Winter has come

Before I had Oscar, I never used to get sick. Well maybe not never, every 3 years I got a horrible stomach flu that made me look like Shrek for 2 days, and then once again fit as a fiddle. When I returned to work after Juliette was born, she was looked after by a nanny that we shared with another family (more on the joys of childcare later…). One day, around her 18 months, we were offered a sought-after spot at our municipal day care. Up until that time, Juliette had only been sick once. I happily accepted, and prepared to go to war on runny noses and croaky throats. But just like Bush’s WMDs, Juliette’s theoretical illnesses never materlialised. I was relieved, and somewhat pleased with myself, surely it was my good genes that had spared her from the certain fate met by her comrades. When it was Oscar’s turn to brave day care a year later, it was a completely different story. He was sick every week, for a continuous 5 months. Not just the common cold, he got bronchiolitis, the chicken pox, ear infections and the list goes on - you name it, he had it. In that first winter of having 2 children, my husband capitulated first, then Juliette. I hung on for a few more weeks, delighting in my apparent Harry Potter cloak of invisibility, until I too succumbed to illness. Everyone’s health was restored when summer approached, but as anyone living in Paris knows, those days were numbered. And so winter came upon us, and the competition was on to find out who would claim first place in the virus race. I am pleased to announce I have come in 4th position again, but it’s difficult to gloat when you have no voice…

A special thought today for all the sick bubbas and their brave mummies and daddies.



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