Winter Survival Mode: Confessions of an Accidental Iron Woman.

Hello again, dear readers! Winter has landed in Australia once more, and let's be honest, it's never just winter. It's jacket season, heater-running-nonstop season (RIP next month's electricity bill), five-layers-just-to-check-the-mailbox season, everything-in-the-house-feels-like-an-ice-block season, and of course, the unofficial national sport: sick leave season 🥶❄.

Every year, before the first cold snap even hits, I go into what I like to call Winter Ops Mode. Panadol and Nurofen? Restocked, because apparently my medicine cabinet doubles as a small pharmacy branch. 😷💊. Thermometer? Tested, calibrated, and battery-checked like it's about to launch a rocket, not just take a temperature. 🌡🤒.  Ginger tea for the husband? Stockpiled, because we all know who's getting sick first (love you, babe) ☕. Bulb syringe for the kids' inevitable snot factory? Front and center, ready for deployment. And for my own sanity, the real MVP supplies, a little beer, a little coffee, strategically stashed for the nights I need to unwind and the mornings I need to function like a human being. (🍺 ☕ yeah)!!

 

Call it paranoid. I call it preparedness. Because in this house, winter doesn't sneak up on anyone. I see it coming from a mile away, and I meet it fully armed. (fingers crossed).

 

And if you're a mum, you know this isn't just winter. It's the Winter Olympics🥇.Except instead of medals, the prize is not getting sick, and the stakes are considerably higher, because when Mum goes down, the whole household goes down with her. There's no substitute bench. There's no injury time-out. If Iron Man can suit up and save the world, I'm convinced mothers everywhere have a matching origin story, we just trade the suit for a thermometer and a to-do list that never ends. Sniffle near me all you want, world. I do not have time to be sick. I have a family who needs me to not be sick.

 

Case in point: my better half has caught whatever bug our youngest brought home, because apparently germs think our house is an all-you-can-infect buffet 🦠. And when illness strikes, the math is simple and merciless, one parent down means one parent left standing, and that parent is, as always, me. So here I am: chief cook, head of cleaning operations, and full-time nurse to both my patients at the hospital and the ones on my couch. Multitasking level: expert.

 

Do I mind? Honestly, a little tired body is a small price to pay. My daily prayer these days is short and painfully specific: Lord, tired is fine. Just please, please don't let me get sick too. 🙏.

 

Because in this house, when Mum catches the flu, it's not a sick day, it's a Code Red.

 

Stay warm, stay strong, and to my fellow mums holding the fort this winter: we see you, we salute you, and yes, we already know where the Panadol is without looking.