Saturday morning I woke up with a 103 temperature.

So as soon as a reasonable hour hit, I called my parents, asking if they could look after John for the day.  

On short notice.

Again.

Yet another thing I hate about widowhood.  That sometimes you need to call on assistance to the point where you KNOW it’s impacting others. Maybe asking them to go that step beyond their general helpful-human being willingness to help.  Especially if your circle of available assistance is limited.  

                                                                 

Before I called, I spent a couple of hours considering if I could manage on my own.  Just push on through.  But I can’t really leave a three and a half year old running amok in the house, while it turns out, I sleep for 3 hours.   If he was 10, I could possibly get away with it.  But definitely not this young.

I knew my step-mother had a chunk of work to do, and also know how hard it often is to get anything done when John’s around.  My Dad had standing commitments, so wasn’t going to be around for the afternoon.

I keep worrying that he’ll grow up and tell me that he felt abandoned as he kept being shipped off to Papa and Nini’s house.  I know he’s feeling it at the moment as he keeps telling me he doesn’t want to go to their place; that he wants mummy.   He’s with them a couple of days/evenings a week for ‘grandparent’ care while I’m studying as it is.  Some weeks of the month he’s there more with commitments I want to keep up with for my own sanity.

At least this was only a short-lived thing, by late afternoon with the help of paracetamol and sleep, my temp was down to a level I could manage the short-person and his energy.

Which meant dealing with this…