I’m writing this post horizontal in my bed with the worse headache ever, a blocked nose and a sore throat. Accompanying my misery is a cup of basil-thyme-eucalyptus tea, which is cold and beautiful music streaming from Radio Nova , which is interrupted by my awful internet connection. To make matters worse, over the past two days my little dude has had to watch me drooling on the couch, moaning and whining and losing my patience with silly things. I know I should give myself a break but you see, this is the first time since I had Georgie that I have fallen sick. Man, it sucks being ill but being ill and being a mummy is something that I find, really sucks! I hate not being able to play outside with him or kiss him uncontrollably or take him to the park, like I promised. The high point of my misery came last night when I bent down to give Georgie a bath and realised how weak and in pain I was. I cried. I didn’t mean to, of course because Georgie was right there watching me but I couldn’t help it. I just burst into tears. I felt so sorry for myself, I am ashamed to admit. But then in an instant all was gone: a little soul with only two and half years of experience in this world leaned forward, gave me a kiss and brushed the hair out of my face. ‘All better, mummy.’
