The lovely Tilly is fifteen today. I usually write a birthday post for each child on their happiest of happy days, but it will have to wait until I have finished having a right good whinge. Once I’ve got all this off my chest I will write the nice post.
This is the narsty one.
I was feeling pretty chipper yesterday night.
I had gone to the Dr. with Oscar, which was a big weight off my mind. The Dr did say that it was viral, which is my pet hate, but he said it in a nice way and didn’t make me feel stupid for having brought him to the surgery, which is ok and as it should be, considering this is the third week he has had this. The Dr. also checked him over in as thorough a manner as a slightly nervous parent could require. The boy’s ears are clear, his chest is not crackly, his throat is sore but not infected, tonsils a little swollen, but then they would be. The Dr made him do all the chin on chest wiggle this limb stuff to rule out any last lingering panic about meningitis. He was slightly concerned about the yo yo temperature, as am I, which is why he gave me a prescription for antibiotics. He has given me them in case things deteriorate over the weekend to a point where I think infection might have become an issue. It means I do not have to fret about galloping to an emergency Dr. in the wee small hours. I am incredibly grateful. My prescription is on standby.
The boy was really poorly in the afternoon, but perked up a bit in the evening.
I got the house clean, and managed to cook dinner, strip beds, catch up with laundry and generally be a domestic goddess.
By the time bedtime came, I was feeling pretty good about life. I had pegged Friday as the day to bake for Tilly’s birthday. Two cakes are required as there are multiple celebrations over the weekend, and she has asked for sausage and mash with onion gravy for her birthday tea. I had got supplies ordered, I had a vague timetable in my head. All was good.
This morning Oscar was a tiny bit better, and had slept through, unlike previous nights. So that was good.
But he is still miserable, and hot, and off his food. Bad.
And Tallulah woke up and then spent half an hour with the world falling out of her bottom. Seven visits to the toilet later it was pretty clear that going on a walking field trip round a local town was not the best thing for her, and I would have two sick children on my hands all day. Bad.
I have spent much of the morning shouting: ‘HAVE YOU WASHED YOUR HANDS?’ to which comes the reply: ‘YES!’ I then shout: ‘WITH HOT WATER? AND SOAP?’ There is usually a silence at this point, followed by a scurrying and the sound of water running.
Tilly didn’t get much of a send off this morning what with bowels, and heads, and the like. She is sitting her Biology GCSE today too, so she wasn’t really in the mood to deck the halls just yet. How inconsiderate of them to plan a science exam on her birthday. She is very relaxed about the exam. More relaxed than I would be, but still, it has to be admitted that sitting a GCSE on your birthday is a bit of a downer. Her one consolation is that it is not the physics exam.
After she left I made all requisite phone calls, adjusted my schedule for the day and felt reasonably on top of things, until the cat came and demanded a huge fuss from me.
Derek hates having a fuss made of her. She would rather die than be stroked or tickled under the chin. She refuses to be picked up or restrained in any way, and being stroked, she feels, is merely a honey trap to lure her into some kind of head lock she doesn’t approve of, so I am always slightly wary when she insists on a cuddle.
As I was stroking her I felt a rather large lump at the base of her tail. She let me touch it, which means it probably isn’t infected or she would have tried to murder me, but it is definitely a lump, and a lump that shouldn’t be there. She wouldn’t let me part the fur to have a look at it at all, so I am none the wiser, and given her gung ho nature and extreme stupidity the lump could be just about anything.
I made the inevitable phone call to the vet.
The vet is brilliant. Couldn’t be happier with her as a vet, except that her surgery is off a huge arterial road, down a side street that is always double parked, and has no parking of its own. In order to make a successful sortie to the vet you need two people, because one person has to drive round in ever widening circles to find a parking space four miles away, while the other person shovels the animal into the surgery for treatment.
Today there is only me, and two poorly children, and one absent child and one absent husband. Everyone else who might be able to lend a pair of helping hands is busy.
So I have made the appointment for 4.15 p.m. with some trepidation. Tilly will be back from school by then, so I have two options as to how to deploy her.
If Tallulah is less volatile in the stomach department I will make Tilly ride pillion and throw her out the door with the cat in its basket while I drive round and round with the small children in the car until I find somewhere to park the damn thing.
If Tallulah is still unable to move more than four feet away from a bathroom I will leave Tilly here to deal with bowels and temperatures while the cat and I go it alone and I pray that I can find a parking space in the same post code and the cat doesn’t rip her way out of the cat basket at any point, particularly not while I am driving.
If I am honest, I am finding the day a little more stressful than I would like. I know this is small beer compared to what other people have to deal with, and I am lucky that I do not work, so I don’t have to try to do all of this and grovel to my boss, or shove the children under my desk and type loudly every time they cough, in the hope that nobody will notice them, but it is still crap.