I was feeling a bit bragful yesterday that we were all on holiday as a family, everyone was healthy for a change, and we were about to head up to a lovely country town where our friends live opposite a river with their two kids, two acres, tow cats and a dog.
This was going to be real free-range time for Finn, pecking in the dirt with three-year-old Gil and five year old Hermoine. Chris and I were going to drink on the porch with Gabe and Andrew as we admired our (playing nicely of course) offspring.
But alas I felt bragful too soon. When I went into Finn overnight it was to find him lying in a pool of snot, tears and sweat. I gave him Panadol, put a fresh sheet under his poor damp little head, and went back to bed myself with fingers crossed. But this morning he has spots, and the kind Doc has diagnosed a ‘random virus’.
So no road trip this time round. But on the bright side perhaps I’ll get in some gardening, distress the very ugly sideboard that has good ‘bone-structure’ and cook a meal for some friends or neighbours.
And Finn is a calm bub when unwell. He knows the drill: stewed pears, cold porridge, raisins, cartoons, cuddles and warm baths. If only adult men would listen to their good nurses the dreaded ‘man flu’ could be stopped in its tracks…
