Chicken pox. Two little words. EVERY parents nightmare.
I’ve been dreading the day ever since Lily was born. I remember the horror I suffered as a child. The horror that every child and parent suffers when chicken pox comes knocking on the door, suitcase in hand ready to invade and disrupt your life for the next two weeks.
Lily’s came at approximately 7.20pm two Sundays ago. My face drained as I noticed the massive red blister on her hip as I changed her into her pjamars. Once I had stripped her I quickly realised that they were everywhere. EVERYWHERE. On her scalp, in her ears, under her arms. EVERY-FRIGGIN-WHERE.
After a few frantic phone calls and an abrupt trip to the late night pharmacy, the pharmacist quickly confirmed my fears. At only 2 years old, the dreaded chicken pox was here.
I do have to say, the pharmacist was great. Within fifteen minutes she prescribed the right cream and medicines and sent us on our way without any gruelling phone calls to the doctors or the dreaded waiting room. I would definitely recommend visiting your local chemist for anyone else in this position – they were fantastic.
I was prepared. I was ready for the all nighters, the crying, screaming, itching and inevitable scars that would be left on my 2 year old’s body as she scratched the angry spots off her skin.
But to my surprise, none of that came. Sure she was unwell, she was tired and grumpy, didn’t want to eat, complained that her spots were “scratchy”, cried a few times during the night and it was a daily fight to put her cream on, my experience of a child with chicken pox wasn’t all THAT bad.
Dealing with chicken pox isn’t as bad as I thought. And I am glad she has caught it so young and hopefully (fingers crossed) won’t suffer from it again. It’s horrible watching your child suffer. I felt helpless at times but watching Lily sail across the finish line relatively unscathed just proves how much of a champ my child is. And how proud of her I am.
I guess when you’re a parent, you are always prepared for the worst. They say that you never stop worrying. That is never goes away, not fully anyway. I guess they’re right but whatever you’re worrying about? It’s never as bad as it seems. I should give her more credit. At two years old she is already stronger than I am.
In brighter news, her personality is in full swing. Full. Swing.
Wanting to give fully clothed dolly a “wee wash” in the bathroom resulted in the bathroom floor being flooded with water from the relatively unused bidet with help from an orange plastic cup as she waded about in it shouting “I JUST GIVING BABY A WEE WASH GET OUWT!”.
Also wanting to help with the dishes also means SOMEHOW, God only knows how, managing to stick my washing up gloves together then proceed to shred them apart all over the kitchen sink and floor.
Even if it means creating more mess than help with the mess that’s already there, she is the most caring and helpful person I know and I love teaching her new things every day. And she is still making me laugh along the way.
I can’t believe she is going to be 3 years old in less than 9 weeks. NINE WEEKS?!?!
But that’s a panic for another day, I’ve ran out of time to worry tonight.