Being a single parent can be challenging on good days. Most of the time I can handle the challenge. Until sickness hits…. stomach flu, a cold, strep… no biggie. But MRSA kicks my ass. This time it really kicked my ass.
Three weeks of ass kicking MRSA means my parenting went in the gutter. I lost all control and survival mode kicked in full force.
The first couple weeks all I did was sleep and cry. Which means my guy spent a great deal of time unsupervised in the apartment. He became the ultimate scavenger and actually drank 11 Diet Dr. Peppers while I slept one afternoon. Yikes.
After he scavenged the food he could in the house he combined his tech skills and scavenger skills and ordered $48.72 in very specialized pizzas and soda using the Papa Johns app on my phone. He woke me when dinner arrived.
“Mama I don’t know how to sign your name and the delivery guy says they need a grown up.”
One night when I was sleeping and thought he was as well I was sadly mistaken. He was in fact preparing himself and our apartment for the zombie apocalypse. When I woke in the morning he was all set with his ninja weapons, had blocked the doors and used the canned goods to make a tower that I’m not sure if he planned to use as a barricade or as weapons themselves. Either way the man had a plan.
He also watched the first episode of Stranger Things on Netflix and provided me with a review.
“I’m not sure you should watch that show. I wasn’t scared but I think you might be. Well maybe I was a little scared.”
With Stranger Things off the list he watched 872 episodes of Sophia the First. The theme song is forever embedded in my mind. From now on whenever I hear it I will associate it with MRSA and want to hang Sophia.
I had some great friends delivering meals to help avoid the scavenging which was wonderful. However, Sylas also snagged root beer floats and snacks from the pink ladies at the hospital. Lunch at Coaches proved easier than cooking. I could walk in, lay my head on the table and the wonderful waitresses all knew what Sy wanted — Mac and cheese with a side of Mac and cheese.
I’m pretty sure he ate his weight in Mac and Cheese and root beer floats the last month. Trust me the detox process is currently very painful in our house. There has been much crying about the lack of Mac of Cheese.
He also proved once again that we make one hell of a team. He laid beside me in bed for hours singing me songs and reading the book “I love you so much” over and over. He was the fetcher of all things, the supervisor of every doctors appointment and wound care appointment and the best at covering me up perfectly. He helped devise a plan of when to call Aunt Heather and when to call 911 (only if he couldn’t wake me up at all).
Nothing in the past month has exemplified perfect parenting. But it has exemplified us — perfectly imperfect. Too much Mac and cheese and more than enough love. It works for us and thankfully we survived!