You know how last time it was all about vomit and that? Yeah, that again.
E is running a fever. 39.5 degrees was the scary number last night, until the helpful person at NHS Direct told me that you have to add a degree if you’re taking the temperature under the arm. 40.5.
Yikes. So I didn’t begrudge her spending the night sleeping on my chest as I was propped up at a funny angle on our (New! Comfy!) sofabed. I did begrudge her puking on me again, though, but that was in the heat of the moment. No-one likes being doused in vomit, no matter how cute the emetic.
I am informed that she is much better today. Responding well to the magickal powers of Calpol, her fever has receded and her demeanour improved.
And soon, I will have other things to talk about.