When I don’t wake up this morning (Pal gets up with the children while I sleep in on Fridays), I already notice that it is another miserable day. I have a feeling of impending gloom. I knew the weather wasn’t going to be nice, but I am still disappointed.
When I do finally wake up this morning, I realise it isn’t as miserable as I thought it might be but I will still be housebound with three bored, stir crazy children. And one bored husband. I’m not sure which I’d rather – stabbing myself in the eye could actually win in a choice between the two scenarios.
Obviously sensing my dismay at the scene in front of me, Oscar decides we need a bit of excitement and promptly channels his inner sick kid. I put him to bed for a sleep, thinking it might be better if he wasn’t
scrag tired exhausted. When he wakes, his lips, arms and hands are blue and he sounds like a wounded seal. Nice. Puffed up with Ventolin like a hot air balloon, Oscar improves. Miracle of all miracles, there is a doctors appointment this afternoon. Better to be safe than sorry.
We get to the doctor’s surgery, Oscar far from sleepily wrapped in the Sleepy Wrap, but warm nevertheless. It’s only a short wait. I only sing Five Little Ducks seven times, which is probably some kind of record.
P.S. Old Mother Duck seriously needs to pull her socks up! She loses ALL FIVE KIDS, people. All five. Over the hill and FAR AWAY. Only when they have all gone does she bother going looking.
So Mother Duck finds all her kids for the seventh time (obviously there is something really interesting over the hill and far away to keep those ducks running away), and the doctor appears calling Oscar’s name. Oscar quacks in response and I feel it’s appropriate because the doctor is wearing green, blue and brown plaid pants.
Dr mentions that Oscar has had a complicated year. I feel this is an understatement. And laugh. Doctor looks at me as though I may be taking my son’s health as a joke. I immediately put on my Worried Mother face and resume explaining the seal sound. Doctor is not particularly impressed by my impression. Reads some more notes. Checks ears, listens to chest and heart. No apparent infection – could he twist my arm into giving Oscar antibiotics to clear green snot and head off any other infection that he can’t see? Better to be safe than sorry and all that. Yes. Consider my arm twisted. Good, let’s weigh the boy to be thorough.
9kg. 1kg gain in a month. Seems to be fattening up well, then.
Right, follow the wheeze plan. It’s working. The minute you are concerned again come back. Any questions?
Yes. Actually. I’ve been feeling overwhelmed.
I explain how I feel that something is always waiting to go wrong, and that today in particular, but the past few days, I have had the feeling of impending gloom.
Not surprised with the winter you’ve had. The past year you’ve had. Am surprised you and husband are both still sane. Feel the same in a week or two come back and we’ll talk some more.
I hitch Joey back into my Pouch and head off to the chemist for some antibiotics. We meet Pal and the other children in the street and the feeling of gloom is increased by the spitting of the rain. The chemist smiles at me, we are friends now. OK for Panadol? Yes, well stocked thanks.
Get back to the car, feeling like the gloom is going to eat me up. Starting to feel nauseous, I tell Paul it’s probably time to go home and eat something. He hasn’t had lunch either.
“Get eat, Mumma?” from the backseat.
Stuff it. Go through Maccas drive thru.
We sit by the park, watching the water feature that looks more like sprinklers misdirected into the weir instead of onto the grass. Eating more calories in ten minutes than I did all of yesterday. And I begin to feel less nauseous, if a little more greasy.
And it’s then that I realise. It’s not gloom I’ve been feeling coming in the air.
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