On Monday it was my birthday. I'm now 43, although Michela (bless her) tells whoever asks that I'm 21. We celebrated on Saturday with my inlaws. It was a glorious sunny day and we had chocolate cake in the garden. My MIL brought the beautiful flower arrangement pictured above. I was touched that she made it for me and brought a cake, presents and cards - my parents and relatives all live in Italy so it's nice to feel part of a family here.
My horrid cough and cold combo didn't spoil the day - we walked to the town centre to see an art exhibition, but I was pretty knackered in the evening.
A few days on and the cold is still with me in a horrid permutation that makes me sneeze and cough slimy yellowy stuff. As I cough, sneeze and splutter, Michela is in great form, possibly because she gets her immunity from breastmilk (yes, I'm still breastfeeding my toddler).
Her needs come first so early every morning I'm being dragged out of bed to accomplish the rituals of her 'routine'. She is trying to get by with less input from me, but she keeps hinting at trips to the swings and walks in town - which I cannot provide. So I take her out in the garden and we have a less than enthusiastic footie game (on my part) to make out for her being cooped in.
While I kick the ball, I long to be in bed, reading a book and being brought hot drinks by my partner. Unfortunately it's a pipe dream as he is back working in London.