The Sick House

The two wee ones, Nath (two and three quarters) and Ava (one), have been sick. Sick, sick, sick. Last night when I walked through the front door, Nath quite literally collapsed into my arms, feverishly hot, and curled his little body, foetus-like, into mine, his damp head sticking to my neck, his breathing loud and rasping. I sat there like that, clasping him close to me, my coat still on, for a good half an hour, while Ava, who was also starting to go down with the same nasty cold, stood shakily, clinging on to my knees and crying loudly, competing for a cuddle. As I sat there I honestly felt I might cry for the love of them. And for the guilt I felt for having been away all day. And for the feeling of not knowing which one to pick up and comfort first. There is only one good thing about sick children, and that is that they become very, very cuddly and affectionate. Actually, there's one other good thing: they make you suddenly feel like a healing goddess, as if by your mere presence you can make them feel better. When I walked through the front door tonight, Nathan ran up to me, full of beans, asking for a lolly. How things can improve in the space of 24 hours. That's the great thing about kids; they can really bounce back.