Moments that aren’t your proudest as a Mammy? I’ve had a few of those. My most recent being the realisation that the only possible solution to my screaming toddler, in pain, grabbing his ear at 9pm on Sunday night was to shake that bottle of Calpol (like it was a polaroid picture) to get the remaining almost 3ml out of it and praying to all and any gods out there that it would ease his pain and that it wasn’t another blasted ear infection. I wouldn’t mind, but the chemist below my doctors knows us by name and I’ve a strong feeling would nominate me as customer of the month. But, in times of need (and after closing time of any shops or chemists that would sell infant painkillers) it seems that the mountain of bottles of Calpol or Nurofen that we’ve purchased over the last two years has vanished into thin air, leaving only the dregs at the bottom of one bottle, and thankfully (mercy of all mercies) one purple syringe to get the stuff into him.
I was told when E started crèche that he would catch every bug going, those were the breaks when we were putting him in contact with snot covered children for multiple hours, where it wasn’t a million percent sanitised every ten minutes. In my head I put this down as a necessarily ill, bound to happen eventually when he hits school, and the benefits for him, me and our relationship were much higher than the pains of sniffles and coughs. The line “living in the doctors” was mentioned a few times. He’s certainly fulfilling that prophecy. We’re lucky my GP is close by and lovely, and that he’s not one of those children who screams the place down when in any proximity of the place. Sure, she has the cool fire truck toy in her surgery, he practically runs into the place excited (sick? Him? Never healthier than in the doctors waiting room!). Read More