So last night I went down to the beautiful northern beaches to visit two of my brothers. Solo. Sans children. The plan was to enjoy some crackers and cheese (and the most amazing Thai chili hummus!), sip on a glass of red and order Thai for dinner.
Hubby was at home with the kids, three of which weren’t feeling the best.
Thirty minutes into sibling bonding time he sent me a text with a recording of Sammy’s horrid cough, worried it was becoming something out of the ordinary. (I would have done exactly the same!) He usually gets croup but this sounded very different and I was worried. What do I do? What do I do? Stay at my brothers house feeling guilty and worrying that my son sounded very sick. Or go home.
You guessed it. I managed forty minutes, crackers and dip and half the glass of red before I jumped back into the car to drive the 45 minutes home.
He was fast asleep once I got home but at least I was home in case he took a turn for the worst. In my eyes being mum trumps being Katey. Yes I did want to stay and enjoy the dinner, but my mother’s conscious couldn’t let me. I can always organise another night down at the beaches, but when my kids need me I’ll always be there.