It’s midnight. I’m sitting with my poorly girl. She’s 14 months old and has been sick since midday. In between sick she’s been happy and running around, fooling us into thinking she’s better. She slept for four hours this evening, before coughing and throwing up her dinner. She’s hot, but not keeping down calpol, stripped to her nappy and quietly lying in my lap feeding. I won’t get to hold a baby of mine like this many more times so I’m trying to make the best of it- rubbing her podgy little feet and setting myself up for a night of typing, reading and cuddling. My rational brain says this is just a bug and I’ll have my cheeky, happy girl back in a few days, if not hours. My irrational brain has already googled intestinal obstructions and I know that as the hours go by, this will push out any rational thoughts. So I’m going to write to pass the time instead of worrying, Writing is always at the bottom of my to do list, and often gets bumped off the list by sleep. It’s always been this way. All my school essays were written in the middle of the night before the deadline (or shortly after). I’m going to try and change that and with a bit of effort finish a task before a deadline someday, or at least before midnight.
It’s nearly 1am. She’s asleep on my chest and she’s just so beautiful