It’s true, we all know it. Mums don’t get sick. Or at least, they can’t get sick, right? Because if mum is out of action then the entire household is screwed! Every little finely tuned and well oiled working mechanism will go haywire and suddenly we are in meltdown mode.
Yep, pretty much like that ^
But joy of joys that is what happened in this household this week. Now I don’t mean to boast, but whatever; I am the fucking backbone of this family. If I wasn’t around, there would be zero routine in this home and nothing would ever get done, no bills would ever be paid, Alee and Oakland would be dressed like little orphan Oliver and be out on the streets begging ‘please sir, I want some more?”. Literally, I run this shit. But oh my god this week I got fucking gastro! Like, the out of nowhere, smacks you up the side of the face, destroys your life and leaves without a kiss goodbye kind of gastro. Just to put some emphasis on the seriousness of this shituation, I will say it again, fucking GASTRO!
I was fine one minute, took Oakland to his swimming lesson and then as soon as I got home (thankfully she was kind enough to wait that long) I was down and out. I didn’t even have time to deliberate over which end of my body should have preferential treatment and be over the toilet. I just gave up on life and hoped for the best. Later that day my mum finished work early and praise baby Jesus, she came over while I went and got to know my toilet bowl on a more deep, personal level. By day two, I thought maybe I was on the up as it had been over an hour since I had projectiled any kind of fluids from my weakened and defeated body, but nope! It was mere trickery. It hit me only about a billion times worse. And this time I was alone. Alee was working, mum was working and I was still Oakland’s mum and ruler of the household. In between bouts of spilling fluids, I managed to cook Oakland food (and by that I mean he had pre-made pouches and fruit because that was all the energy I could spare, no way was my body standing long enough to do more than push a button on the microwave) and just the smell of that was enough to bring forth volumes and volumes of vomit.
Day two was also maybe the newest low point of my life to date. So night one was spent with me having maybe 3-4 showers at stupid hours because I was so sore I couldn’t sleep. So on day two I decided upon another shower, and I took advantage of Alee still being home. Thennnn it happened. Like a moment out of Bridesmaids, I shit myself. Quite literally, I shit myself in the shower. Didn’t even know it was happening until it had happened.
Yep I, a full grown adult, pooped myself in the shower. And Oakland was standing there at the glass door watching this horror show unravel with the biggest grin on his goofy face. Well at least someone thought it was funny. I can honestly say I have never felt such utter disgust and shame about my own body up until this point. I had zero control of my bodily functions, which meant no one was steering the ship that is our home. We were fucking doomed. Day two consisted of me laying in just undies on the couch, Oakland was in just a nappy that I can’t even remember how frequently was changed, I was running back and forth to the bathroom, he was helping himself to boob literally whenever the hell he felt like it because a) it kept him quiet and b) I didn’t have the strength to push him off and get a shirt. We napped together at some point on the couch, I remember that much but the rest of the day is this horrendous blur that I think I have wiped from my memory. I think the highlight of the day (other than my shower scene) was Alee phoning to inform me she was working late. Yep, could my life have sucked anymore at that point? Through it all though Oakland was fed and bathed. See, mums literally just cannot get sick. It is unheard of.
Day three was today. Oh god when I went to bed last night I was terrified of what today could possibly bring. Would I wake 100% better or literally lying in a pool of my own bodily excrement. It was entirely possible either way. I awoke and felt two things, incredibly lethargic and incredibly hungry! That was a sure good sign. For the first few hours I was wobbly as hell on my feet but with every bite of food it was like a little piece of me was restored. I was that hungry that I went to Hungry Jacks TWICE! And I hate Hungry Jacks! No idea why that happened. I think I ate like three lunches today, I managed to do a slow cooked casserole and ate that too. Mumma is back and better than ever! The damage is done though, the washing has piled up, the animals and child are neglected and semi-starved, my poor plants are thirsty and my shower is scarred for life. Through it all though, somehow I survived a crazy toddler and gastro.