The mancub is sick

It’s 7.45 on a Monday morning and I should be at work.

Instead I’m sat on a towel on my sofa with a poorly mancub, who has been unwell since Friday.

This morning he woke at 5am after waking hourly through the night; he waddled into our room doing that heartbreaking whingy-sick cry and telling me he has ouchies everywhere.

Mum guilt is a shit thing – of course my priority is my son, and there is no way I would leave him and go to work, but balancing work and mum life is bloody tough.

I don’t get sick pay and my wages have been mega low recently after hubs was ill and then me.

Calling in sick this morning I felt terrible – I hate letting work down and I feel doubly awful that I’ll lose at least a days wages this week when we really need the money.

We’ve been pretty lucky so far, the boy is rarely poorly and has only ever seen a doctor once or twice in three years, and whatever this is is really worrying me – he hasn’t moved from my side for at least two days, his toys are untouched and he’s so sad.

And now he can’t keep anything down, not even sips of water.

Now I feel like a bad mum, maybe I should have taken him to a doctor on Friday or Saturday, what if he is worse as a result of me not seeking medical advice?

I can’t rest, I have that mum-worry deep in the pit of my stomach – I don’t want to leave his side, I just want my happy boy back.

The surgery opens in an hour and I’ll be taking him as early as possible – I hope I’m just being neurotic and he’s okay.



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