Pox

The girl came down with chicken pox Tuesday night. She was exposed when we went on holiday at the beginning of the month, right after her birthday. An unfortunate gift that ironically took the same route as a lot of her hand-me-downs.

Incubation period is supposed to be up to 3 weeks. I was trying to keep her away from crowds and other babies, just in case. And as more time passed she stayed clean and we figured she got lucky. Or maybe the fact she's still breastfeeding helped. But no. The first spots came Tuesday night and the number seemed to grow exponentially. By now she's completely covered with hundreds of pox from head to toe – though the growth seems to have plateaued.

To all those who have told me over the years that if you get chicken pox really young, you hardly get any spots at all – that's clearly a myth. Stop telling people that.

I'm really worried she's going to end up scarred for life. I caught chickenpox at 33. It was a nasty case and I ended up in hospital for five days. I was completely covered from head to toe, about the same amount as the girl is now. Today I have little white scars scattered all over my body. My scalp and forehead are awkwardly lumpy from where chunks are missing from the subdermis. I'd hate for the girl to have put up with this for effectively her entire life.

I'm also really furious with people who take a lackadaisical attitude toward exposure to the pox. Yes, it's an inconvenience to have to stay at home if you or your child might potentially have chicken pox. But you don't go out and slash random people with razors – which kind of amounts to the same thing.

While she's not getting more spotty, she's been getting more and more fragile. She still has her chipper periods, when she acts like her normal self. But it's so easy to set her off on crying bouts which are really hard to console. So far it seems to be a moderate fever and bad moods. So while it superficially looks as bad as what I'd had, at least it doesn't itch much (yet?). Perhaps she's been hit especially hard because she was just getting over a cold when she caught it. Or maybe it's just genetic from me.

Plus I feel insanely guilty for exposing her. I had wanted to get her vaccinated when she turned one (Privately. They annoyingly don't believe in the varicella vaccine in the UK – but then again, they don't believe in allergy shots either). I should have cut short the holiday the moment it was clear the other child had the pox. I misunderstood how long the disease is contagious, so the girl was constantly exposed for another 4 days or so, guaranteeing that she'd come down with it.

It's hard to not apologise for putting her through this every time I see her. I just hope I'm overreacting. I'll know in a couple of weeks.

Ouch

Yesterday was my second hospital visit with the girl. But this time it was me that was injured.

Our flat is in a bit of a state. Boxes moved from the nursery where L started, but did not complete, putting up rails and things (drill bit broke in the middle). Luggage still unpacked from our recent seaside holiday. All together it makes for a cluttered place not completely safe for a little girl. Which means we have to keep an eye on her when she's playing to make sure she does not stray or play with inappropriate things.

I was in the office working on the PC trying to psyche myself up for doing a bit of taxes. The girl was in the next room with L occasionally running from one room to the other. At one point L said she's heading for the stairs!

I leapt off my box toward the door to catch her, with visions of her tumbling down the stairs and ending up in A&E again.

Instead, I put my foot down on the luggage which slipped from under me, sending me falling to the floor. I came down hard on my left arm and right knee. And slightly less hard on the rest of my limbs. I just lay there on the floor while L spirited the girl away to her cot and fetched some ice for my injuries. Two year old broadbeans, to be specific.

A bit of I think I broke my arm, followed quickly by a Actually no, I'm fine, I'm fine, followed a few minutes later by a OMFG OW! and I declare we're going to UCH for a bit of X-rays before in the influx of Saturday night injuries start.

This time we get public transport to hospital. L's got the girl all bundled up in the sling, and I'm limping alongside them. It was slow, but all was fine until the queue at A&E. I arrived at the magical time where there was a queue, but appear to have been the last person top show for for at least half an hour. I assume I came at the cutoff time after which people should sleep on their injuries rather than face the Saturday night crowd.

When I finally go the the head of the queue I could barely stand. Which meshed well with the receptionist who had reached the end of her shift and could barely think.

Who is your next of kin?

My wife over there [I point to L who is walking the girl around the room].

Okay. Did you come with anyone today?

[Long awkward pause] Yes.    My wife.    Over there.

Oh, you're married now? Congratulations.

[and so on]

I got seen by a doctor who ruled out a broken elbow, but decided my knee needed X-raying. They gave me a handful of painkillers and sent me to the X-ray queue. 45 minutes later a new doctor sees me and says nothing is broken in my ever-swelling knee, but my arm might not be not-broken after all, and it now needs X-rays. I think Whatever. I'm not planning on having any more kids.

More queuing and waiting, and by now the girl is asleep in the sling in L's arms. The doctor says Nope. Not broken. Keep things elevated, get some rest, but move around. And you're not excused from carrying the baby. – a mixed blessing that.

I get out 3 hours after arriving, starving for some food. It was 11, so we'd pretty much missed any decent restaurant in the area (the main reason I decided we'd go to UCH) and also would miss any decent take-away by the time we got home.

Fortunately the girl sleeps all the way through the trip home and being put in her cot. Meanwhile I make us adults a pasta dinner followed quickly by collapsing in bed.

Not the best end to the day, but it at least was only a few wasted hours followed by random pain and discomfort. So I decided to pretend we just had a bad night out at the pub.

366 days later

Monday, 30 July, 12:30 in the morning. The girl woke up very congested and could not sleep. After trying to settle her with no luck, we took her to sleep in the bed with us. Which she did. In her usual big-arms way – leaving me about 10 inches to sleep in. Eventually she's breathing well enough and L takes her to sleep in her own cot. Around 4ish I fall asleep.

8:30 exactly. The wife and I wake to the sound of her crying. I smile and say to L This better be important.

She laughs and and we get up to the girl's first birthday.

Again, it's a not-very-rushed breakfast of smoothies for everyone. The girl gets her first blueberry smoothie. She drinks a bit, but not very much. We prepare for an afternoon in the park. The weather claims to be an island of no rain in a week of drizzles and thunderstorms. Her party on Sunday was rained out, and we ended up all squeezed into our dining room.

Monday was much better. Though quite chilly for most of the day. We went to the park to try out her new scooter. Ever since she got it she's been trying to play with anything scooter-sized with wheels – most of which belong to other people, so I have to drag her away crying. Not the nicest side-effect.

After much rolling around the park, we went to a birthday picnic hosted by the other child in our NCT group that was born on the same day. There was much frolicking with other babies of her age followed by a tuckered-out trip home.

The first birthday is the last one for the parents. It was our celebration of having kept her alive for a year. She'll never remember this, so all we needed to do was a have a good time and take lots of pictures of her having fun. From here on out, it's her birthdays and it will be all about her. I've got to figure out more baby-flavoured fun by then.