First it’s denial… Scratchy throat? No – it’s nothing. I’m just thirsty. It’s not my four-year-old’s cold. Couldn’t possibly be. [**reaches for the fluids**]
Then it’s hope… Well, yes, okay, I do seem to be coming down with a bit of a cold but I still feel good – I’m sure it’ll pass quickly [**reaches for the Berocca**].
Then irritation… Ugh, this cold is getting worse and it’s messing with my week – we have three children’s birthday parties in the next four days – I cannot be sick! [**reaches for the paracetamol**].
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Today I had planned to write a light hearted travel post for a Wanderlust-y kind of Wednesday, but my heart doesn’t feel as light as it usually does – on account of having one sad, sickly little baby in the house.
Of course, it’s just a case of the sniffles – which Annabel brings home from play school about once a month and Ruby then makes it her business to pick up and turn into a full-on cold. And a cold for a baby is the opposite of fun. Annabel was never ill for a day of the first year of...
