Monday, 8 October 2012

The Worst Thing About Motherhood...

The prompt from this week's 100-word Challenge  at Julia's Place is I woke with another headache which effortlessly reminded me of two nights last month - and innumerable nights before that.


It's probably the worst thing about motherhood. And it's a thing they don't warn you of – those upbeat parenting manuals. 
The knock drags you from slumber in the small hours. 'I woke with another headache,' they wail. The wafts on the landing tell you the rest. Turgid with sleep you prioritise. Fill a bath for the vomit-soaked invalid; fill a sink for the foul-clotted bedding. You shampoo. You launder. You tuck them up, soap-scented, in clean sheets and you soothe them into serenity. 
Then, irreversibly awake, you return to bed and you realise: the power to relieve childish grief is probably the best thing about motherhood.






29 comments:

  1. You tuck them up, soap-scented, in clean sheets, and then they usually wake you up 10 minutes later, having thrown up again all over the aforementioned clean sheets.

    My son once vomited 15 separate times in a morning. I counted.

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    1. Trust you to put a, er, dampener on my flights of fancy!!

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  2. Oh this is so true! I thought similar as I sewed Brownie badges on earlier - that its the joy they bring that makes it all worth it!

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    1. Actually - I'd rather swab sick than brave a needle!

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  3. Little A had a sick bug the other week - she threw up every hour throughout the night - it was gross - and we went through every bedsheet, every towel.

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    1. Oh my goodness! I definitely wouldn't have seen a bright side in that situation.

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  4. aww such a beautiful story. Something I hope I get to experience.

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    1. If you have children you inevitably will, but I have to say, swabbing sick in the night hours is not an experience to look forward to, however smug I might have felt afterwards!

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  5. amen! work is inevitable but the serenity that follows, that calms them in the rhythm of our work is amazing. When they are grown, I'll miss that, somewhat. :)

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    1. Oh, I know. I'm already fretting over the things I'll miss when I'm old and no longer indispensible!

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    2. My first child left home this fall...I miss terribly seeing her daily and knowing what her moods and mishaps, her small joys and helping ways are up to! Just trying to live in the moment with the other two! :)

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    3. But it's you she'll probably run to ultimately when things get to much. But yes, only today I was wishing I had a couple more kids to make the most of now mine are speeding towards adolsecence.

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  6. I want to read the next chapter when you have to get up as usual the next morning and still function as the all loving carer and comforter. Sorry to be cynical - we are on the last day of a two week school holiday. I'll be better tomorrow.

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    1. If the 100 words had allowed me I'd have added what a crotchety baggage I was the next morning! But I do find it easier to be the mother I always mean to be when my children are ill.

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  7. Oh yes! Fortunately, it hardly ever happened to me.

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    1. Aren't you the lucky one! The other day it happened for the first time before my husband had got to sleep. He was horrified by the ensuing process that he'd hitherto got out of.

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  8. Lovely twist at the end. Indeed, what a power.

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    1. Thank you. Yes, I must hold on to that sense of power during those maloderous night hours. Pity the same can;t be said for emptying cat litter trays.

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  9. Oh I just wrote a long comment and lost it! So this time I'll just say that you made me look back at my son's last vomit spree (every sleeping bag, every sheet) with a different perspective. Beautiful. Thank you!

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    1. Oh I'm sorry (that you went to the trouble of a lost comment and that you suffered such an pervasive vomit spree)! But thanks for persisting.

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  10. I don't do vomit AT ALL. Dealing with vomitous children is my husband's job. But your writing is so good that you almost convinced me. Almost.

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    1. Your husband? Your HUSBAND does that? Mine's only been involved once by mistake and the he sat panicking in the bathroom while I cleared up.

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    2. Vomit and dustbins are his only domestic jobs, so he can't really complain. Though I would gladly iron for the rest of my life if it means I avoid the vomit.

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  11. It takes a mother to turn such a malady into a victory.
    Outstanding work on this one!

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