Whats got….

…..four arms, four red-rimmed eyes, four legs (fits of flailing pique for the use of), two yell-holes at full volume (shriekathon mode engaged), is red all over, sweaty and won’t go to sleep?

Twins with vaccination fevers.

Sigh. Fun times aplenty.

Incidentally, can anybody please tell me why the feck they dye children’s paracetamol red? It looks like Jack The Ripper has done a number on one chair, several bunny rugs, assorted bibs, baby shirts, my clothes and one piece of carpet Chez MII.

Apologies for the silence in the last day or so, but I’ve been busy. As I don’t particularly cherish the idea of my children ever experimenting with tetanus, diphtheria, whooping cough, meningitis and the like, I have this nasty habit (from their beleaguered point of view) of hauling them down to the local community centre to be perforated with sharp things every few months.

Don’t worry, they make it quite clear they don’t entirely approve. As they grow, and learn to anticipate, the disapproval creeps in even before the sharp things get started.

 This time around, poor Saag knew something was up, all my jiggling, humorously off-key singing, smiling and poop-eating grins aside, and commenced Anxious Whirling Dervish mode upon merely entering the place with all those crying babies, whacking me several times in my unguarded gob. Fair’s fair, I suppose.

Her worst fears confirmed in each thigh, she then warbled inconsolably the entire trip home and I had a particularly entertaining half an hour getting a justifiably suspicious sobbing, hiccuping infant to neck down some bloody paracetamol. After numerous false starts which left us all rather decoratively covered in sticky red goo, vomit and snot, I succeeded and she fell asleep in my arms.

That will teach me to sing ‘Old MacDonald had a farm’ in public.

Naan merely squealed in surprised fury at her skinny legs being assaulted in such a way and then got over it just as quickly. Until they BOTH spiked the aforementioned fevers several hours later, of course. That kid can yell when she’s febrile.

Fortunately we don’t have to go back for another six months.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Finally, in an entirely unrelated matter, Jul (of thumbscre.ws fame) made reference to my natural disinclination at conducting rectal exams before dinner time. It’s nice to make new friends, even if I am now in danger of becoming the online Bum Lady.

Anyway, I said it there, but I’ll say it here, too, because the last thing I’d want anybody to think is that I would shirk my bottom-rummaging duties and, you know, not do my bit for the Public Good.

So.

Rectal exams aren’t so bad. Unless you happen to be doing them in an open ward with just the flimsy curtain-of-silence drawn, pretending HARD that the other patients can’t hear you laboriously explain (for reasons consent and legal, I really do have to explain in painful detail. It’s worse when I have to use an interpreter and keep pausing for effect. No, I don’t do helpful gestures. I carefully clasp my hands to avoid that exact inadvertent phenomenon).

‘Mr/Mrs Suchandsuch, I am going to need to examine your back passage. I will insert one finger only. I will be wearing gloves and I shall use lubricant. It may be a little uncomfortable but it shouldn’t hurt. Is this okay? Alright….here I go, I’m just going to gently insert my finger now….’

THEN I get to whip the curtains back and leave the room while the poor patient in question pretends to read the newspaper really thoroughly to avoid all the stares.

I guess it’s worse for them.

The end.