I’m feeling the need to have a rant. I also write a blog.
The two go together perfectly.
As some of my readers may be aware, I hate being ill and I am incredibly disappointed in the human race for not yet delivering to me a cure for common pesky viruses.
Ok I’m not dying or anything and I totally deserve whatever you may throw at me in terms of “pull yourself together, woman!” or “you don’t know how lucky you are!”. But I’m still ranting.
Recently, I suffered from the illness many parents dread, and from which they tend to suffer (if you’re like me) around once a year.
The vomiting bug. Rotavirus. Norovirus. I’m sure it has many different names (I could give it one).
It did its usual trick – came on very suddenley in the middle of the night, just as I was enjoying some blissful slumber after a week or two of get ups with a coughing three year old. After the necessary vomiting, aching muscles and general malaise followed.
Before children, of course I would have taken a pragmatic view and rested the next day – perhaps lying on the sofa watching films, wrapped up nice and cosy, waiting for the illness to pass.
But now of course, my winter vomiting bug day went something like this:
7am: First child wakes up and wants my attention. I turn over, unable to get up and ask my fiancee to deal with it. I feel guilty, as well as rotten.
8am: We’ve progressed to getting the children ready. I just about manage to get our one year old dressed. I’m not my usual exuberant self and think she must wonder why. I feel guilty.
9am: Phone in work and tell them I’m sick. Feel guilty. Arrange care for the chidren. Feel guilty for asking.
9:15am through to about 2pm: Intermittent sleep, waking up, feeling fretful and guilty about not doing stuff. I could be getting some washing on, putting those picture frames up, at least doing some online grocery shopping.
2pm: Decide to try and eat something. Put a crumpet in the toaster as I think it’s all I can manage. Wash some crockery up at the same time. Feel awful and go back to bed.
Feel guilty…and so the day went on until I gave up, admitted defeat and went to bed for good.
Of course such a common bug only last for around 24 hours, but it leaves you feeling generally rubbish and not quite yourself for a good few days afterwards. I remember fiancee telling me “you’ve been grumpy for two days now!”.
I guess my ranty point is that it’s hard enough dealing with work, organising the children and all the general stuff that goes on in my head about school applications, picking presciptions up on time, dentists appointments, writing thank you letters, sorting out some swimming lessons, remembering to pay for ballet class.
Being ill just tips me over into ultimate grumpiness as it interrupts my life and my children don’t understand that I can’t be the same person, just for that day or two, even if I try.