Tuesday 9th June and I’m sat in a year 10 Child Development class (even though i teach Drama – don’t ask!) researching “Superhero” schemes of work when a message comes to me (not like an epiphany, a man brings me a post-it) – “The nursery has phoned. Nothing to worry about but can you call them back.”. The teacher taking the CD lesson says “You don’t seem worried.” and I’m not, because out of seven days at nursery over three weeks, my son has been in the accident book three times, this will be the fourth. He’s clumsy so he’s probably took a bump and nursery are being overly cautious. Then the same man comes back, “Phone your husband.” Hmmm, that is weird. Maybe I should be worried so off I go to find my phone in the Performing Arts office where there is a text from my husband stating our mini me has….chicken pox! Great. Oh, and he can’t leave work so off I go to arrange cover and get my shit together.
When I get to nursery my son is happily playing outside with a bit of sand. He is wearing his sun hat (which makes him look like a fisherman) despite it being cloudy (overly cautious nursery strikes again) and doesn’t have a care in the world. His vest is hanging out the back of his shorts so his key worker can show me the suspicious looking spots. One of the other nursery workers states that she has made her daughter hug him and give him a kiss because, in two years, she’s not contracted it yet and she is annoyed by this. The overall concensous from everyone seems to be that I’m lucky he has them now while he’s young. I don’t feel lucky…
*breaking off typing this to retrieve tissue box from child only to discover a hideous smell. Must change nappy before continuing…*
Im back to blogging a couple of hours later after being distracted by phone calls (Janma wanting to know how her little man is) and now the spotty one is napping…on me. I know he shouldn’t but he’s poorly and I like the cuddles ☺️
So as I was saying, everyone says I’m lucky and I don’t feel it! At this point it’s all suspicious, no one with any kind of medical degree has diagnosed chicken pox so I ring the doctors and get an appointment, bundle the bubba in the Gary (the golf) and off we go…
We are put in a room off the main waiting room so not to infect the people of Outwood with the pox. We feel like lepers. My boy is happily chewing on Sophie Le Giraffe’s head and exploring the leper room. The doctor who comes to see us barely breaks a smile which I find strange as my boy is so damn cute, even when we leave (after he has confirmed the suspicions in about two minutes) and my son decides to show off his impressive clapping and waving skills, he remains stoney faced…obviously not a baby person. Back into Gary we get and we are homeward bound.
Since coming home, Poxy has had some lunch (he’s definitely not off his food), played a bit and has been asleep on me for the last hour.
9pm – Poxy is dreaming peacefully after an afternoon of playing, Janma visiting and bathing him and a nice bottle of milk. I’m hoping that that go as quickly as they have come and he is spot free for his birthday celebrations next weekend.