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Feed on

My husband and 15-month-old son have been sick with the flu. For several weeks now, our home has been the sad scene of empty vitamin bottles, strewn tissues, and two very forlorn-looking males.

Up until now I’d managed to avoid getting sick. But no longer. I am now part of the gang! Aren’t I lucky!

Excited by my new gang membership, I have started to arrange matching leather jackets, a secret handshake, and some snazzy dance choreography with finger clicking à la West Side Story.

Due to our illness, we missed Saturday’s awesome ‘Gay & Lesbian Mardi Gras’ (I could have used my new dance moves, dammit!).

Instead our weekend consisted of watching TV on the couch, looking up websites on the couch, and advising each other about our status on the couch (“I’m still sick. How are you?” “*cough cough*” “Nevermind”).

Because we didn’t really do anything, I thought I’d share some conversations that we managed to squeeze in between all the coughing and blowing of noses.


1. My husband and I were watching music videos on TV, when Rick Astley’s ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ came on.

ME: “Ahhh no! We’ve been rickrolled!”

HUSBAND: “No, his name is Rick ASTLEY.”

ME: “What? No, I said ‘We’ve been rickROLLED!’.”

HUSBAND: [looking confused] “What’s a rickroll?”

ME: “Are you serious?”

[I then explain rickrolling to my husband. He thinks for while before responding.]

HUSBAND: “Well, that’s just stupid.”


2. I introduce my husband to the Awkward Family Photos site. We look through the photos together.

ME: “Let’s give Mr Squish THIS haircut.”

HUSBAND: “How about THIS one?”


ME: “YES!”


3. Mr Squish had just woken up from his nap, so I entered his room.

MR SQUISH: [pointing at me] “What’s that?”

ME: “I’m Mummy, sweetheart.”

MR SQUISH: [still pointing at me] “WHAT’S THAT?”


4. My husband was feeding Mr Squish some scrambled eggs when our boy gagged on a mouthful and vomited it back up.

HUSBAND: “We can feed him again soon, can’t we?”

ME: “Yes. He’s calm and fine now.”

HUSBAND: “I probably shouldn’t give him what he vomited up though, hey?”

ME: “HAHAHAHA! That is the funniest thing you’ve ever said!”

HUSBAND: “What? If he were a dog, he’d eat it.”

ME: [to Mr Squish] “Yes, why aren’t you a dog? You’d be a lot less work.”

MR SQUISH: [pointing at me] “WHAT’S THAT?”


So, that was my rollicking weekend. To those poor souls who went to the Mardi Gras and danced, drank and had a blast, I pity you.


9 Responses to “Mardi Gras has nothing on this”

  1. jacinta says:

    So your son can’t identify you and vomits in the morning… are you sure he didn’t go out to mardi gras? Because I was in a similar state on Sunday (except I didn’t vomit, had a headache and couldn’t string a sentence together)

  2. Cameron says:

    Pick haircut number three, it’s so Justin Beiber (sp?) Mr Squish could grow up to be a teenage gazillionaire and support you both in your old age and infirmary.

  3. KateWrightFaLaLa says:

    You have much, much more to look forward to. I’ll take YOUR weekend and raise you MINE. It was, in a nutshell, three days of staring at my son’s pant-area, asking him literally one million times “Do you need to do a wee or a poo? Tell mummy, okay?” and then, noting a frontal wet patch or pant-area-grabbing, scooping him up and holding him aloft whilst rushing through the house shrieking “Hold it in! Wait until we’re in the toilet!” (or, “the toilie”.) This brief-but-fraught journey was often accompanied by an arc of widdle, rather like a moving fountain. (I must emphasise it originated from my son, not me.)

    • Ms FOAS says:

      “My son’s pant area” was originally my favourite line in your story UNTIL I got to “frontal wet patch”.

      Then that was my favourite line UNTIL I got to this gem: “This brief-but-fraught journey was often accompanied by an arc of widdle”.

      And that, my friend, is the winner. If I ever start a band, I shall call us ‘The Arc of Widdle’. Our first hit song shall be “A moving fountain”.

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