A Bit Higher than Whale Shit.

5 years ago today, two mediocre CD collections became one.  Cheers!


That’s right. 5 glorious years! Or, more accurately, 3.5 peaceful years followed by 18 months of Hissed Squabble. Although, Hubby did get absolutely roaring drunk on our wedding night, in direct contravention of previously issued instructions, which earned him a (restrained) telling-off from me and a right royal bollocking from his mother before the reception was over. Neither of which he remembers.

(Our honeymoon, incidentally, was taken in London and – because the Hairies are a little different – the middle east. Jordan is reasonably straightforward to visit, and we only got a gun pointed at us once, courtesy of John’s attempt to photograph military installations. Petra was utterly out-of-this-world superb. [I do have an ancient history degree though, so I get inordinately excited about Old Stuff.] The Dead Sea was amazing, although the 5 star hotel probably helped. Spending a week in Jordan was also, of course, something of a speechifying gift of gold to John’s Best Man.)

John managed to produce an anniversary card, having purchased one during his annual trip to WH Smiths last month, but I have been acutely short on retail opportunities this week, so Phoenix and Hubby both lost out. This is unlike me, but I have been Upset.

Harry is a fair bit better today, and thank you all so very much for your kind concern. He slept in between us for several hours last night, and actually picked up some of his toys this morning. He also accepted my (greatly adored) mum as a substitute on cuddling duty while John and I went out for lunch and a much-needed break. 

Yesterday was appalling from start to finish. The Delightful Doctors Next Door are away (sob!) and I ended up taking him to our doctor’s surgery twice yesterday because I was so distraught. Harry had slept for a couple of hours before his morning appointment, and was consequently fairly calm when I first took him in. I only knew of the two big tongue ulcers at that point, and the GP said he had no way of pinning down what virus it was, but that Harry ‘looked ok’  – which he did at that point – and said he was surprised the hospital had prescribed anti-virals ‘this early on; we usually wait.’

By 4pm I had discovered Harry had developed dozens and dozens more ulcers, absolutely covering his tongue, his throat, the roof of his mouth, his lips, and even a few on his face. He had become a picture of misery and pain, gazing at me in bewilderment, pawing piteously at his mouth, clinging to my neck like grim death, and screaming raggedly through clamped-shut lips. His nappies were bone-dry all day. He roared all the way through the appointment with the second doctor, who confidently diagnosed a herpes-type virus common to under-twos, and told me that anti-virals achieve very little and wouldn’t work ‘this far past the initial onset’ anyway. Hmmm.

She told me, in essence, that Harry would just have to Deal With It. When I explained that the only pain relief I could successfully administer was 6-hourly paracetamol suppositories, and that this was rather like trying to keep his pain ocean back with a broom, she told me – fairly sharply – ‘That’s all you can do. You just have to get through it with him. I know it’s hard. I lost 5 pounds when my daughter had it’. 

So. There was nothing else, apparently, in the entire pharmaceutical range, that she would prescribe to reduce Harry’s pain.  She may well have been right. I don’t know. But my child had his poor face buried in my shoulder, his arms thrown tight around my neck, his legs drumming on my lap, howling his distress, anguish and torment straight into my soul, and I feel there may have been hate in my eyes.

But! Today he has definitely improved. The lap has been left for brief periods of time (I can pee again!) and he has eaten a few pasta twists (hurrah!) for tea. Received wisdom tells us that this is a 10-dayer, and there’s certainly no way on God’s green earth that those ulcers will heal before the middle of next week, so I expect he will continue to tell us about his suffering, poor lad. I am planning a trip out for more new toys (he’s already had a large lapful of them) tomorrow if he seems up to it.


New distractions, lots of cuddles and small lard torpedos bunged up his bum are all I can do for him right now.

On a different note, this link may be in slightly dubious taste if you are TTC, but Hubby is finding http://www.digyourowngrave.com/the-great-sperm-race/ fairly addictive currently. Hence I need to vacate the computer chair, stat, before he implodes. I will tell you about the young doctor I puzzled and my gynae referral (oh, aren’t you just completely agog!) tomorrow.

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