Below is a post by one of my children. Its code for: Mum is distracted by unwellness and general malaise, so I shall wreak havoc on the world wide web.
Why we immunise our children for them to still get the illness anyway?
Sure, they don’t die, sure their bodily organs aren’t impaired for life, sure they don’t get it as badly as if they were the child on a commune with no immunisation, but you still have to say to people:
“Sorry, we can’t come to Hamish’s party today because the boys have whooping cough”
You still get to spend a couple of hours in.the.middle.of.the.night. at Mona Vale Hospital because your child has coughed NON STOP for about three hours, and basically all day with the occassional reprieve, not to mention the previous five weeks of a niggling cough that they just couldn’t shake.
You still get to be in isolation. At home. All day. With your mother. Who asks every 10 minutes “is he any better?” or ‘drops in’ to basically, in the most passively aggressive way possible, tell you how to treat your child when they’re sick. For example:
(drop in #3 last night)
“He really is coughing badly. Maybe you should give him some cough medicine.”
So while I felt like saying “Really, I hadn’t noticed my child coughing up a lung for the last three hours, even though he’s about 4 metres away and wow, cough medicine, I hadn’t even THOUGHT of that…” I just nodded and otherwise ignored her presence.
You still get all that, and sooo much more. The moping, the snot, the incessant hacking which yes, is worrying but even moreso, really REALLY annoying, the broken sleep and the chance to do it all on your lonesome. The chemist bills. Oh, with the most well-intentioned grandparent reporting/commenting/judging your every action/mood/comment like you’re performing in the sporting arena of life where such reporting/commenting/judging is soooo refreshing and educating.
Oh, and in case anyone missed my explosion last weekend regarding the good girl, doing the right thing and basically always ending up criticised or judged because of it, while my brother abdicates all maturity and responsibilty in life and is granted continual excuses, concessions and allowances, she actually asked me today if she should “buy a bun or something” as this afternoon the brother was apparently bringing over the new girlfriend (which by default means I’m meeting her too, forget the fact I might a) not feel like meeting anyone, b) might have had plans/people coming over or c) been a little weary from spending several hours at a hospital in the middle of the night or d) been tending to children with whooping cough). The one he met on the web, about two months after leaving his wife with a four month old baby. The one following the one from Iowa. That was the one that prompted the comment to his wife, when she cried she would fight for their marriage, that his heart was in Iowa. So again, being the good girl and not saying “Mum, I really really don’t care. I wasn’t rung and invited, so she is coming to see you and we will meet her when we are invited to and did I say I didn’t care” I simply said, “I have no idea.”
And that, said the weary pregnany woman, is that.
Then you have a morning when no-one rushes, no-one yells, everyone eats a decent breakfast in a timely fashion, everyone gets ready without crying or requiring bribery, and even a load of washing gets hung out.
. . . public housing, mental health and the disabled. “These are matters of simple decency. We have allowed these issues to slip off the broad political agenda. We need to put them back. While the Government must always protect its economic credentials it must also have a heart,” said our new NSW Premier Morris Iemma.
I L.O.V.E. this man.
If that wasn’t enough to make me excited about the political landscape once more (as opposed to a permeating sense of worry-induced nausea) then this was the cruncher:
Another is that Iemma will not apologise for spending time with his young family: “I don’t want to look back and see that my family has grown up without me.”