Despite it being raging hot and sunny here, I have managed to get a filthy cold. A sort of laryngitis with a blocked up nose and an annoying cough which keeps me awake all night. Add this to the fact that Léonie is making no effort whatsoever to get back to sleep on her own when she has her night awakenings and that her sleep patterns are getting less and less sociable, and the result is a permanent headache, bleary eyes and a face that has aged ten years in ten days. Mine – not hers. Oh no, Léonie’s face is still as gorgeous and golden as ever. She gets more beautiful by the day while I slump into grey haggardness, fantasising about sleeping more than 40 minutes at a time.
I also seem to be housing some sort of parasite. My own private flea, just for me, that bites my arms – just my arms – in the night, leaving them covered in little red itchy bumps. I scratch all day. I’m scratching as I write. I will soon be banished to the stockroom along with our dog.
Thanks to the laryngitis I have very little, or no, voice, depending on the time of the day and how much I’ve said. This leaves me with pretty much zero authority when it comes to small children. Tommy walked all over me the first couple of days, but when he realised I was poorly and upset (“you sad Mummy?) he calmed down and has been a lovely little boy ever since. Whenever I cough he fills his toothbrush cup to the brim with tap water and brings it to me. “Mummy, you need drink water.” He is right, so I do drink his toothpaste flavoured water. I think it is helping.
Ah, I’ve just discovered my left thigh has also been bitten and is itching like mad. My private flea has clearly grown tired of finding fresh bits of arm to bite and has migrated down to new pastures. I am off to douse my entire body in cidre vinegar in the hope that will put him off. It will also put everyone else off too. Coupled with my raw garlic binge (apparently it kills off colds) no-one will be coming anywhere near me today.