It's the little things that count....

...like viruses

In one way or another we, the Royal We, as in, The Spud, although also 'we' the parental units of said spud, have managed to be ill for two weeks and posting has been an effort. Also, I'd hereby like to request that the bloggers I read regularly stop posting so frequently as I haven't been to see any of you in ages and the amount of reading time I know I have in my future to catch up with you all is going to be enormous!

First, it was a little rash of a Tuesday afternoon. A bit heat-rashy and sort of t-shirt shaped. This didn’t seem to bother the Spud much, only if he was naked he would rub gently and happily away. He also had a bit of a low fever which doesn’t normally come with heat rash, oddly, so after a professional appraisal (a half dozen Mums standing about the playground looking at my topless spud on a sunny afternoon) off to the docs we went on Wednesday afternoon to establish whether or not it could be measles, or you know, meningitis. Not that he had spots that wouldn’t disappear, just that you know; spots, fever, panic.

So, off to the docs to reveal the culprit, a minor virus, no treatment necessary.

All well and good for the rest of the day. The next two days saw the rash fade but the spud started succumbing to a cold and at 5:30am three days later we had… croup! Again! Ah the joys of A&E at 7am on a Saturday morning. Listen as your son struggles to breathe. Watch as he crawls wheezing around A&E pulling things apart and pressing buttons on life-saving equipment. See him touch the toys just touched by that limp-looking little girl whose parents are in deep conflab with the doctors and who is wearing nothing but a nappy to bring her temperature down. Listen as she coughs. Pray.

By Sunday night the croup was gone but a fearsome cold had set in. My poor little bear snuffled and snotted and occasionally still harped like a seal. We had him in bed with us one night as his breathing was so bad and by Monday he was coughing up something that seemed to be chewy and so it was back to the doctor to listen at his chest. All well, apparently, just a little cold. Yay, we thought. Just the remnants of the virus. He’ll be right as rain soon (and how right, exactly, does rain get?)

Not very, apparently.

Wednesday night he was very restless and he greeted Thursday morning by vomiting copiously. He vomited all day. The Frog vomited all the next day. I vomited all the next night. My brother, Uncle Hoto who is here on a visit, vomited all the next day.

In fact, apart from the spud we’re all pretty much basket cases.

Still, in good news, the spud is well enough to eat ice-cream. Should I be feeding ice-cream to my one-year-old in the park in October? Probably not but you know, he’s been sick for two weeks and it made him very, very happy. And, as I ate most of it, it made me happier still.