourself let alone anyone else, but your kid/s don’t care! If they are babies they still need to be fed, changed, washed, repeat – and only some of those things the Dad (if there is one around) is able to do. If they are toddlers they want EVERYTHING RIGHT NOW OR ELSE THE WORLD WILL END THROUGH MY LOUD SCREAMING and trying to explain to them that the sound of their loud pleading is about to make Mummy’s head explode probably doesn’t help, right?
Now, as a single person, being sick is one of the top five times that I lament my singledom the most. I know I could call up one of my lovely family or friends and get them to pop to the shops or come around and wait on me – but really, a cold doesn’t really warrant that kind of lameness. But if I had a bloke around then, theoretically, part of their job description would be making me food, making sure I had enough fluids and tissues handy, and generally taking care of things so I don’t have to worry. But no, singledom means you make your own freaking vegemite sandwich and clean up your own tissues. That said though, after my epiphany, I would definitely take that over powering through cos Tyler or Jake or Madison doesn’t care that I am sick as a dog (note: none of those names are on my list. Not that I have a list…).
Cos, not only do you have to power through, but generally – based on most relationships I am privy to (with some notable exceptions) – it is very rare for the bloke to man up and say ‘honey, you go to bed and sleep this off, I will take care of the kids, cook the food, keep the house tidy and do the groceries’. Don’t get me wrong – they might offer to do one or even two of these things – but it’s unlikely to be all of them. So if you are lucky enough to get even an afternoon in bed, you will no doubt wake up to a house that resembles an actual hurricane site and to a husband too exhausted to do anything about it. Now, I may be being a little bit unfair to our fair-weather male friends, but just remember that at the very indication of a sniffle themselves, they generally declare themselves unfit for any kind of physical labour and confine themselves to the couch for the duration of the weekend.
So, mums out there – and that includes my own, who I am only now properly realising had way more years than she ever envisaged of looking after sick kids, thanks to my rather late arrival on the scene – you have my full respect and admiration. Codral ads tells you to soldier on, and you really have no choice but to do just that – and pretend that playing with Buzz Lightyear with your two year old is absolutely what you want to be doing, as opposed to lying in bed imagining Tom Hiddleston is nursing you back to health. And, to those of you blokes who do indeed take on all the domestic chores when your wives are sick, good on you – you are setting bloody good examples for our next generation. Peace out. Snif.