This cold is spectacular. Me and The Man are two weeks in and still we sound like a walking plague - coughing, blowing noses, wheezing as we breathe in the mornings when the sinuses are at their most blocked.
But The Girlie is even worse. Friday night she was struggling to breathe through build-up of mucus and I drove us to the after-hours clinic to see a doctor.
Today I drove us to the after-hours clinic again. Both her ears are infected, she's got conjuctivitis in both eyes, there's some wheezing in her lungs and she is carrying a 38.8 C fever. (And even through all that, she still manages to smile and make us laugh.)
As she is carrying this strong cold, I, on the other hand, am carrying a strong dose of guilt.
The Man keeps telling me that children do get ill sometimes and chances are she would've come down with something around this time anyway (didn't The Kid come down with an ear infection around this age, too?), but to me... I see her cry out as she attempts to swallow but ends up coughing her buckwheat onto our kitchen table instead, and what I see is the fact that I've put her in daycare at 11 months old and she's now carried a strong stomach virus and a strong cold back-to-back, and I keep reminding myself of the reasons I decided to go this way to begin with.
Man, it sucks. To see her suffer like that.
I have 30 years of an immune system, and even to me this is one of the most annoying colds I've had, ever - and she, she is having to deal with it at 11 months.
Man, it sucks.
It helps that we have a good friend staying over with us for a couple of days. It helps that this autumn is treating us to beautiful warm, golden days. I love that our house backs onto farmland.