It has been a week of firsts, you guys.
First baby cold, for one. And first time I’ve had a bad cold with a baby. We didn’t like either of them much.
Oh, little baby sneezes! How cute! I thought. No, not very. He’s only had sixteen weeks to get used to this breathing malarkey anyway, and now there’s all this stuff in his nose and no matter how much he wrinkles it or snorts like a little piggy he can’t get rid of it. He couldn’t sleep very well, so neither did we. He had dried mess all over his face, and when I scratched it off he sobbed like I’d broken his heart, and I remembered that noses are sore when you’ve got a cold, and scratching is not nice.
Oh, and having his nose wiped? There was outrage. And what is THIS new indecency, I could see him thinking. Oh no. You DID NOT.
But I did. Worst mother ever for touching the nose when such terrible things were happening inside it.
And then I caught it, and that was bad too, because I wanted to cluck over him and couldn’t. When I am ill, I like to be ILL, all flannels on the forehead and bewailing my fate on the sofa. But Henry needs my attention too, and he was poorly first. He keeps dropping off, and I keep sneezing and waking him up. It’s not a good combination. Thankfully Timothy was able to work from home today and do a lot of the running around. But he’s out at a meeting now, and I just spent an hour with this butterfly acting as master of ceremonies, and I’m not sure how long I can string it out.
He’s sung Sinatra, he’s dive-bombed Henry’s face with kisses, and he’s performed a fairly impressive stand-up routine. He’s currently having his wings chewed, and his face is all, ‘Woman. You owe me big time’.
Dear Lemsip: thank you for making all of your medicines unsuitable for breastfeeding. The sinus hand won’t let go of my face. Thanks a bunch.
On the silver-lining side of things, this week was also the first time we’ve put him on his tummy and he hasn’t hated it with every fibre of his baby soul.
In fact, he was quite jolly.
Ho ho ho, and all that.