As a parent, there are certain realities that I have succumbed to. The fact that my smart phone’s life span has halfed, that my tablet will permanently retain it’s chocolate smeared screen, that the words of most- if not all nursery rhymes, will haunt my hallways, and that my laptop will always be playing one of three shows – Baby Einstein, Super Simple Learning Songs and yes, sadly, the eerie looking pedo Teletubbies.
And it’s cool. I’m totally fine with that. I’ll even take it a step further, and tell you that I actually find his colouring with permanent marker all over my office’s brand new wooden floor endearing.
But the past few days – he has gone too far.
It started Friday morning when he awoke with a fever. “Daycare,” I grumbled.
Happily embracing my maternal duties – I performed the due diligence. I force fed him the adequate dosage of Tylenol and practically water boarded with him with fluid – all while cuddling and watching – you guessed it – Pedo-Tubbies.
Saturday then rolled along. I awoke in a cheerful mood – because Little A kicked his fever in the butt last night. I happily sauntered into his room singing the lyrics to Hickory Dickory Dock when I was greeted by a scene from the Walking Dead.
My beautiful baby’s mouth was covered in little red ulcers, pustules, if you will, oozing with liquid around the periphery of his perfectly shaped lips. I would post a picture, but I’m pretty sure he would sue me later if I performed this act of public defamation.
He beamed at me as I cringed in horror. Sucking it up, I reached for him as he leaned over and tried to kiss me.
I’m a terrible human being. I know.
I tried to dodge, bobbing my head back in forth, which in turn only cemented the idea in his mind that this was a game. And apparently – a fun one.
Reluctantly I kissed back. As my face came into contact with his poor little mouth, I could feel the puss filled bubbles around his lips brush on my cheek – leaving some sort of residual cesspool of the rapidly multiplying virus.
With no time to waste, it was off to the emergency room.
Wait – time out – before leaving I was sure to squirt roughly half a bottle of hand sanitizer directly all over my face.
I hate the emergency room. Why?
Because everyone who walks in, automatically believes that no case is as important nor as urgent as their child’s. I am an adamant believer in this philosophy. When I barge in, for some reason, I expect 14 nurses and 7 doctors to rush towards me – ensuring that every relevant medical exam is performed on my child while I patiently wait sipping on my white chocolate mocha. That being said, I am yet to pull off the uber lie guaranteed to get your child in first. You kow the one that sounds like, “yeah so my child has a fever of 104.6 and he/she was vomiting something that might have been blood oh and they hit their head but I’m not sure if the concussion happened before or after they came into contact with someone that had Ebola.”
Works every time – or so I’m told.
With Little A’s tiny arms wrapped around my neck, he continued to kiss me, incessantly. I resigned myself to the fact that it was only a matter of time before I too, would look like a Zombie.
One glance in the emergency room and I was ready to leave. The place was packed with not less than 40 children. Each one with their little plastic vomit container and head bandage. Might I add that not one of the container had a smear of throw up in them. But anyways.
Fortunately the clinic next to the house was open and had space for us.
The doctor took one look at Little A and said one word. “Herpangina”
“My son has herpes?”
I glared at A, who was no longer little after earning his first STD.
“No,” he whimpered wide eyed.
“No, Herpangina is quite common in children. It is not Herpes,” she continued on – but quite frankly after hearing that my two year old wasn’t playing house, or doctor, or stripper, at daycare – none of it mattered.
Popsicles in hand – we both laid on the floor. Me in relief that he didn’t have herpes or chicken pox, and him grateful that the ice was numbing the pain.
Little A – I’m so sorry I very visibly cringed when you tried to kiss me – but in my defence – ok there is no defence. Here’s to when we can go back to doing this:
Sweet Dreams World
P.s. Get well soon.