The Cynical Dad – Illness

That’s it. Call off the New Year, there’s no point. It’s all over. Yes; I’m sick, therefore the world is ending.

It probably wouldn’t be ‘medically’ defined by a ‘doctor’ as a flu, but I am a man, my nose is blocked and my throat is raw, therefore man flu is diagnosed. By me. Fact. (Disclaimer: this is not a fact, nor am I qualified or equipped to diagnose anything).

But before people go recommending remedies, hot Ports, hot toddies, vitamin C, a brisk walk, etc., I don’t want any of those. All I want is a bit of your sympathy.

That’s all any man dying (slightly inconvenienced) with man flu (a cold) wants!

A lot of the time, people tell me I’m ‘great’ for staying at home with the kids. I’m not. I’m doing my job. Yes, it’s an important job, and some people might baulk at me for referring to looking after my kids as a ‘job’, but it really is.

I spend more time at it than anything else, I can’t just decide not to do it some days. I am responsible for it. And I can only do it because my brilliant, brave, beautiful wife is out there working her ass off. If she hadn’t worked as hard as she has, and continues to do so, I wouldn’t be able to stay at home with the kids.

Is it hard for me? Sometimes, but what job isn’t?

What parent doesn’t find it hard?

Is it harder on my wife? Abso-feckin-lutely.

But it’s where we are, and we’re making it work. That said, so is pretty much everyone else I know. Some households have both parents working; some households only have one parent around; there are any number of combinations and permutations of what makes up a family these days. The common theme is we’re all muddling through as best we can. We all have our own struggles – some big, some small, all important to us.

The stay-at-home dad (and in particular this one) isn’t any better a person than the mums that are doing the exact same as him on a daily basis.

Nor is he any better or worse than the mums and dads who trudge off to work every day (or skip happily out the door, depending on the current domestic situation!).

The point is, while I appreciate the plaudits some people lay at my door, I don’t look for them and they are not necessary.

Except for now – I’m sick, remember? So for the next few days, when I bravely down a couple of nurofen and manage to drag myself to the car for the 117th time, give a nod, a wave, anything to acknowledge the courage and Herculean effort needed to brave the man flu.

Shur, it’s probably about the same as giving birth, isn’t it….?

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