Monday, 7 October 2013

Mum Life

Thursday night I got a taste of what it's like to be a mum.  Odd to say since I have technically been a mum for 21 weeks but that night it got real.  The baby was at the tail end of his cold, still fussy and sicky, but generally a happy chappy.  The husband came home sick.  At first I thought it was a case of man-flu.  

Within a half-hour I was feeling a right bitch and wetting muslins.  He had proper chills with uncontrollable shaking and a wicked fever high enough for me to consider a hospital visit.  I semi-rushed through the baby's night routine attempting to maintain a sense of calm and sending out signals that everything is okay, Daddy is just not helping tonight, but EVERYTHING IS OKAY.

Then I turned my attention to husband violently shivering under a duvet on the couch. I have no idea what to do to break a fever.  Do I feed it, starve it, stuff it in a bath, or a bag?  I can never remember the catchy phrases when it's crunch time.  

I Google it.  

Turns out he shouldn't be under the duvet or drinking juice or necessarily eating the emergency pizza I heated up.  

To add to my stress, our expensive, top of the line, baby monitor crapped out the night before so I'm just hoping the baby decides tonight is the night to sleep a bit more peacefully. Failing that, our house isn't that big, I'll hear him scream if he's really upset.  It's time he learns to settle himself anyway at the ripe old age of 4 and a bit months, right?  

Luckily, the baby is quite for now.  I make up the spare bed and coax husband off the couch, up the stairs and into bed. I leave him with some water, paracetemol, a bucket and his phone to text me if he needs anything.  

Back downstairs I scarf down some cold pizza and make myself a bourbon.  I catch the bead of liquid running down the side of the bottle on my finger, at £30 a bottle it's precious stuff.  Instead of a smooth oaky nectar I get sickly sweet strawberry.


I sip my bourbon, absently watching whatever channel was absently left on in the midst of the evening.  I think about how I have no idea what I am doing, thank the universe for Google, and decide to head up to bed.

Before I pull up the duvet I do the rounds.  Husband's fever is still raging, but the violent chills have left.  No hospital trip, then.  I leave him with a promise that I will check on him every time I'm up with the baby.  Next stop, nursery.  Baby is still breathing and seems peaceful enough.

Day is done.
All is well.
Safely Rest.

As I snuggle into bed, somewhat relaxed and calm, confident I made it through, I glance at the clock.

It was only 9pm.

The long night was still before me.  The frazzled mom montage was only paused, a brief respite before my 'Groundhog Day' began again.

1 comment:

  1. Oh jeez. I can't imagine caring for a husband AND an infant. You're my hero.