Mummy I feel sick

The words that every working mum dreads to hear, first thing on a Monday morning are probably along the lines of "mummy I feel sick".  Now I've written before about acting in a cowardly fashion and to my shame I'm about to do it again.  When my delightful daughter - DD - uttered those fateful words a week ago today, I'm afraid that my survival instinct not only took over, it firmly elbowed any maternal ones out of the way and it may even have launched a sly kick to the stomach as it raced on by in an effort to get me out of the house as quickly as possible before I would have to take responsibility and deal with the situation by not going to work.

DD said she felt sick at 07.14 and yes, as I risked a sideways glance, she did look a tad pale.  By 07.16 there was a something of a tense standoff in the kitchen as handsome hubby - HH- and I circled each other warily, neither of us daring to speak in case a weakness was shown or an inch of ground involuntarily given.  The stakes were high, who would blink first?  I calmly took my porridge out of the microwave and stirred it, pretending to be engrossed in an item on Today.

HH took a bite of his toast and said...nothing.  We ate.  In silence.  My stock rose a little as the realisation dawned that as I had got up before him and was in fact, fully dressed, I therefore had more right than he, still in his bathrobe, to go to work.  HH's chances drooped still further as he was also down to do the school drop-off that morning anyway.  I inwardly cursed the fact that I hadn't got up and left the house even earlier, thus avoiding being in this situation at all.

Both of us desperately hoped of course, that DD would suddenly declare that she felt better and could, in fact, manage some breakfast.  She didn't.  Super son - SS - munched his cereal and described to us, in detail, how he planned to modify his Lego Star Wars space ship thing into a B52 bomber. He must have sensed a lack of interest from his audience.  DD sat on a bar stool, shoulders slumped, and said again in a very small voice "mummy I really do feel sick now".

I swiftly ran through the various scenarios in my head, acknowledging and then dismissing them like flicking empty tin cans off a wall.  Childminder - no - she won't be able to have any other children so no income.  My dad - no - too risky as it might be the start of the noro-virus which could all but finish off a man in his seventies and I don't want that on my conscience just before Christmas. Me - no way - I can't let the BBC down as I'm only there a few days this month and I've pushed hard for these shifts!  But it was starting to look as if I had no choice and as I put my empty bowl in the dishwasher I resigned myself to being a good mother, but a bad employee.

Then without warning, like the sun appearing from behind a cloud, HH finished his toast and said, "actually don't worry, I can probably work from home today, I'll do my meetings via conference calls instead".  Honestly in my head the Allelujah Chorus sung by a heavenly choir was in full, glorious flow.  I didn't need telling twice.  I grabbed my coat and bag and ran for the hills.