Out of nowhere, Ellie started having a yucky cough.
Within hours, Max had blanched, was red eyed and dragging.
I nursed an uncomfortable baby through the night to the sound of her eldest brother’s snoring and coughing.
We awoke to Tess’s laughter interspersed with the now-familiar sounding cough.
I type to the sound of Ellie crying. I can’t get out of my mind how red Tess’ cheeks were or how Max braced himself against each cough.
Philip cried when he didn’t get any medicine tonight.
“But I really, really don’t feel very good!”
Am I cruel for insisting he is well? Am I just trying to convince myself it is so, hoping that if I believe hard enough, it will have to be true?
He sounded find and felt cool. He was sent to bed without meds.
Meanwhile, I tell myself I am imagining the body aches I feel and I eye Jac with suspicion. Will someone else be sick come morning? Or rather, WHO will be sick in the morning?
It just wouldn’t be right if we weren’t all in this together. . .
