AAARGHFDSBAJKF. The plague has fallen on our house. Toddlette is terribly sick with Hand Foot & Mouth and my god, is she angry about it. I guess I would be too, with tonnes of tiny spiteful blisters on my feet and legs hands and in my mouth but I am very, very tired after two consecutive nights of hourly wake ups and I am having a hard enough time sitting upright, let alone thinking of more soothing things to say to a toddler who is angry at the entire world. Nasty little blisters aside, I know she is really ill because she won’t even eat chocolate, ice cream or yoghurt. She won’t eat a thing in fact, just drinks gallons of milk instead. Gah. GAH.
Calpol helps and I am reliably informed by Twitter and other social media, ahem, doctors surgeries that HFM is quite a quick one to get over (3-5 days) and she’s been ill since Sunday (only we didn’t realise and just thought she was being massively stroppy about the sudden arrival of summer and Mummy’s insistence on sitting in a dark room watching tennis) so I expect the shining light of a suddenly-well child ANY MINUTE NOW HINT HINT.
It’s such a horrid thing to see your child ill. Toddlette is a bouncy (wild), outgoing (occasionally slightly feral) and happy kid (unless you do something stupid like take her a supermarket) and to see her lying on her blanket listless and making sad little cries from time to time damn near breaks my heart. Huge parental cliche coming up now but I would take her pain a million times over if it would make her feel better. WAAAAAAH.
This is just the tip of the iceberg in the “let me live your pain for you oh crap I can’t” stakes though isn’t it? She’s going to be not-invited to parties and have her heart broken and maybe be more seriosuly ill and have ‘friends’ fuck her over and I’m just going to have to give her a cuddle, stroke her hair and help her however I can.
Every day it comes as a shock to me how much I love her. How intense it can be sometimes. One day last week, as I drove to pick her up from nursery, two police cars and a fire engine sped past me and turned down the road her nursery is on. My head went berzerk, imagining a horrendous accident at the nursery and I flew down the road behind them fully expecting to see car stuck in the side of the nursery or the whole building in flames. Obviously, this was not the case but it took five minutes sitting in the car until I calmed down. I cannot bear to read a story in the news with even the tiniest hint of something bad happening to a child. I can’t even watch episodes of crappy American police dramas that have missing children or even teenagers experiencing mild peril. Seriously. I know I have issues.
All I ever want is for her to be happy and that is why I will sit through the same pisode of Tree Fu Tom seven sodding times in a row. That is why I will sing 112 verses of Old McDonald and why I will sit in a freezing cold paddling pool way past the point of it being fun and why I will let her stick stickers on my face. And that is also why I will sit up three quarters of the night with her lying across me, because it’s the only way she will sleep, even though I have a meeting with my new Chief Executive the next day and I am expected to say sensible well informed things when asked questions, not just lunge blindly at the coffee urn as soon as I get in the room*
*I absolutely did not do this.**
**I absolutely did.