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IT has only been a week since my last column, but as I sit and write before you, I feel I am a changed person.

Although not in my best physical state, I now have complete new found respect for being a parent.

It all started roughly a week ago when I decided to take a few days off to escape to the serenity of my parents' farm in the Little Karoo.

Knowing how much my three-year-old nephew, Alex, loves the farm, I persuaded his parents to allow me to kidnap him for a four day visit. Well, at least, that was the plan.

Upon arrival, I quickly banished the thought of a nice, relaxing weekend when it instantly dawned on me that relaxing and three-year-old should and do not feature in the same sentence together. Don't get me wrong, as much as I love this gorgeous three-year-old, any child of that age is hard work, what with trying to keep up with their endless energy and all.

Playing with the dog, swimming in the dam (or "bam" as he so adamantly loves to call it), feeding the goats or just baa-ing at the sheep, fun was had by all. That is until it came down to bath time.

Now, it wasn't so much the actual bathing of my nephew that did me in, it was more the drying off and putting on his PJs that really got my back up.

And when I say back up, I am not talking in the metaphorical sense, I mean literally.

Sitting down on the bathroom floor to carefully dry off his little body, I was rather unnerved when I couldn't get up again. Out of nowhere a sharp, shooting pain pierced through my back, crippling me to the floor. Now I know what you must be thinking: "Don't be so dramatic", but I assure you it was far from it at that moment.

So much so, in fact, that I of all people, who is among the most popular trypanophobics (phobia of injections), welcomed the suggestion of an injection by my mother in the comfort of her home.

Mental note: Never allow your mother to give you an injection, but if like me, you have no choice, make sure she checks the label. For what was supposed to be a relaxing, soothing Voltaren injection, ended up being an extremely painful vitamin B injection. And this was just the beginning of my buttocks turning into our family?s very own human dart board.

Needless to say, after four days it was clear that my nephew and I were going nowhere slowly and had to remain where we were until I was capable of walking ? and driving, for that matter.

At first I pondered the thought that maybe I am cursed, as my last outing to the farm not so long ago also resulted in my getting ill. But after careful consideration, I have now come to the conclusion that it was, in fact, a blessing in disguise: Had it happened here, with me all on my lonesome, who then would have mothered me back to good health?

I might not be quite just there yet, but the road to recovery is already well on its way, thanks to the loving care of a mother's touch.

Lesson learned this week: Children are not for the weak-hearted (or weak-boned), parents always know best (even if they require reading glasses to get the job done), and a back-up system should never be underestimated.

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