Poor little chook. While she was relatively ok last night, and slept through the night, my Zoe came up to our bed about dawn this morning, with a coughing attack that had her panicking about not being able to breathe properly. It's a strange thing, but any time she has ever had that sort of cough, I have always been able to calm her down just by drawing her into my arms, and soothing her. (I know that means we have been fortunate that she hasn't ever been that bad. No asthma, no croup that has required a hospital visit.) It feels like this bizarre kind of 'mummy power' that I only have with her (out of the three of them) - where holding her close is enough to work some kind of soothing magic.

This morning it worked again, but, wow.. she was a human radiator - I had to throw the dooner off myself for a while. You could harness that heat to warm up a whole house! Yes, very obviously a high temp (I wouldn't know what, my thermometer is broken, but I have always just relied on a mother's instinct, backed by the opinion of a doctor in one of those baby/toddler books where he reckoned that you know when your child is sick. Or hot. She was hot.) She also had that 'Snow White' look, which I remember from times when my other daughters (Alison in particular because of her darker hair) have been ill. The intensely pale complexion, highlighted by rouge-red cheeks, and blood red lips - the colour and intensity of which lipgloss manufacturers strive for. Put her in the Snow White dress and you could place her straight into the scene after Snow White has been poisoned by the apple and the dwarves have her lying in state on a stone tablet. No makeup required. (I think I must have that image from some childhood fairy tales book stored in my mind - I can't find an appropriate google image of it anywhere!)

The Daddy did the panic thing - 'you'll have to take her to the doctors!'... 'kids have died from this flu thing'. Oh good one, what a sensible thing to say in her hearing! I got up, got her some paracetemol. Got her a cold washer for her forehead - which quickly became a hot washer... but it's all worked to lower her temperature.

She came downstairs. Wanted breakfast. Ate breakfast, and was chatting away making observations on everything from picking out the mistake in the District Schools Athletics carnival note (12.30 am?!! - look mum!! - so that's on in the middle of the night is it? she says with a *snort* ) .. Next she is asking me what a 'light year' is after reading the DVD cover for 'ET', which I hauled out to potentially watch today. (A quick google and we've already done some school for the day.)

So I think she isn't too bad. Cough sounds bad when she coughs, but she isn't doing it that much. Three hours later, while she's a bit flushed and glassy-eyed, her temp doesn't seem too bad. I'll keep an eye on her all day, of course. And I'll have to drag her off the computer soon, and maybe hit her with another dose of paracetemol just to be sure.

The only bummer is that while I don't think she is serious, both her parents can't really rack off at 5.30 am tomorrow to go bike-riding, in case she wakes up in a state like she did this morning. Marc thinks I am the one who needs the most training (just over a week till this 100 miler, and this week's been a write-off). But I'm not sure he has the 'magical soothing mummy power' if required.

We'll see. I am wondering if I should just get into my cycle gear, and just ride lots and lots of laps around the block - so that I am never far away from her. My own personal criterium course. Hmmm. I wonder what the neighbours would make of that.

Labels: bike riding, daily, parenting, sick