I went to work yesterday ready to prepare for a workshop that I was running in the afternoon. About 10am things started to deteriorate when it seemed like my digestive system was about to rebel and object to the food that I’d put in there for breakfast.
I soldieredon, swallowed a couple of tylenol and things seemed to improve somewhat through the rest of the day, though not quite to the point that I would have liked. My phone was happily vibrating away throughout the day as people tried to call me. The third time that it came up as ‘home’ I decided that I really should answer it and find out what was going on.
It was of course Caroline. She had rung me to let me know that she wasn’t feeling well and so would I be able cook dinner for the kids. By this time it was about 4pm and my health was taking a decided turn for the worse and so I knew that things weren’t going to be pretty by the time that I made it home.
Indeed, by the time that I did get home, I was aching, nauseous and less than happy. The difference between Caroline and I at that point was that Caroline had managed to make it to bed. I found at least 3 visiting children in the house so I quickly sent them off packing and then cooked dinner for the kids (if you can call pulling out some pre-cooked chicken out and boiling some 2 minute noodles cooking).
Then I clambered into bed.
I set the alarm so that I’d remember to put the kids to bed and when it went off, basically arranged for Michael to play Daddy and get everyone into bed.
Fortunately it worked. I can’t help but think though that one of the golden rules has been broken ... we’re not both supposed to be sick at the same time! Its supposed to be that one parent gets sick, the other works their arse off keeping everything afloat, then they get sick and the first one has the pleasure of picking up all that slack whilst they’re still trying to improve.
Both sick at once ... complete bloody rip off.
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