Lucy recently had a nasty cold. Which she very kindly gave to me. Only I got an even nastier version and still had to take care of madam. You never get advice about taking care of a demanding, teething, ill baby while feeling like hell yourself. Of course when the health visitor came after Lucy was born I had to answer a leaflet with questions like "are you feeling suicidal?" in a classy attempt to curb post natal depression. But they don't ask these questions when you're five foot deep in tissues, smelly over active bowels (baby not me), stained in Calpol and using a Star Trek type device to literally suck snot out of a baby's nose....
I guess I am lucky that the louder Lucy farts and the squelchier the poo - the bigger her smile.
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