My Darling Juliet and Si-Si,
Mummy is poorly. I know you know this because I can't get through a story without losing my voice completely, and I've lost count of the times I've woken you up, Simon, from a snooze in my arms with the cough that would give any smoker a run for their money.
Oh, I had loads of lovely things I've been thinking about and wanting to write to you about with Christmas around the corner. So many things that have popped into my head and promptly been blown out into a tissue, apparently.
I think the sleeplessness and the fact I can't take anything, lest it get passed along to you, little man, makes it harder to cope. but, for 99% of the day and night, I'm OK, and even happy. Mummies don't get sick days. Mummies buck up and muddle through. And I'm really proud of myself for doing just that. My new mantra is "It's just a cold." Hearing you two cough or snuffle is 100000 times worse than any physical discomfort I'm experiencing.
Yes, I feel guilty that we haven't been out sledging in the snow, or taking walks at dusk to look at the lights, and the bathroom's nastiness has been niggling at my overdeveloped sense of guilt for a while, but we're going to survive and Christmas is going to come in a few days and I know it's going to be magical and perfect no matter what.
More to come, hopefully, soon, but for now, forgive me for being in self-preservation mode and know that healthier days aren't far off.
Love you both,
Mummy
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