We seem to have unwittingly adopted a birthday tradition in our house. It doesn’t involve flowers or balloons but snot, loads of. Last year, O spent his birthday on the sofa, a funny shade of beige, hotter than a heatwave. The morning after he asked me why we hadn’t celebrated his birthday, as he had no recollection of presents etc.
Not to be outdone, last night, on the eve of his third birthday, F woke up coughing like a seal with a piece of cardboard stuck in its throat. Not a good sound. When our children are ill, S gets in a panic and I become uncharacteristically practical and a bit matrony (in a non Carry-on film way). But last night’s cough was a newcomer in the world of coughs. So, while S was panicking, instead of telling him to calm down, I was putting on my shoes and balancing a barking toddler on my thigh.
We got to the hospital and all systems were go. He was so tired, that he was sleeping while they checked and prodded him. Turns out he has laryngitis, they gave him cortisone, which was promptly spewed all over me. (Was quite proud of my choice to wear a white top, they matched). And then an oxygen mask was popped on him and that´s when he woke up properly and started to flail, scream and hit. It took two nurses and me to rugby tackle him into a “comfortable” position and half an hour later, he fell properly asleep with gotham city style smoke billowing from his mask.
At 5am this morning O woke up , overly excited about F’s birthday. F , who was in a bit of a post party slumber didn’t wake up until lo and behold 6:55am. His waking words were ” Where’s my blue chocolate cake?” and he thought the tale about going to hospital was hilarious and made up.
Today’s birthday treat was not going to school, which also caused a bit of a stir due to an accidental lost in translation moment. I phoned to explain that F had laryngitis and wouldn’t be going today, only to be called 6 hours later by a slightly perplexed and frantic Headmistress ringing to confirm that F had meningitis and that they would have to quarantine the children.
Despite the snot, tears and an overzealous “I LOVE birthdays, especially YOURS F!” big brother trying to open his presents, it’s been a fun ever so slightly quiet day. I´m considering changing their birthdays next year to fool the germs, but in the meantime, I shall just wish my most deliciously loveable rogue, an extra happy third year of being absolutely stark raving bonkers.