Poxy Pox

It started off with just the one… when it got to five and counting I knew that there was something not right with daughter darling. After six years it has finally hit. She had caught the poxy chicken pox.

I encourage daughter to cuddle toddler son in the vain hope that he could quickly catch it and be done with it for good. Day two and I have fellow mothers queuing at the door to get in on the action.

By day four, I am beginning to wonder if toddler may just miss out this time and am secretly relieved. Daughter managed to get a mild dose of it and thankfully hardly scratched at all. Somehow, I was sure that it would not be quite as plain sailing with tantrum toddler son. The fact that he cannot/will not speak would just aid to the problem.

As I waved good bye to the last pox on daughter darlings leg I notice a suspicious pimple on toddlers ear. Grabbing him for a closer inspection , he unsurprisingly doe’s not take kindly to this new found interest and runs to the bedroom covering his head in a blanket.
Without knowing for sure I spend the evening crossing my fingers and toes that I will not be imprisoned for another week.

Worst luck as the morning dawns Toddler son resembles Super-ted's friend spotty. Head to toe , little limb to little limb he has the pox. Typical, of course he could not just have a mild dose, oh no. I take the leftover cream and start dabbing. I begin to wonder if I am hallucinating the spots at number fifty six, then briefly start playing dot to dot on his back. I put gloves on his hands before bed, for him to promptly remove and throw across the room.

Day three and four follow with constant dapping and more glove battling. By day five I am ready to be carted off to a padded cell, preferably as far away from gloves and spots as possible.

To relieve the boredom I send the man to buy some mag’s

“Fancy one with Spot the difference?” I hear him call

Lame. I think while laughing. Very lame.