It was never going to be fun.
But as the four of us, me, twin boy, twin girl and BB piled into my vintage, has its own tape deck, car I realised the extent of how unfun today’s excursion would be.
“Mummy, while BB is in the hy-dro-ther-apy pool fixing her leg is it ok for me to strip naked and bomb the phy-sio-ther-apy lady?” Questioned twin boy before my foot even hit the accelerator.
“And Mummy, if twin girl is annoying me can I shove her in so she drowns a horrible drowning in the phy-sio-ther-apy pool?” Continued twin boy.
Twin girl let out a turmoiled scream as she envisioned a watery grave and then punched her brother in the side of his arm forcing a similar noise to emit from his mouth.
I sighed wearily, we were not even at the end of the street and it was another twenty miles to the hospital for BB’s therapy session.
The journey went on as it started. Two emergency urine stops (admittedly one was me) and a terrifying brush with fear when the petrol light came on with no garage in sight and the breakdown membership ran out yesterday. No one wants to be stranded on oxfordshire lane with my kids and no petrol to escape.
By the time we arrived at hospital my nerves were shot, my knuckles sprained white and everyone had all their Christmas gifts removed from them with the promise that when we got home I was shoving them back up the chimney.
We parked the car.
Once inside the quiet hospital lobby I issued the ‘behaviour code’, assuming the correct parental stance of bending down to eye level and speaking through forced gritted teeth with peeled back white lips.
Thou will not talk, Thou will not fight, Thou will not embarrass me, Thou will not argue, Thou will not conduct science experiments with your own saliva….
It went on for a while, during which twin boy perfected the art of eye rolling and twin girl learnt to yawn with her mouth closed.
My strict instructions went in one ear, rattled round a pair of moshi monster addled brains and then floated out back into the world of the NHS.
I was exhausted from talking and my bladder began to complain again.
“Before we go to the pool, I need a quick wee.”. I declared.
“Mum,” cried twin girl, “you have the bladder of a diabetic with no insulin who has eaten a bag of sugar.”
I couldn’t argue, my bladder is pretty shameful.
We all crammed into the loo, twin boy stayed by the sink, BB joined me in a cubicle and twin girl took advantage of the moment ‘to have a try.’
No sooner than my arse hit porcelain did I hear a ringing in my ears.
BB stood innocently hanging off a red piece of string, her eyes wide with the expression of ‘it wasn’t me mum.’
“Shit, shit.” I yanked up my drawers, “where’s the reset?”
Outside the cubicle door, I heard twin boy start to screech “emergency come quick my mothers fallen in the loo.”
I found reset.
I hit reset.
The ringing stopped for a minute. I let out a deep breath and resumed my spot on the throne.
Then it started again.
Twin boy peeked his head under the door, his grin literally splitting his face from ear to ear.
“I set it off again mum in case the bog monster got you.”
Such a thoughtful lad.
As I said, it was never going to be fun.