Skip to main content

That was a long sicky, mama

After spending two days recovering from food poisoning, I awoke yesterday morning, stubled into the kitchen and felt like one of those commercial moms who get saved by their disasterous kitchens by a miracle cleaner.

The Prince has rushed home Monday afternoon after I called mumbling something about the rabbit needing watching and me curled up on the bathroom floor. The next 36 hours remain something of a blur, but I recall hearing them go out for dinner that night, his getting her into bed (sans bath) and scrambling something for her for breakfast the next morning.

I do have one flash as I crawled into the kitchen at night for a sip of water (bad idea, FYI) of seeing dishes and food lying about -- but even at that moment, I couldn't muster the energy to be furious. That came later.

So when I really came to yesterday, with the rabbit at school and the prince at work, I saw my penance for getting sick: food, crumbs and dishes scattered about the kitchen. Clothes covered in chocolate ice cream on a shelf. Garbage in a bag -- on the floor.

When I picked the rabbit up from school, after cleaning the apartment, answering the 200+ emails blinking in my inbox, and trying not to call the Prince at work, she asked me if I was feeling better. "Much better sweetheart. "Good. That was a long sicky mama. You was sicky too long." No kidding.

Comments

Sugarmama said…
It never pays to be sick when you're a mama. Or to sleep in late. Or even to leave the house for a little while unless possibly you leave during naptime. The guys, they just don't SEE stuff and they're too busy mentally patting themselves on the back for taking care of the kid at all to take care of all the additional stuff YOU take care of. (Oops! Did that sound bitter?)
Jill said…
Not to bash my sweet life partner, but the same analysis applies to going out with the girls. "Go out with your friends more" he urges me. But it's not the going out that worries me, it's the mess to clean up when I come back home.
Manhattan Mama said…
I know...but how do you not see chocolate covered clothes sitting on a kitchen shelf?!?!?!
Kim said…
Eugh. This gets me every time. When they say - just go to bed, I'll do it, don't worry! And it's like, you know, I can drag this sorry sick arse around cleaning now, or do it as punishment for getting sick in three days. I'll do it now. I'm drawing comfort from the fact it is obviously a universal thing.

Popular posts from this blog

Apologies for being incommunicado this week and hope none of you out there are too distraught not to be receiving the usual almost-daily MotV missives. The reason for the silence is that I'm up to my neck, metaphorically-speaking, in research papers for my first grad course assessment. This experience has made me realise how rigorously un-academic I am in my thinking. It has also illuminated how reliant I am on red wine in order to get through endless evenings typing furiously on my laptop, not to mention the fueling of increasingly colorful curses that I feel obliged to aim at the University's online library system which consistently refuses to spit out any of the journals I'm desperate for (I refuse to believe this is 100% due to my technical incompetence...)Oh well, if this is the price one has to pay in order to realize a long-cherished dream then it's not all that bad... No one ever said a mid-life career change would be easy. Wish me luck!

Recommended & the Mahiki dance-off

My GFs and I went to Mahiki last night, great fun as usual but made me feel a bit old; it seems that Thursday night is the playground of the just-past-pubescent. Oh well. Good tunes though, so whatever.In between taking over the dancefloor - the youngsters may have youth on their side but frankly that shrinks to insignificance in the face of two decades of clubbing experience - one of my GFs and I got into a conversation about why so many people are full of bull.It appears that many people we come across are content to live their lives in a superficial way, skimming the surface of what life has to offer and equating the ownership of stuff (cars, houses, boats, jewelry, designer clothes) with happiness. They converse in terms of status, strut their possessions as a measure of their own self-worth, take themselves far too seriously, are quick to judge others, easily annoyed, complain a lot about very little and their worries seem to far outweigh their joys. Personally, I think all that…

Champix

Following on from the realisation that my lungs are filthy and if I don't give up the smokes soon I face a life of wheezing at best, off I trotted to see the charming Dr T.

Dr T, who's charming by virtue of the fact that he's less jaded than the other doctors in the surgery (in other words, he treats patients as if they're human beings with a right to NHS services rather than annoying fraudsters trying to gain sympathy for imaginary illnesses) promptly put me on potentially habit-forming drugs to get me off the evil weed. Something doesn't feel quite right about this but since I'm so pathetically grateful to have a doctor who's willing to give me more than two seconds of his precious time, I have acquiesced to his demands.

Anyway, this wonder drug is called Champix and promises to have me merrily chucking my smokes in the bin in no time. Or it will if I can get past the possible side effects, the highlights being abnormal dreams, nausea, flatulence, snoring, …