The weekend before last, I went out on the Friday night. Nothing fancy; just Wetherspoons so really quite the opposite.
I (predictably) drank too much wine.
The next day, I thought I was actually going to die.
Turns out though, it wasn’t actually just a massive hangover or lack of sleep (although I am sure it contributed) but something far, far worse.
Despite me very rarely leaving the house without the children, somehow I’d been responsible for contracting something ghastly involving lots of snot, headaches and high temperatures (we’ll call it The Plague, I’m not sure that ‘flu’ sounds bad enough) and bringing it back with me to the family home.
I spent almost the whole day in bed with The Plague, hoping it would be a one day thing.
That week I spent feeling feverish and like I’d been run over, so aside from the school runs I didn’t leave the house and over-relied on technology to amuse the (very perky and not at all ill) children. I’m not particularly proud but needs must, it was bloody cold and soft play is not the place to be taking The Plague.
By Friday, I was feeling marginally better but I needed to Leave. The. House. more than anything in the world.
I thought a trip to Ikea might be nice, I’m not sure why, so I got everyone bundled in the car ready to leave the house for the first time in a whole week… and the sodding car wouldn’t start.
The battery has gone flat.
I had to call out the AA who (at extortionate cost, of course, because I never have homestart. I’m one of life’s risk takers evidently) sent a man to jump start me, and then I prayed all the way to the garage where I parted with a hundred quid for a new battery.
Sigh. Still, cheaper than a trip to Ikea.
As it was far too late to journey to Lakeside we popped in to a soft-play-pub for lunch instead.
I drank tea while the kids played in the shit soft play (this soft play so I might mean that literally or figuratively).
I must offer my gratitude to the small one who against all odds came out of the ball pool to alert me that he needed a poo. Potty training is mercifully going quite well with him. That was actually the highlight of my day as it had been so long since I’d left the house, I forgot that this was something I needed to remind him to do.
Anyway, fun was had (by them), tea was drunk (by me). At one point the small one appeared by my side actually LICKING a ball from the ball pool so that was lovely.
Annoyingly I then got hit with wave two of The Plague and so once again spent the Saturday mainly in bed, and it then it bastard snowed bastard again.
Seriously, enough of this now. We get it. STOP.
By the start of this week I was feeling snotty but a little bit better, but it appeared I had passed the baton of illness to the rest of my family.
The difference in how they dealt with The Plague was astounding.
I’ve said before that my oldest is a very good sick person but she also suffers from a cold/the flu/The Plague in a similar way as she deals with vomiting bugs; taking herself off to bed to sleep off whatever she can as quietly as she can manage.
I think it expedites the process; in three days she was much better.
The males of the house do not deal with it in quite the same way.
There is no stiff upper lip, there is no stoic battling on through. There is no quietly taking themselves to bed and making a dignified recovery. It’s mainly being super grumpy, getting in the way and being a nuisance and then falling asleep in random places at inconvenient times.
The smallest has been up all night and whinging all day for one whole week.
It’s been a long, long hot and sweaty, whiny seven days.
No preschool, not enough sleep.
There is not enough wine in the world.
And it’s all my fault.
I may never leave the house again if this is to be my punishment.