The last few days have been dreadful. I have been quite ill and, in my own way, not really taken it very seriously until the doctor talked on Monday about hospitalising me (thankfully not yet and hopefully not at all).
However, even illness has taken on a whole new turn now I have Eve. Where previously I would have been miserable and self-indulgent, this time I have been profoundly aware of the time I am missing with Eve, and the mother-guilt at listening to her play in the next room but not being there with her. Also new was the gut wrenching fear that I might pass this onto her, so strong that for the first few days I wore one of those silly surgical masks whenever I was around her. A fact she found mightily amusing, especially in the bath.
I have also found that there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that makes your diseased and fatigued body and mind lift like your daughter coming back from the playground and running straight into your bedroom to give sick Mummy a big cuddle and a smile. The amazing healing power of children.
The sarcastic cynic. Or something like that
4 weeks ago