Getting to be Number Two

Number One had her first week at her childcarer last week, and promptly caught her first cold. She's being a star about it, she still smiles non-stop and apart from a cough that sounds like that of an old man, and a bit of a snotty nose, she's in great spirits. We even managed a trip to Brighton on Saturday, and what a joy to get to sit on the beach eating ice-creams at the beginning of February.

But on Sunday morning, I woke up feeling terrible. I don't usually get colds, but I think all the lovely kisses Number One gives me are just a little bit too intimate, and there's not really any getting away from a cold virus when it's slobbered all over your face by your daughter (but I'll always let her kiss me - I know it won't last forever).

There were a couple of points during the day when I actually thought I'd caught Man-Flu, I felt so awful and generally useless, but it was because of this I was promoted - to Number Two. I had a lovely lie-in, and then was allowed to lie on the sofa pretty much all day, with the remote control, while the original Number Two brought me endless cups of tea and orange juice, and did all sorts of Number Three-style chores, including washing the car.

I don't think the cold is going to come to much more than it has, and I think I've already been relegated, but now I know what it feels like to be Number Two, I'm going to have to start pulling a few more sickies.