What with dad flying to parts unknown (or at least 60degN), and mum off at a highfalutin' business manager course, its been a whirlwind of activity in the household which has meant things such as blogs have had to wait their turn.
So, where were we?
Well come 12 months old and the lad is due for not just a big chocky cake with 1 candle and more pressies than you can point a Huggies Toddler 10-15kg nappy at, but also shots.
Big shots.
Like Measles/Mumps/Rubella (MMR) triple shot.
It hurts just thinking about it.
But alas and alack, the lad was sick. So we waited. Then the council vaccination times were during our holiday. So we waited more. Then the boy was snotty. So we held off. And... errr... somewhere in there we mighta forgot for a bit. Then...
We got a dirty letter from the gummint saying "If you don't give your son his MMR shots pronto we'll cut off any welfare payments/your various appendages/send the boys around to rough you up and you really dont want that do you? Oh, and dont dare come the conscientious objector line with us cos that stuff is BS and we'd all be dying of polio/smallpox/black death if the likes of you had their ways you society collapsing science-less scum."
Or words to that effect.
(And right you/they are. Seriously.)
So off the lad was taken to the local doc for his jabs. Which are all normally done by a nurse so the doc seemed all at sea and was, frankly, pooping himself he'd nail the poor lad like some infant jesus.
First jab... "WhatthefuggwasthatWHAAAA!" said the boy.
Second jab... "WHAHAHAHAAAA".
Third jab... "Is that all ya got? {i.e., no whaaaasss}"
He was a little champ.
"They often get a bittova temperature in 8-10 days" said the nurse as Mike strode out.
Skip forward 8 days. Mum at highfalutin business course, dad off battling the vikings, and nana and grandpa left holding the baby(/toddler) during the daylight hours.
Clock hits 4:45am, exactly 8 days post shot.
"WHAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...."
... and he wouldn't be consoled until it was about 6am when he decided to start his day proper. Great for mum... who had been up till 1:30am thinking about work and course stuff. And had more highfalutin to do the next day.
The following night they all struggled to get him off to sleep, but he finally settled around 12:30am thanks specially to grandad. Next day more grizzling (or "keening" as nana liked to call it, though that does seem a little morbidly over the top), till it was off to the docs and a measured temp of 40.8.
As in Degrees C.
Poor tike.
To add insult to injury... teeth.
Huge swollen lumps of gum sticking up where the molars are about to erupt... hence more panadol, sed-a-gel, some homeopathic teething stuff, bottle teat to chew on.
By the weekend all and sundry were exhausted, but Mike was slowly returning to his old terrorising self. Hence a rest day at Nana and Grandpas (with infinite thanks) on Saturday.
And by Sunday everyone was home again in the Baghdad-end-of-Hampton.
Including dad, from parts unknown, who promptly announced;
"Gee... he seems a little grizzly...."Dad - you shoulda been here yesterday.
Postscript: All is well, apart from a return to snottiness for Master M (and dad), thanks to the bloke sitting / wheezing/ dying next to dad on a 10 hour flight from London to Bangkok. (Thanks dying bloke.) Nana and Grandpa appear to have survived relatively unscathed and will forever be on our xmas card list (when we make one), and rumours of mum chastising very (and more) senior staff from her workplace during her course while suffering her sleep deprived/mothers-worry delirium... appear to be grounded in truth. (Oh well, the oft hinted "Never to be promoted" file cant really exist, can it???) Print this post
No comments:
Post a Comment