I woke up early on New Year’s Eve with gastro. 2008 was one of the more stressful years on record (moving house, which precipitated a chain of other unwelcome events, including legal action and having to put my dad into aged care.) In the scheme of things I didn’t think it was so bad that I would have to vomit it out, but there you go.
Being sick when you are a mother brings mixed feelings. You actually get to lie down uninterrupted. That’s pretty much the upside. I’m sure you’ve all experienced the down side. Gross. It did cross my mind that it could be worse – in that we could have commenced our “big trip” and I could be having this horrible attack while living in a campervan. I couldn’t decide whether it would be better to have a van with it’s own toilet (thereby making the van uninhabitable for the rest of the family) or having to use the public toilet block….. and pretty much not making it there in time. Today I’ve had the brilliant insight that of course we would whip out the dredit card and go to the nearest motel. Not much use thinking of that plan after the event!
While comatosing on my sick bed I could hear family events going on around and without me. Even when I heard J fall down and cry, I could only listen while P raced out to offer comfort. It was somewhat reassuring to realise that even if I died, life would go on. My three guys would look after each other.
It also confirmed that for some reason that is a mystery to me, the boys are much more independent when they are with P than when they are with me. Under his benign neglect that get on with their own plans. In the past I’ve been astonished to come home to find P at the top of a ladder finishing painting the pergola, while the kids played happily elsewhere. If I did anything as outlandish as climb a ladder they’d be swinging around one step below me, telling me to move out of the way! Oh, and could I make them some toast to eat on the roof? Yesterday P found time to undertake major motorbike repairs.
At a party some months ago I met a home ed mum who told me how she easily managed to find time for herself, as her children were really enamoured of their father, and as soon as he came home, no matter what boring thing he was doing, they were off hanging around with him. I had no response. It seems that in my house no matter what boring thing *I’m* doing, I’ve got company. It seems that the exception to this is vomiting and diarrhoea.
