Life is an Allergic Reaction

some times i forget this. like the time i picked up my eldest daughter from school and drove off leaving my 18mth old son strapped into a pram by the side of the road. i may not have noticed. except. cj asked why lijy pijy wasnt sitting next to her.

i now know that reverse driving down a one way street is an exceptional skill of mine.

or like the time we were getting ready to go away with friends and had packed the car and locked up the house and strapped ourselves in. and. uh oh. 3mth old noobles was still soundly tucked away in her bed. sleeping. oblivious to her abandonment.

it appears i enjoy drama. subconsciously. internally. i need reminding that i am alive. or perhaps that i have four kids and that they really should remain alive.

each child has awakened a new level of dramatic flair in me. yes. ok. my first child has autism. this could make one a little paranoid. concerned. worried. overly cautious. ok. lets be honest. psychotic.

just to illustrate:

when lije pije was only a few months old, my in-laws paid for a certain delicate operation on his ‘man thing’. i was certain that it had all gone wrong. i rang the dr a few times quite adamant that it was about to drop off. (im happy to say it didn’t and is apparently – in a version of the dr’s words -‘the best looking willy in my town’. i suppose its a good thing to take pride in your work). when noobles was 6mths old, i saw my dr every week telling him that i was sure she had displaced hips. if only he would listen closely i was sure he would hear them clicking. i was certain she would end up having one leg shorter than the other. facing a future as an old spinster living with her cats. he finally gave me a referral to a specialist (although his motive may have been entirely different from mine).

maybe i am allergic to the mundane. ordinary. uneventful. everyday. common-place. ho-hum life.

i have excluded boofa at this point (yes. ok. maybe i did have the fear that his head was unnaturally misshapen and he may need to wear a helmut but that’s an aside…..). he is 6 mths old and he does have eczema. a bit of drama, yes. the dr even did allergy testing. positive. allergic to peanuts and milk.

today. i forget this. i forget i have kids. i am (nearly) alone with another adult. i dont need to add ‘sy’ to the end of all my words. i am forgetting for at least an hour…..

my friend and i both have 4 children each. she has managed to get her 4 all babysat (that is a mean feat for any mum of 4). I only have boofa with me. we are having coffee. we are deliberately forgetting that we have 8 children between us. forgetting that most of our day is spent wiping bums, scrubbing toilets, being thrown up on, refereeing fights. we are enjoying forgetting. we are: drinking coffee. eating cake. talking about non kid stuff. laughing. not sharing our cake. well maybe just a teaspoon of froth to keep boofa quiet………….

oops

boofa’s lips begin to swell. his face is red. oh no. we put our coffees down. we walk….run to the doctors surgery. we are admitted straight away. yes. my boofa is having an anaphylactic reaction to the drop of milk froth i gave him. nurse is worried. dr is worried. looks like hospital here we come. we spend the rest of our free time sitting in the drs surgery with a puffy boofa. waiting for boofa to decrease in size. or. stop breathing. poor boofa. his swelling eventually subsides a little. i’m told it was a close call. phew. boofa is ok.

yes. i gave my allergic kid milk. yes. mum-mum dumb-dumb.

conclusions drawn: forgetting is hazardous to my children’s health. i worry at the wrong moments. i am psychotic. god doesn’t want me to drink coffee. i need to book my hubby in for the snip.

i am allergic to ordinary life………….pass me the epi-pen so i can get some sleep