You would think by now the premise of Sod's Law would have sunken into to my somewhat adled baby brain.
Just three short days ago while taking the wee man on a routine check to the doctors to look at his slightly funny shaped ankle, I congratulated myself on the fact that we hadn't had to use his inhaler in about 2 months. (This being just about the only thing Joseph has ever had to see the doctor about).
I thought it was great that his chest problems seemed to be a thing of the past and as summer draws in, I thought we were sure for a wheeze free few months.
So God, playing his mad candid camera game on me yet again, decided that the very next day Darth Baby (as wheezy Joseph is known) would return to our house.
It started with a sniffle and it ended with a trip to the Children's Ward. In between we had a projectile vomiting incident in a supermarket, several hysterical crying fits (Joseph AND me), some weird and wonderful medicines and several foreign doctors who tried their best to understand an hysterical Derry mammy rambling about her "wain being in good form".
While I have since realised I do now actually look every one of my 29 years and the wrinkles are getting deeper- I don't feel all the grown up. Part of me (a wee tiny part deep inside) still feels footloose and fancy free. There is no greater way to make you feel like a proper grown up though than to have to clean up your child's boke in the dairy section of a supermarket on a Sunday morning. While Joseph sat in a pool of his own making I hopelessly pulled a couple of baby wipes from his bag and tried to clean him up.
People walked past- some smiled sympathetically others almost ran past to escape the smell and I did what every good Derry woman would do- phoned my mammy to ask to come help.
Boking aside, the wee man was his usual nutty self; but shortly after he was back to his Darth Baby impression- heavy breathing all over the place- which is most unsuitable given that I'm his mother and only accept heavy breathing from my other half!
So on we went to the doctors and then to the hospital where I had to act the proper grown up and answer all the doctor's questions responsibly and not show an ounce of fear when they talked about taking blood, putting in a drip and doing x-rays. My heart may well have been racing, but the wee man wasn't going to sense anything different with his mammy.
Luckily when we reached the ward they had a sit-in car ("Tar" as Joseph calls it) where he remained amused until he was eventually, after another dose on the nebuliser, allowed to go home.
I'm sure this was just the first of many scrapes the wee man will get himself into it- and I'm sure the scars will stay with me and his daddy for longer than with him- but this is one part of the mammy deal I didn't bargain for.
So tired, but relieved, our family unit are trying to get back to normal and Darth Baby is breathing relatively normally again. Let's hope it's some time again before we get another glimpse of the dark side.
Reading At The Edge - I'm delighted to return to Cavan on Tuesday, next week for At The Edge, run by Kate Ennals. Do come and join it, it's a terrific line up and there's an op...
23 hours ago