Trumps visit to our shores rose up a memory from a few weeks ago. A memory of being a full time working mum to 8 year old Joe The Ledge. Who got a wee infection so bad that he thought it had the capacity to burn a hole through orange hair.
Galloping vaginas. I was exhausted man. Thought I would work from home one day after being ill all week and could get through my 976 emails in a jiffy from the comfort of my bed.
No such luck. At 6.45am, my child declared “my penis hurts like an inferno of devil death head” and couldn’t put on any pants to go to school. After much naked pain rolling around from him whilst I sat on the loo making an excel spreadsheet, I made the executive decision to call the doctor as child became convinced penis was going to drop off as “my wee could burn a hole into trumps hair mummy”.
It was 8.50 and he was due at school at 8.55 and I had a phone meeting at 9am. Look over at child who was now in cold bath to soothe said burning privates and he had scrawled “Joe hurts” on the bath with a crayon which resembled blood dripping down a wall.
Missed start of 9am meeting due to gp surgery telling me I am first in the queue for 20 mins. Once the receptionist answered, she explained a telephone triage system was in place and the gp would phone my son at 10.20 on his mobile to discuss his symptoms. I explained he is 8, isn’t trading on the stocks and shares just yet and that his school isn’t a flexible employer so he won’t be able to take a call on his non existent mobile at 10.20. After much umming and foot stamping from me, realise , now child was crying with penisitis, I need to keep him off school for the triage system.
Had 9am meeting late , via Google hangouts , with my son providing a sound track of “mummy I got breaking up poo” and await gp call. Which happens at 11 and told to come in at 12.10.
Child refused at 12pm to put any clothes bar a pair of crocs and opened front door and marched onto street to walk to doctors. After the promise of a cake and Lolly, agreed to wear a pair of shorts with no pants.
Get to doctor amid yelps of “everything hurts – take it away please mummy” and child impressed all the medical staff by saying penis and testicles and then pissed ALL over the wall, my hand and face whilst collecting urine sample. Made mental note to wash everything when home. Sat child inside trolley in supermarket to get penis cream whilst on phone to work for another meeting. He emerged from under a cauliflower whilst I declared to work I had to submit and take today as leave before I get completely confused and beep my child on the checkout and apply penis cream to a pile of broccoli florets.
Got home to find washing machine foaming at the mouth and 19879997 pairs of dirty pants on floor. Internally screamed and announced we were going on a fun walk to the launderette wtih 4 loads of washing.
Turn up , pulling child along in old lady pull along trolley and child climbs in dryer and starts reading his book. Take child out of dryer and explain he can’t be put on a spin cycle whilst discovering a pair of my pants on the floor complete with panty liner still stuck on them.
27 loads of washing later , got home to find I left house without my keys. But it’s ok because I also left my window open. Word to the wise – for fun, don’t attempt to yank a pull along shopping trolley through a tiny window whilst you are midway through the air as your neighbours think you are a flashing burglar.
We got in. I stood on a plug and a piece of Lego and realised I’ve not been wearing a bra all day. Or had a shower.
Put potato waffles in toaster and feed the 5000. Including child and the pet rats. Whilst wearing my coat and leg weights to throw in an aerobic workout whilst I scrubbed the oven.
I am a mothering machine.