Well, you had a snuffle on the weekend, and so did I. So we laid a little low. But to no avail. Full blown flu has hit. I thought you were worse than me – snuffling and coughing and having difficulty breastfeeding. But today it’s me that is worse. Think all out on the floor unable to do much except get a glass of water then lie down again. And feel like death warmed up. You are relatively cheeful for someone who is obviously sick too – despite coughing and hacking and nasal-breathing difficulties, you still seem to want to play in between longer-than-normal sleeps. Which is tough for me as all I want to do is lie down and stare at the ceiling. So. We’ve reached a middle ground. You’re on the bed with me, playing rolley-polley while I lie there staring dejectedly looking at the ceiling, alternatively moving you back to the middle when you’re in danger of rolling off the bed again or giving you a muslin wrap to play with (you are endlessly fascinated by the variety of ways in which you can eat, wrap yourself in, cover you face etc by such a cloth).
You are supposed to be having your six month vaccinations today. I think they won’t give them to you as you have a cold. But we’ll go to the doctor – to check you, and hopefully get me some medication.
Ark. Erk. Yuck.
ps. your Aunt is severely afflicted too. In fact, I think she is worse. Your dad however is at work and seems to have escaped so far.
P.p.s. And yes, this is the first time you’ve been sick. And I was really worried about you and feeling bad on the weekend. But I took your temperature a lot, and you aren’t feverish. So I figured just a bit of mucous and discomfort. But still felt heartwrenchingly bad for you. Now that I’m feeling like death, I do feel bad for you too, but in a more detached way. Like, as long as you are ‘ok’, then you’ll get through it and be ok. I just don’t have the energy to feel bad for you anymore. Sorry.