You make me better now please

They have sad little voices when they’re sick. It’s really cute, but in a heartbreaking kind of way – imploring you, as the adult, to find a way to fix them. It would be easier to fix them if they slept, of course, but they don’t, and we don’t. It’s a self-destructive vortex that sucks the whole household down.

Post spew bug Hurricane picked up a chest cold with a nasty cough, which turned into a fever, and he has since passed it on to Chaos who is battling a bit at the moment. We are heading into week 3 of the sick house now. Man it blows. So far BB and I have stood firm and refused to fall to this latest infliction, but we all know that sleeplessness weakens the immune system so we are on borrowed time.

I just realised there are probably a few readers of this blog who were thinking of having children and may be reconsidering that idea. It will be different for you I promise. Your kids will be perfectly healthy all the time and they’ll definitely never refuse to go to sleep unless they’re stuck to your chest like a sweaty little oyster that has to be peeled off in the night with a spatula. And then wake up every hour to reattach. That’s just us. We’re special like that.

All of this means my mental faculties are a bit fried at the moment. I often forget what day it is. They all look the same right now anyway, so it doesn’t really matter what day it is. We’re not going anywhere. My only forays out of the building over the past 4 days have been solo missions to get food and medicine. My social interaction has been limited to confirming whether I’m paying with cash or card. It turns out that can be quite a confusing question when on an empty sleep tank, as there was one occasion when I thought the checkout lady was telling me to ‘pash it hard’. Luckily I was already holding a twenty in my hand so it at least looked like I understood her properly. Or maybe I had and she was disappointed with the cash. Who knows, some people like the unshaven hollowed out eye socket look mixed with the whiff of unwashed track pants. It’s called the Billy Bob Thornton effect.

Anyway, it’s just better not to speak much in this state. Or write too probably. I’ve forgotten the point of this post anyway. There probably wasn’t a point.

Oh yeah, I remember now that I was going to start doing posts about the fun of cooking food for kids that they probably won’t eat and sharing my favourite recipes. Something for you to look forward to.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s