CHOC-CHIP COOKIES, INFANT GENIUS AND EUTHANASIA - JUST YOUR REGULAR MONDAY

Today was Q’s 9-month anniversary and she decided to celebrate by putting her arms in the air and saying ‘up’.

Not once, not twice, but three times as a request to be picked up.

She is a genius.

Or she would be if she could remember she’d done it.

No amount of cajoling, monkey-ing or bribing has prompted her to say it again.

I celebrated by rejoicing in my mother-in-law.

Odd, you might say, as women often have fractious relationships with the mother they inherit.

But who could be fractious with a woman who bakes a triple batch of choc-chip cookies, puts them in a box and sends them to you across the universe.

I am not kidding. That is the kind of mother-in-law I have.

Holding to the theory that broken cookies have had a calorie leak, and not wanting the cookie jar to look untidy with any misshapen pieces, I dutifully munched my way through about 17 of those babies, all of them poor and injured, having suffered a couple of fractures on their long flight.

Gregory didn’t eat any because he has been struck down with the vomit bug.

I tell you, euthanasia is looking like his best option these days.

Man Flu, slipped disc and now gastro.

How much can a man wife take?

I don’t know why I ever thought I’d make a good doctor.

My bedside manner is dreadful.

Then again, Gregory’s bedside is dreadful so perhaps it’s fair.

Miss Q knocked her lip over the weekend (because she is gung-ho and determined to stand and walk) and caused it to bleed.

Instantly I snatched her out of Gregory’s arms and sang our special ‘I love you’ song till she calmed.

Poor G. He’s lucky if I pass him a bucket.

Wife love. Mother love.

Jeez, are they ever different.

CYBERSPACE SYMPATHY FOR MY NEW CAREER PLEASE

In my old job I used to get applauded for my work. Asked for an autograph. A photo. 

Fawned over. Idolised…ok that’s going a bit far; in Disney’s Beauty And The Beast I was the dancing plate after all. Hardly a pivotal role, but the end of Act 1 would have been mighty boring without me.

Today (on account of Gregory’s slipped disc – no, no, don’t give him your sympathy, it’s me we’re focusing on here), as I was saying, today I did:

·               7 loads of washing including sheets, towels and a serious load of Q-poo nappies

·               Folded 7 loads of laundry, including restuffing the nappies

·               Remade all the beds

·               Made a loaf of multigrain bread

·               Filled Miss Q’s every need and desire (except for when she wanted to eat the bubble wrap because I deemed that inadvisable, which I still think was the right idea)

·               Made physio, doc and acupuncture appointments for my poor husband

·               Walked my crippled husband up the road to the doctor’s office

·               Listened to my husband bemoan his fate (bet he’s wishing he hadn’t used up his sympathy card on last week’s man flu)

·               Went for a run, pushing Miss Q in front of me in her chariot

·               Did a spot of work while Q took her nap

·               Made dinner – a delicious turkey slow-cooked casserole. For that matter, I made breakfast, lunch and snacks too

·               Cleaned the bathroom while bathing Miss Q, safely of course

·               Did sundry other tasks too pathetic to even list

And what did I get for it?

Nothing. Nada. Not a single thing. Not a standing ovation, not a chorus of cheers, not even a pat on the back.

(To be fair Gregory’s mobility is greatly restricted at the moment, but he tells me he was metaphorically patting me on the back all day long).

Small compensation that.

So where’s a hard put-on mother meant to go for sympathy these days?

Oh, I know, how about a self-indulgent blog, where she can write of her woes, her strife and the magnitude of her plight.

A place where she can share and be heard. 

Heard by people who are moved by her pain. Who truly understand her and the uniqueness of her distress. 

So go on people, get writing.

MAN COLD, BACK PAIN…WHAT’S NEXT…PMS????

Last week Gregory had a man cold. A strain worse than the most dastardly case of swine flu.

Yesterday he hurt his back at work and compared the pain to childbirth.

You can imagine the sympathy he is receiving.

Of course this happened at 9.35am just as I was rushing out the door to my writing workshop, the writing workshop I’d been looking forward to all week.

To go or not to go that was the question…for about three seconds before the brother that was Q-sitting for the day (bless his little cotton socks) told me to ‘get out of here’; he’d take care of Miss Q and the embattled Gregory.

And take care he did.

Meeting Gregory around the corner at his work, escorting the crippled chef home, helping him up the stairs, rubbing in the deep heat, lowering him to the floor, helping him up from the floor when he needed to go to the bathroom and holding a bucket for Gregory to wee in because he couldn’t make it to the bathroom.

I will concede this means he must have been in some considerable pain because our apartment is so small it’s only about four steps between each room, of which there are only three in total anyway.

Then of course ‘the guilts’ set in.

There I was at my writing workshop. Indulging my dream to become a writer while my brother takes care not just of my child, but of my husband as well.

For free.

Great way to spend a Sunday.

But then I remembered the membership I have. The club I’ve belonged to for thirty-two years.

Membership was entirely by chance of course, but it lasts a lifetime and it is (we all hope) impossible to get kicked out of.

There are just a few stipulations that need to be mentioned:

·               A member is required to be on hand for other members whenever necessary (except of you’re overseas and then your only requirements are phone calls, emails and long-distance sympathy).

·               Everything is done for free. There are no I-owe-you’s and you can’t keep a tally of your contributions

·               Forgetting birthdays is not cool. You don’t have to get a present but you do have to remember a phone call and a singing telegram

·               Long term loyalty is expected to the point of not ever being addressed

·               One person’s business is considered everybody else’s. Opinions are offered even when they’re not wanted and are expected to be heard and discussed

·               Every member is always right, even when they’re not, which is why we have the above rule

·               Senses of humour are mandatory. As is coping with a bit of well-intentioned ribbing

·               New recruits are welcomed with wide smiles and open hearts…so long as they don’t mind following the above stipulations

God bless my family.