Worry Lines

David has Mackenzie's cold. But obviously, it's "flu". He woke me at half past 2 this morning coughing and spluttering and fumbling blindly for a tissue, before laying back on the bed like a starfish (I had about 9 inches of mattress and zilch duvet coverage) and groaning. "I'b dot a colb!". My wifely response is not printable on this blog, I have my delicate readers to think about. I did, however, drag myself downstairs to make him a Lemsip.

I am quite proud of my wifely skills. I do love David and want to look after him (making sure he eats vegetables, doesn't eat too much salt, isn't worried about unnecessary housely issues - God, am not a 50's throwback honestly) but it can be rather annoying sometimes. Standing in the freezing kitchen with three sulky dogs (I'd turned the light on and all three of them scowled at me as I woke them from their slumbers) at half 2 in the morning is not my idea of a good time. Kettle boiled, Lemsip made, I returned to the boudoir to find him snoring his head off, Olbas Oil bottle leaking everywhere on the bedside table.

I worry about my immediate and extended family. I'd protect David and Mac (and the dogs) with my life. Many's the time I've threatened to go and shout at David's boss when he's being an a*se to my beloved husband - much like I regularly storm the nursery when Mac's biscuit privileges have been removed because he thumped Nasty Nuala because she had the cheek to bite him. One of the do-gooder assistants claim it's because "Nuala has a lot of hidden rage for a three year old". My rage is not hidden as I observe the teethmarks left on my child's arm/leg/cheek after an attack. Just as with the dogs when we're out. Once, a Great Dane pinned Senior Dog to the floor amid gnashing teeth and snarls. Without once thinking of my own safety (this dog's head came up to my chest), I weighed in with my umbrella and Scary Mummy voice. Junior and Middle Dog left me to it as they knew I could cope admirably. Great Dane shot off PDQ and Senior Dog tried to pretend it hadn't happened and sauntered off casually in the opposite direction.

I worry about my parents, once children reach a certain age WE become our parent's parent! Many is the time I've told my dad to wrap up warm while he's at The Den watching football and berate my mum for not finishing her soup. I worry about my sister Bea - although granted, my worries just lately seem to be centered around her choice of au pair. She's had some shockers in the past. One girl arrived from France on the Monday, tasted a Sainsbury's croissant on the Tuesday and was back on Eurostar on Wednesday. Caitlin barely had time to practice her "Bonjour, au revoir" routine. The one she's got now seems to be okay but she's got a licqorice habit that's quite, well, extreme. When we visited on Monday evening, she smiled at Mac and exhibited blackened teeth. Quite terrifying.

I worry about my friends......Charlie who can't find a man (God knows why, she's tall, brunette, legs up to her arm pits and extremely pretty), Saskia who doesn't want a man (she's not going through a lesbian stage, just a man-hating one) and Eliza who fears she'll be pregnant for ever. Her due date is 28 February but she's got doubts that this one will be on time. Ashley was ten days late and had to be hoiked out rather unceremoniously. I still don't think she's forgiven her mother.

There's no time to worry about myself so I let others do it for me. David worries that I'm getting bored and am not fulfilled enough at home, Bea worries that I'm going all New Age (I've bought some crystals, so pretty, and some aromatherapy stuff), Dad worries about my inability to change a plug (!), Saskia worries about me dropping into the world of Yummy Mummies and never getting out and Charlie just worries. About everything.

Anyway. It's time for another Lemsip and for me to pander to my poor, ill husband who is lying on the sofa, remote control at the ready, wrapped in my fleece, manfully trying not to wheeze too much.