I’d take a doctor, a nurse, a child minder, a housekeeper and brow mopper (if it’s not an actual occupation, it should be) right about now. After a week of dispensing medicine, singing soothing ‘don’t-be-sick’ songs and worrying, I have succumbed to a pretty awful infection myself.
The Doctor, a farmer’s wife herself, said ‘go to bed for a few days’ knowing that this was not an easy task on a dairy farm. I have been able to go to bed bar milking time in the morning which luckily coincides with the best TV schedules for children. Intuitively, my beauties know that mommy is sick, I can’t imagine what has given me away, and are minding me by not being too demanding and well, actually, mimicking their lovely mom and giving me the odd kiss on the forehead to make me feel better.
And then there’s the farmer who despite having to run his own business, is here being doctor, nurse, child minder, housekeeper and browmopper. On days like this, when I feel miserable, exhausted, down trodden, I wonder why we do this. Why we farm? Why we keep going through this despite the dropping milk and beef prices. That answer is for another day. Throwing off his wellies at the back door, my farmer puts on the kettle to make me a honey and lemon drink before looking after very small boys who are hungry and want to play. Back to bed I go.