Fancy Children, Fancy Germs

The thing about being Fancy is that it protects you from a lot of unpleasant things in life, like scrubbing your own toilets or giving birth to your own children. Unfortunately, Fancy is not a complete suit of armour. It can buy you a lot of help and save you a lot of trouble. The Princess, however, has been sick. And let me tell you, this child knows the difference between her Fancy Mama and any Nanny. Here’s how my weekend went.

A few days ago the girls got jabs. Of course we go to one of those Fancy private hospitals where the lobby looks like a scene from Lawrence of Arabia. The paediatric section is overrun with American accents because those of us who grew up in the Colonies have a thing about paediatricians seeing our children for well-checks and all that other medically wasteful stuff. Anyhoo, the both of them have had runny noses for, oh about 3 months, and cough like old men with 3 pack-a-day smoking habits. But when won’t they have colds in the winter? So we got our jabs and all went fine. Until the next day, when The Princess developed a fever. At first I thought it was shot-related but that should only last a day, right? Not 5 days of crying, vomiting, refusing to eat and clinging to me day and night. No this was probably some Fancy virus she picked up at her Fancy Gymboree class.

Now you have to understand something about The Princess. There is a reason she is called this. From the moment she was born, she has been royally demanding. But at the same time she’s so unbelievably cute (yes people do stop me on the street and tell me this) that you tend to give in. According to The Princess, there is but one baby who matters in this house. There is also only one Mummy. The Mummy belongs to The Princess. The other baby is allowed to stay in her room and share her toys. But when The Princess is sick, the other baby is relegated to the arms of her father or a Nanny and can’t come near The Mummy.

So I spent the weekend on the sofa, holding The Princess. Tough Cookie went out to the park and played with Nanny #3. H took a couple naps, surfed the Internet and occasionally came to check on us. I wasn’t allowed to watch TV or read a book. No, I had to gaze lovingly at my daughter. Anything else wasn’t permitted. I didn’t eat. I didn’t go to the toilet. I sat on the couch, cuddling a sick baby. (Eventually a wine glass found it’s way to me, but that was pretty much the highlight.)

In the end, no matter how Fancy you are, unless you actually want to relegate every part of parenting to your employees including loving and nurturing your children, there will be times when you are not free to do as you’d please. You answer to a smaller, more powerful person. Because you love her with all your heart. Even when she throws up on you. Or more precisely, on your new Diane Von Furstenburg. Lasagna and ibuprofen. I would say that this weekend, I was definitely NOT particularly Fancy.