I had thought given the various plagues open heart surgery, gallbladder attacks, a child needing grommets and swine flu affecting my family recently that it was time for a lull.
Nope.
In fact further research taught me there were 10 of them in Egypt.
By my calculation this most recent plague is our fifth, so we have five to go.
"Your fifth?" I hear you say.
"I only counted four."
Yes, the fifth was Mr Small deciding to investigate my most recent cooking. An omelette for those interested.
Because whilst I happily serve up spag bol for my children I'm trying not to eat carbs in the evening.
Despite closing the kitchen door on him, he opened it, got a chair and dragged it to the empty sink wherein lay the frying pan said omelette was cooked in.
He then proceeded to cook his own hand.
The shriek he made won't ever leave me.
I'm ashamed to say my instinctive reaction was to yell at him. I was so mad at him and upset at the same time.
Yes I am aware that makes me a TRULY HORRIBLE mother. You absolutely don't need to remind me.
Then I swept him up and plunged his hand in icy cold water.
For a long time.
He cried against my chest.
I cried silently.
Because I don't think there was much else I could have done to have stopped him but I wished to God it was my hand burning not his.
He blistered every one of his fingers and across his palm too.
Some panadol and fixamol later he was calmer.
And he is healing very quickly.
He has even come to like his little glove.
It probably won't even scar his hand.
Just my heart. A little.