I’m blogging out of the sheer frustration. Most parents will be able to relate I’m sure.
This week is Writers’ Week here in Wellington. Today, I had tickets to see Jaspreet Singh talk about his latest book Helium, and Kei Miller talk about his new collection and how living a cultural clash has effected him and his work – and I’d have bloody loved both. Then I had to be at a writing masterclass with writer Jordi Punti. I have a similar day planned for tomorrow.
Missing the lot.
My two year old is sick. A chest infection and a good dose of flu. Just got back from the doctors after her temperature soared to 40 degrees and I stood in reception with her in my arms and insisted loudly that a doctor ‘see her NOW’!
I hate that she’s sick and not just because of the timing. I always imagine the worse. When the doctor is taking her temperature, I have visions of him reaching for an alarm button and a helicopter swooping down to get her to the hospital fast. When I hand over her urine sample (now obtaining that has to be a whole blog in itself), I imagine the nurse dipping in that little stick and suddenly sprinting down the corridor to get help. I imagine blood, priests, having to phone the ex.
Mercifully none of that happened; it rarely does. Just antibiotics three times a day, lots of fluids and a damp cloth, and, for pities sake, get her out of that ballerina dress! I have attempted the latter.
But my mind keeps going back to those lovely writers talking about lovely writing, and then the workshop that I have to attend but can’t. I even thought I could get away with going to the workshop and booked a sitter accordingly, but half an hour before the she was due to turn up, my girl went all floppy and watery-eyed and as hot as an oven door, and the words ‘Fuck it!’ neoned in my mind. In the car. Go.
She’s slightly better now, and at home. She is still refusing to take off her ballerina dress but she surrendered the matching Barbie tiara without much fuss. She’s lying back on the sofa with some milk. When she falls asleep I’ll swap Gnomeo for Jeremy Kyle, or write, or even have a nap myself.
Acceptance. Acceptance is key.