Tuesday, 1 December 2009

What shall we do with the poorly baby?

Or perhaps, more accurately, what shall we do with the perfectly ok, if disgustingly snotty, other two?

We've got a cold.  It's just a cold. It's not flu, swine or otherwise, it's not norovirus (incidentally when did that stop being "stomach flu"? It sounds much more scary these days, and I'm pretty sure it's basically the same thing) and its certainly not any one of the millions of terrifying afflictions which seem, at 3 am, to lurk out there in wait for my children.

But while A and L are combining being full of snot with being equally full of beans, S is feeling miserable.  She's fevery and tired and wabbit (great word that. B uses it. I don't know if it's Scottish or just in-law-ish, but I love it) and what she really wants to do is be cuddled.  Constantly.

But I can't. Because I have L and A, and what they want to do is play, and argue, and snatch toys from each other, and giggle at each other and go out "Mummy, pleeeeeease", and play somewhere that isn't our living room, and shout.  And I can't see a way to make the two combine.

At the moment, of course, they're all in bed. But I am girding myself for the moment of wakefulness and the juggling act that is normality.  With an added dose of cold.

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