Half term was basically a two week endurance test.
After spending a couple of weeks attempting to fight off a cold with nasal sprays and vitamins and good thoughts, I succumbed.
It wasn’t pretty.
My temperature raged, and I struggled through sleepless nights as I hacked attractively and tried to concentrate on STRONG pelvic floor thoughts (TMI. I apologise).
After a week of this, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.
Until around 8.45pm last night when I looked up from the sofa into the tear-streaked face of my child, who managed to whisper through the sobs, “Mummy, why does it hurt SO MUCH when I swallow?”
And just like that, the switch flicks.
Somehow you forget the fact that you feel like death warmed up, and you switch into the time-honoured routine of hot baths, cosy blankets, Calpol doses and long cuddles – I can’t be the only one that secretly loves their kids being a bit ill because of all the extra cuddles you get?
Flea is currently settled on the sofa in front of Netflix, while I try and catch up on work. I’ve got three days in London this week, so I’ve got some entertaining logistical challenges ahead, to say the least.
But on the upside, I’ve discovered how to cure the common cold.
Give it to someone smaller than you.