They might be beloved grandchildren who deliver bragging rights to their adoring grandparents, but my children are also – in the eyes of my parents-in-law at least – walking germ factories. Any sleepover or babysitting shift comes at a price: they might clamour to have time with the kids but any illness that develops within the next three weeks is resolutely explained as “something I must have caught from the grandchildren”.
They’re busy retired folk with plenty going on and endless opportunities to pick up a bug or catch a cold, however the cause of any ailment is always the same. It’s not the city break to Lisbon, late nights at the theatre, the sessions in a busy gym, visiting a care home or popping into hospital as an outpatient. No, according to my in-laws, any ache or sore throat can be roundly blamed on our children. We then get long and drawn-out explanations of their symptoms, how their sleep has been affected and just how floored they feel. I think this is a plea for sympathy on their part, but it only serves to infuriate me.
Despite the fact I would always avoid any family gathering if I had a snotty child, our kids are made the scapegoats for any ill health in the family. In the past, cases of shingles, flu, chest infections and even sneezes which turned out to be hay fever have been unfairly levelled at our kids. Obviously, I know that school playgrounds and classrooms are hotbeds for germ breeding but it’s as though my parents-in-law think they can only catch bugs from school-age kids. What rankles with me is that we are lucky to have healthy children. They barely miss any school due to ill health and are, for the most part, pretty robust kids.
My mother-in-law also confidently broadcasts that whatever cough or cold she believes she caught from one of our kids is now making its way around the rest of the family – leaving one of our poor children labelled as patient zero. I’m not up for raising children who whinge and act pathetically over every single mild malady, so the endless illness talk we all have to suffer is not ideal.
Clearly, this has worn thin, especially with me. My husband tends to brush off the unwelcome remarks about our germ-ridden children, or ignores them completely, but nevertheless, the second our seatbelts are fastened, and we pull away in the car, we begin a heated – yet hushed – debate.
It means that I tend to approach Sunday lunches, days out or invitations to see the extended family with trepidation, or even dread. I feel my hackles rise when the inevitable health-based blame begins but I know I can’t snap back with my actual opinion for fear of offending the older generation and ruffling too many feathers. Instead, I bite my tongue but it’s my husband who gets the brunt of my frustration a few hours later.
In an effort to appease me, one of my husband’s chosen phrases is “they won’t change”. Which I suppose is true but seems to make the decision to lay blame for all illnesses at our door even more unfair. His solution is to just ignore the barbed remarks and carry on as we are. That is one way of dealing with it I suppose but I’m left feeling cross, fed up and more than a bit sick of the situation.
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