I probably spoke too soon about removing the white cross from the door because we managed precisely two days of clear health before I started feeling poorly. My descent into some flu-like virus was rapid, and I mused about how in my pre-children days this illness would have been rather a boon as it would have guaranteed a week off work. (Sorry, never did get the work ethic thing.) However things have changed and my terms of employment are somewhat different, with no sick leave in the offing.

I was all set to bravely battle through when I suddenly got rather more poorly and a trip to the doctor’s resulted in a diagnosis of bronchitis. So Steve took the unprecedented step of taking time off work so that I could go to bed. I didn’t need telling twice and armed with a war chest of potions, hot water bottle and TV remote control I retired. I found this magnificent cable channel called Hallmark which is ideal sick bed fodder, full of ‘made for TV’ movies and mindless mini-series. Unfortunately I did end up feeling terrible and couldn’t enjoy myself as I’d hoped.

Downstairs, life continued. Of course the kids behaved much better with Steve, and he constantly referred to them as “angels”, “darlings” and “tots”. When he only does it for a day I console myself with the thought that any longer and those angels would certainly drop their wings and reveal their horns and forked tails. However, he ended up looking after them for nearly a week and his tone didn’t change, nor did their behaviour.

I got regular despatches from the front, and would often be awoken by a patting on my head and hot breath in my ear as either Billie or Olly - having evaded the barricades - had come to tell me about their latest adventure. Billie got a new baby called Henry. Billie drops her ‘H’s’ so would walk along, Eliza Doolittle style “ ‘olding baby ‘enry’s ‘and”. Meanwhile Olly produced more pictures in a week than Picasso during his blue period, most of them equally impenetrable.

Back to Steve’s magnificent coping with the kids: to my shame I must add that during his week off he got the virus, although not bronchitis, and despite this continued to look after the kids and me. The Other Mothers are often moaning that their husbands only need to look at a box of tissues and are ill for a week; not my old man - he makes Spartacus look like a sissy.

So as I sit here coughing out my sentences I realise that actually this experience is a lot like my old work used to be. Whenever I was off sick or on holiday, I was always replaced by someone who (according to my bosses) was more efficient, capable, talented etc. than me; my return was usually heralded by glowing references to my stand-in, leaving me slightly deflated. Now as I get back to the old routine, Billie demands that “Daddy do it” and Olly tells me how Daddy always does broccoli and carrots with his lunch and always reads him a story (as opposed to nuggets and Nickelodeon TV).

Still it’s not all bad I guess, although I’m stuck in a job from which I can’t resign, with children who now prefer their Dad to their Mum. At least it’s the Easter holidays with Olly home full time for nearly three weeks, and every place we usually go to full up with other kids on holiday and a sure-fire forecast of rain…Help!

Quote of the Week

Billie: Referring to her doll “I got a new baby girl.”
Me: “She's lovely, what's her name?”
Billie: “She's called Henry.”

Juliet Jones lives in domestic chaos with husband Steve, son Oliver (aged 3) and daughter Billie (aged 2) in Hertfordshire.

NEXT INSTALMENT: MONDAY 1 APRIL

... go back