Day 428

I am grateful for mucky handprints. 

Crucially, mucky handprints that are the result of a tiny person giving you a hug. 

Specifically, cold, sticky, food-laden digits that leave a trail of food in the baby hairs on the back of your neck. 

Can you see the mild orange tinge to my skin? Delicious. 

Why am I grateful for something inherently gross? Because they occured at the end of a rough week for my poorly Wee Daftie. She was happy, covered in dinner and just wanted to give her Mammy a hug – and not because she was miserable, just because she wanted to. 

We had a lovely weekend last weekend, taking advantage of some not terrible weather and having a bit of family time before my Big Human headed off for the North Sea. 

On Sunday, Wee Daftie started to sound a bit snotty and had a wee cough but nothing drastic. On Monday, she went through peaks and troughs of being her usual happy self and being the single most miserable Small Human ever created. She had a small temperature so at bedtime we gave her some Calpol to help her through the night. 

Tuesday she got a bit worse and I ended up taking her up to the Sick Kids as her fever spiked. She had, what I now understand to be, a febrile episode. Essentially, her poor little body spazzed out through the sudden big change in temperature. When she took her odd turn, I didn’t hesitate to call an ambulance.

Now, I would like to proclaim a few things. 1) so far, we have been lucky that this was the first time Daftie was properly ill. Sure we’ve had teething and growth spurts and a wee temperature here or there but on the whole she’s a healthy nugget. 2) the NHS is fab. We have been so well taken care of pre and post Daftie. 3) when I am in serious situations and subsequently when I talk about them, I do rely on humour to get me through. So if I seem flippant, I guess I am but it’s only because it’s a coping mechanism. I’m not a worrier by nature. I am quite instinctive and calm in classically stressful situations. I, truthfully, don’t see the value in worrying about things. 

I’d never been in an ambulance before so that was fun.

The paramedics were fantastic. They were so good with Daftie. They were concerned enough to make me feel like I wasn’t overreacting or being a panicking new parent. They were super patient, calm and understanding. They also thought I had a medical background as I was offering useful information, detailed facts about what had happened. And they genuinely laughed at the voicemail I left for Numbnuts, denying her curry.

(I am first aid trained, if that counts as medical.)

The round trip from leaving our house to getting back home again was barely over 3 hours, which was amazing. We were seen really quickly and were asked to stay for about an hour, just in case. Luckily, Numbnuts had received my voicemail telling her what was going on and that my kind offer of cooking her tea that night may have to be put on hold. Being the brilliant Official Unofficial Auntie that she is, I had help entertaining Wee Daftie with books and grapes while we waited to be hold we could go home. 

Nothing to see here. Just a Daftie wearing her leggings like a scarf. Totally normal. 

It’s taken my girl til today, Sunday, to return to herself again. I’ve felt so sad for her. She was trying to keep going and playing and walking but just not having the energy for it. Her appetite was down and her sleeping was horrendous. All very normal and expected of a poorly baby, just out of character.

So last night’s disgusting cugger from my Wee Daftie, her little fingers happily covered in the remnants of beans and fishcakes – the first proper meal she finished in a week – was the best thing that had happened this week. And something I am extremely grateful for.