You may remember a mere fortnight ago I was worried my daughter had caught chicken pox. But no it was nits. Phew. And then? SHE GOT F*CKING CHICKEN POX!!! Here we go again...
Discovery Part 1
"Mummy. I've got a spot on my arm!" I look at the one lone innocent spot suspiciously. I look at the grubby dog suspiciously. I mentally add 'flea stuff' to my shopping list.
Discovery Part 2
"Mummy. I've got a spot on my other arm!" 24 hours have passed. I am lying in bed. Being tortured by Granny Murray on Me Too pondering where the hell she gets her hair cut. I pull up her nightie. Holy Mother of God. THE POX.
It's OK. It's fine! It's going to be one of those urban legends. One of those "my child only had two spots!" I shall laugh about it in the staffroom at school. It's going to be great.
There is no way my daughter is going to have a really bad case. No way. I better just check her bum in case there is an odd one down there. WHAT THE ACTUAL F*CK HOW DID THAT HAPPEN??? SHE. IS. COVERED!
So she has the pox. And it's bad. What does any parent do in this situation?
Panic. I panic. I run to the bathroom and find a rogue bottle of calamine lotion I have had in case of emergency for four years. And discover? It is OUT OF DATE? The spots are multiplying. My daughter is helpfully pointing them out. My husband? Goes to work.
Google! Twitter! Facebook! All of these helpfully provided conflicting advice on the curing of 'the pox'. But I do discover the following: calamine lotion is out, bathing in an oaty pair of tights is in. My ambitious three day max recovery process IS FOUR DAYS SHORT! It takes a week! An ACTUAL WEEK. It's OK. We can go to the shops or maybe pop to Thomas Land? What do you mean that you shouldn't really leave the house? Balls.
When your privates parts are covered with millions of tiny spots. There is no amount of lying that is going to hide the fact that you have the chicken pox. No lies will comfort you whilst you Mother is furiously dragging your hands away from your vagina. Every three seconds.
Unlike nits? The pox? Does not die. It will not go away. There are lotions and potions and many, many baths in mysterious bicarbonate stuff. There are sleepless nights. And weepy moments (mainly me). There is Piriton. There is YouTube. There are presents. Magazines. Arguments (mainly at my husband). There is a week of believing you will never be able to leave your house again. Time stops. IT IS SO BORING!
So. The pox has been. The scabs remain. We can all move on with our lives. And I am going to be one of those urban legend Mums who can laugh and say "And you know what? My son NEVER caught it precisely two weeks later!".
Yeah right. B*llocks.
Yeah right. B*llocks.