Week 19: Plague House

Other houses on our street have lovely wreaths adorning their front doors, some even twinkling with fairy lights representing thousands of happy yuletide fireflies. On our front door this week, there has been daubed a big black cross, representing that this is a plague house - woe betide anyone who dare enter.

Yes dear reader, this week we have all (me, the big hairy man, and little CK) had some kind of hideous vomity evil residing in our systems, making us feel like yesterdays jam, left out in the snow to fester silently, sadly on the curbside. Hours have been spent communing with the porcelain (in the case of the adults) or the carpet, the cot, the couch, the bath etc etc etc (in the case of the wee’un). But I have been suffering from a much, much worse malady (if that is possible - it turns out that voiding ones stomach when sober is really really not fun...who knew?!). Cabin Fever.

This highly contagious and very serious problem leaves the afflicted swinging wildly from laughter to tears, watching daytime telly and making quick phone calls to the bank stretch to over an hour, chatting to the poor phone lady who just wants to see if there is anything else she can help you with today... “Well actually, yes, I am thinking of redoing my kitchen, what colours do you think are in for kitchens this year?”

It has made me seriously rethink my choice to be a stay at home mummy. I mean, isn’t this what it is going to be like all the time in a couple of months when all my friends have gone back to work? Am I forever now consigned to spending every waking hour entertaining my child; dancing to the music channel to try to make her laugh, building towers out of anything that comes to hand for her to knock over, singing along to all her (deeply irritating) electronic jangly toys? On the days when we have nowhere to go and no-one to hang out with , then the answer to the questions above will be yes.

I guess I should just start booking some stuff in, but I am ‘joining phobic’. I am rubbish at taking part and a terrible cynic to boot. I could take part in pretty much ‘Mummy and Baby’ everything; pilates, swimming, sing and sign (really? babies that do sign language? That is so PC), exercise classes. But my fear of having to play nice and not take the mickey is too much - I suppose that naughty school kid instinct is still the default (and this from a teacher...tsk, tsk.).

So I have three choices; suck it up (as the Australians would say) and get used to the cabin fever, my own (mind numbing) company, and find some small joys every day to keep me sane; join some social groups in order to expand my mind, body, soul and social circle, and indeed just have something to do every day; or return to work...shudder.

Or I could just call my new pal Brenda down at the bank and ask her what she would do.

p.s. No Granny Bloggings wisdom this week... she is still shovelling her way out from under a snow drift and can't take the time off for blogging.