Does this toothy, grinning child look like someone suffering from a bowel infection? She doesn’t, right?
This past week has been quite … well … shitty. There was a lot of poo. For many days. And, on Sunday, Ava’s first fever, which my handy (and eye-wateringly expensive, so I was only too happy to finally use it to some effect) ear thermometer told me reached 39. 1 degrees – which my handy Marina Petropoulos book told me is quite high. For non-moms and other moms who missed the memo for the infant-information-osmosis session, anything above 37 degrees is considered a high temperature for a baby. And 39.1 is, like, panic-stations, dunk-her-in-a-tepid-bath-immediately, call-the-emergency-doctor high.
We eventually got her temperature down with a bath and Panado syrup, and I took her to the doctor the next day. He prescribed antibiotics and some suspicious pink suspension stuff, and sent a “sample” (what a lovely, sterile-sounding euphemism) off for tests. We’re still waiting for the results, and I’m just hoping it’s not a parasite – Dylan had a
gogo bug living in his small intestine between the ages of 10 and 18 months and it sounds absolutely nightmarish.
Three days later, she’s right as rain, thank goodness. She’s actually at a fashion shoot at the moment, modelling Ackermans’ autumn range for the March/April Club magazine. Her dad is acting as her agent (she’s the only baby at the shoot who isn’t registered with an agency – what a strange world) and chauffeur, and I wish I could be there. I hope she doesn’t have a stranger-danger, I-missed-my-midday-nap meltdown. I also hope Dyl brushed her hair and cleaned her lunch off her chin.
[Oh my word, I just realised that it’s exactly 11 weeks until Ava turns 1 – so only 11 more posts on My Bundle. Which made me realise, in turn, that I’ve miscalculated somewhere. Sigh.]