I love this time of year. The Autumn leaves, crisp mornings, walking the little dog before Work in the quiet dark cold. Pre Christmas mince pie research and cosy nights in with the heating on. Planning for Christmas and all that’s involved with it. The odd festive movie thrown in over a mince pie with cream.
Of course it wouldn’t be Autumn without the obligatory coughs and colds. Usually brought home by Frankie as they unknowingly infect each other with their germs without a care during school time, as they do. Parents know the deal, and usually end up with the goods. I’m always first in line for Frankies snotty gifts. She’s always had a sharing nature.
Unfortunatly this year the triplets have now all caught it aswell as Frankie and myself, and it’s not nice. Our bedroom has resembled more of a small hospital ward then a chilled baby sanctuary the last few nights. Stacey has managed to avoid catching it so far, thankfully.
Poor little chickens with horrible grandad coughs and sore throats, Stacey’s exhausted, I’m running on four brain cells, and unfortunately there’s nothing we can do other than crack open the calpol and comfort them as best we can. I’ve also dealt with some of my first serious nappy incidences. Like, WOW girls!!!! I’m impressed.
It was far from my mind that the babies would get ill util this week, and the tears and grizzlies that go with it make a Dad feel a little helpless. It’s a given that what one gets, the others are likely to catch it also. It’s their first round of being poorly, not the best of milestones but one I hope for them and us doesn’t last much longer.