Friday, 20 April 2012

What's up, Doc?

The concept of "Man-flu" starts at a very early age.  And after today, I can confidently say that it is definitely a mother that starts it.

Today was the twins' immunisations.  I am not sure which health professional decided that it would be a wonderful idea to combine the two sets of injections into one clinic visit.  Obviously someone not in tune to kids or with no children of their own.  I mean, even the village idiot is bound to have thought it through:  another injection will have to be given to a child who has just had one; a child who knows what is coming next.  Obviously it's not rocket science to conjecture what is going to happen next.  Anyway, the twins were no exception to the rule. I have to admit, I chickened out a bit and sent them along with the Sweetpea to the doctor.  I think I would have set them off before the time and we would never have made it past the doctor's threshold.  But the Sweetpea had some story about tiny superheroes being injected in to them to fight all the bad bugs, etc. and what ever, it seemed to work.  Both boys were quite excited to go to the doctor to see these little super heroes.  That is, until after the administration of the first injection.  On the first child.  There is definitely such a thing as twin-to-twin non-verbal communication.  By the time the injection came for the second one, there was a mutiny occurring in the ranks. As the Sweetpea put it, he had to "hold them down a bit".  It could not have been pretty.  

But after all of the tears were dried, and the emergency sweetie stash administered, they perked up a bit and all was well again. Until they saw me.  Both ran up to me crying and whining.  "A bad man pricked me hard!" yelled the one.  
"I don't want the injection ever, ever again!" wailed the other.  

And manly stoicism in the presence of their dad morphed into a whiny, sniveling, rest-of-afternoon-and-into-evening pity-fest of some caliber for their patient mom. I think the Sweetpea might have told them to suck it up at some stage, but I ran around like the aforementioned village idiot, getting sips of water, administering panadol, and picking stuff up off the floor that they had dropped, because "my arms are too sore to pick it up, Mama".  Even though I knew they were milking the situation for all it was worth, I still complied because, after all, they are my babies, and some bad man had just pricked them with a needle.

And thus the next generation of "Man-flu" sufferers is born.   

Oh well, I guess I'll just let some other woman deal with it in about another 25 years time...

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  1. LOVE the way you described the whole ordeal and how they "milked" the situation with Mama -glad you complied :-) Deep down inside they felt very special x This should go on your popular post, I think

  2. I look so forward to your stories, where I either have a hearty chuckle, a good giggle, or a few tears threatening to spill over. Amazingingly written, I commend you!