Conjunctivitis, cold sores and costochondritis

I'm better!

Ha - bet you weren't expecting that, from the title of this post.

But I am. I am not depressed. I'm laughing, listening to music and marvelling at how sweet my baby is (even if he does show signs of turning a bit ginger). I can't tell you what a relief it is. NB I'm not doing those three things at once, they're just examples of things I wasn't doing up until quite recently.

But fear not, there will always be plenty of material for this blog in our household. We are frigging ill all the frigging time, and our strike rate's only going to increase now that we have another infant to catch things.

Let's start with the cold sores that I have at both corners of my mouth. Just to make me look like a leper, and feel as popular as Boris Johnson. But ha ha, I don't care - I'm better!

Lix has had conjunctivitis. Because that's pretty much de rigeur for any baby, every six weeks, isn't? Poor boy, he's got months, if not years, to go before starting nursery, but swinging through when depositing/collecting Logie a couple of times has been enough for him to catch it. Okay, it's a bit unfair to blame it on nursery - but I don't care what people think now, I'm better!

I've got a brilliant thing that is not only an itis, it ticks all sorts of other favourite boxes:

• It's painful, and is likely to be so for a while, so I should get good whinging mileage from it.
• It's related to my bad back, a subject which I know every single one of you feels they haven't really heard enough detail about.
• It requires me to go to the osteopath for treatment, which gets rid of regular amounts of pesky money clogging up my bank account. And means I get to spend lots of time in the car closely inspecting the roadworks on the Hammersmith roundabout.
• It's normally eased by taking non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs, which I'm not allowed to take, because they make my stomach bleed. So that gives me more opportunity to behave like eeyore. (One can't complain. One has one's friends. Somebody spoke to me only yesterday. And it was last week, or the week before, that Rabbit bumped into me and said Bother.)

But my poor-me touchpaper is refusing to light, because I'm better!

Anyway, it's called costochondritis, which is an inflammation of the cartilage that attaches the ribs to the breastbone. Basically, I have pain in my chest, and in my upper back. And the osteo says I've also popped a rib out as well, for good measure.

It's probably not unrelated to the position that I breastfeed in - holding Felix under my arm like a rugby ball. But I struggle with the orthodox way, and now he refuses to even try it. Carrying my nemesis the Maxicosi car seat doesn't help either.

But the only thing that's really a cause for concern in our family right now is Logie's behaviour. It is, how can I put it? Diabolical.

Everything is a battle. Every request or suggestion from me or Jon provokes a tantrum or a refusal. Nothing is achieved without several minutes of bribery or threats. 

Of course a certain amount of this is to be expected from a terrible 2-year-old, especially one who's coming to terms with the arrival of a new sibling. And a certain amount's been going on for a while. But it's suddenly escalated to practically all the time - and for once I'm not exaggerating.

Twice he has pooed in the bath. Last night he spat in Jon's face. He doesn't hand me things any more, he throws them - especially if they're food that will spatter.

The only place he doesn't behave like West London's youngest ASBO is at nursery. Where he's been as good as normal, happily putting on his coat as soon as asked, going to sleep without a fuss and even, yesterday, eating no less than chicken curry for lunch. 

I'd happily agree to him having conjunctivitis too, if they could get this behaviour to extend to the rest of the week. But although I mind, I'm not spending much time worrying about it. Because. I. Am. Better.

ps Here's a puzzling incident with Logie that I'd like to share, in case anyone can decipher it. Answers on a postcard please. For days he's been asking for a Barbie. Not a baby-shaped doll, but specifically a Barbie, ie with boobs and blonde hair.

Yesterday Felix (well, I) bought him one from FARA Kids for £1.50 which had been seriously pre-loved - her toes had been chewed off and she was drastically in need of a deep conditioning treatment. He was thrilled. Played with her intently for over an hour, then spent half an hour insisting she'd done a poo, then snapped her head off. Huh?