We all love some attention when we are ill, however some people seem to have the art of milking it down pat. My son this week has demonstrated that the average common cold could be milked to such a degree that even the Queen would be envious. It’s the little touches like announcing that you are too ill to get out of bed, and recommending that Daddy should carry you downstairs with the duvet and pillow. Now my son weighs a fair bit, so even my back when I lifted him was telling me this journey should be short, very short, or bad things were going to occur! I puffed and panted like some tennis star at Wimbledon, and by the time he was on the sofa, I was bright red, doubled over in pain, and on the point of asking him to budge up as I now needed a lie down under a duvet! He then had the nerve to announce that something was wrong with the television. No son, it’s not switched on, sorry I must be getting slow in my old age, I will try and do better! As I turned it on, he announced he thought he would have a snack and drink while he waited for my back to recover.
That evening as I arrived home after a hard day’s work I found the pink wonder medicine that all parents rave about had been administered and he was ready to be carried back to bed. Now after some nine hours of busyness and stress with my back still not thanking me for this morning’s work out, I was now self declaring myself near dead and ready for the scrapheap for at least 24 hours. As I carried, hang on a minute, carried him is not the right word, maybe crawled / hobbled him upstairs into bed, I was at least safe in the knowledge that he should be well enough to draw breath and walk unaided tomorrow, or was he?
As I woke the nest morning I found myself on my own in bed, and upon investigation he had managed to persuade my wife to sleep in his bed, as he needed cuddles. OK son, doing my back in is one thing, but now kipping on my own? Are you taking the mickey? The only pleasure I had in life now was coffee and I was taking the jar to work to make sure this was not being stolen. As I carried ‘His Highness’ downstairs, I turned on the TV, made a snack and put his bottle of juice on the floor by the sofa. The next thing I knew is ‘His Sick Royal Highness’ was whimpering that he was too poorly to reach out his arm and grab his drink! Before I could mention that his arms were younger than mine, and that the common cold had not infected them so don’t push it, he turned on the charm. Two blue eyes turned to me and claimed how thirsty he was, and how his mouth was so dry (cough, cough.) Yes son, I know that feeling, as by the time I have provided the personal waiter service to you and your sister, there is no time for me to have a drink until I reach work. I swallowed my pride, picked up his drink, and put it a few centimetres closer to his hand. He grabbed it, shoved it in his duvet and left it. What?! Son, just a minute ago you were dehydrated, now suddenly you are fine? I decided to leave this battle for another day, and go to work.
I was more than a little apprehensive as I opened the front door when I got home, as my back was now making loud noises that it was unhappy with carrying heavy loads to bed. As I got in he was up to his usual tricks, destroying furniture and toys, so both my back and myself were happy. Funny how the moment dinner was announced his immune system left the building and he was on death’s door again. As we all fussed around I watched my dinner go from piping hot, to congealed, to good enough to be used as a freezer pack for the kids sandwich box tomorrow! We ran and got the duvet and the pink wonder parental medicine and tucked him up with his favourite children’s TV show. As I picked up my knife and fork I lapped up my cold meal, whilst my back was definitely bricking it, pleading, no, wait scrub that, begging for reprieve. I did point out to my back that we are all making sacrifices, and it should not last long, should it?
At this point you are hoping for a fantastic ending, well me too! The common cold and personal waiter service has been going on for over a week now, and no end is in sight. Am I the only one who has found the famous pink parental wonder drug has failed us? I thought this wonder drug could cure the dead! Now I am at least eight inches smaller with a back that has had a hard week. I wonder if the pink wonder drug works on backs?