New Mummy Blog: Sometimes I'd Like A Day Off From Parenthood

Sometimes, just sometimes, it would be nice to have a day off.

But there is no off button, or even a pause button, with two little people dependent on you for everything.

Most of the time I wouldn't have it any other way. I love every minute of it, even the night wakings, the 100th read through of The Gruffalo, the Cheerios that stick to my socks as I cross the kitchen floor.

But I admit that, every once in a while, I dream of taking a break.

Take this weekend. First of all my husband was struck down with a horrible virus, following a couple of particularly stressful weeks at work including a week away from home.

I had been counting down the days until his return, not just to have some help at bath time. We had a lovely Easter weekend planned, but with him bedbound apparently it was not to be.

And then I got mastitis, again, thanks to the baby's sleep and feeding patterns going haywire over the last few weeks.

I woke to the all-too-familiar ache and the flu-like symptoms, pounding headache and cold sweats.

I spend so much of my time worrying about the kids and hoping they don't get ill. Especially at the same time. But I forgot to worry about us.

With us both incapacitated all of a sudden, there was nothing we could do but struggle through, a tag team of misery.

I tried staying in bed, but that was never going to last for long. Honor was not happy at all. "Up!" she commanded, while trying to peel me off the mattress and drag my feet onto the floor. Negotiating with a small person while navigating cold sweats and shivers requires a will of iron.

My husband valiantly tried to keep her entertained, despite feeling dreadful himself. He turned to Disney, substituting childcare with Aladdin on repeat.

But before long the sound of Robin Williams was drowned out by the baby crying. Of course he decided today was not a good day to nap. All he wanted to do is feed. So I crawled out of bed anyway, giving up on any hope of sleeping the mastitis off.

It seems that while there might be plenty of sick days when you've got small children, prone as they are to picking up every bug and sniffle going, YOU don't get sick days. There is no chance to curl up and recuperate, to watch daytime TV and eat chicken soup.

And with the children's grandparents on a cruise or at home hundreds of miles away, there's no one we could call on to come and help out while Adam and I drowned in our respective misery.

So here we are, at the end of a very long Easter weekend, exhausted and in need of a holiday.  

And I'm wondering, is it wrong to want a break from our children? Our wonderful, funny, relentless children. Is it so ungrateful, so unforgivable, to be dreaming of eight hour sleeps, uninterrupted conversation, sandy beaches we can lie on and read books from cover to cover?

I know it's only the mastitis talking. Were you to pick me up and transport me to this dreamy beach, I'd hate it. I'd miss my children horribly, every single second, and no amount of cocktails at sunset and books read in peace could change that.

But for now I can dream. And try not to think about what it would be like if all four of us were ill at the same time. Then we'd really be in trouble.

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