Odd socks and chickenpox. These are the things that have muddied the last couple of days for us.
We are very, very lucky in our household that we are rarely unwell. (Or perhaps I'm not a very precautious mummy). So to be struck down with chickenpox is a bit of a disaster.
I had arranged to meet with friends on Friday (initially at the museum but due a misunderstanding [mine - and this sort of thing happens a lot!] we were going for a picnic in the park) and I was really excited. Worse than that, I'd got Little P really excited. We were seeing a few of my mummy friends, and of course their children, some of whom we hadn't seen for a while (I'm sure the children will forgive Little P for being more excited to see the mummies).
I had noticed the night before that Little N had a tiny little blister on her tummy but my initial diagnosis - and this is a cracker - was that due to the sun being so hot the previous day one of the buttons of her sleep suit had got really hot and burnt her. IDIOT! (In my defence it was because the little metal buttons on my dress had got really hot and burnt me so there was kind of a logic...)
Anyway, in the morning I got us all ready to go, packed our picnic and then noticed another little blister on the back of her head. I mentioned it to Daddy and asked if he thought it was anything to worry about. He told me that if it were him, he would take her to the doctor (I would like to say at this point that he absolutely would not have taken her to the doctor. In the 5 years we have been together he has neither visited the doctor himself or taken either of the girls) and as he was going to work and we were going on a lovely picnic he was in the perfect position to make this comment. Thank goodness he did.
I sent a text message to my friends to tell them I was just 'nipping' in with her and we'd be sure to meet them afterwards. (I really hate missing out on anything, I've been the same way since I was a child. Probably why I'm never unwell!) Sadly it wasn't to be. Poor Little N was diagnosed with a pox virus and we had to cancel (dammit!). The doctor told us she couldn't be sure it was chickenpox as she seemed fine in herself. Well that didn't last. Cue a morning of screaming and planking (what word can we use for baby-planking? They go beyond a plank and bend right back on themselves!). I felt awful that she had this virus and I hadn't known and I felt awful that I'd got Little P's hopes up and then dashed them. She was devastated. I could have coped with a tantrum at this point but the weeping (weeping!!) was too much. Luckily, her auntie said she could go round to play with her so at least her day was saved!
Little N and I shared our day between cuddling and tackling the washing mound. (We have a mound, two baskets and a stream that runs roughly from the bathroom to our bedroom floor where it opens into the mound.) I found no solace here as I laid out sock after single sock in the hope that I might find a pair to put in the machine together, with an even greater hope that a pair would come out. Sadly all were to be committed, once washed, to the odd-sock bag. Where do they escape to??