This is the fourth time I have been sick since I last breast fed Arya. Fourth time. And it’s not just a runny nose and a bit of sneezing, but a full blown flu with bone pain and old smoker’s cough. I’m starting to think that I probably need a Michael -Jackson-face-mask to save myself from the nursery bug vividly transmitted by my beloved child. When they say hybrid children have strong genes I didn’t know they have strong weapon genes.Today it’s the 11th day and I think, I THINK it’s all better because I’m not on beechams or day nurse yet, albeit it’s only 9:20 am. 

I diagnosed myself – it’s bronchitis and who knows what I will bring from the nursery next time. 

I hate being incapable, immobile, debilitated. The most annoying is that as soon as I feel worse physically, my dopamine level drops to the lowest extremes and I develop depression symptoms (I know, because I’ve been there) and it scares me. 

It’s like when a recovered alcoholic drinks a shot of vodka (say, by accident) and then he gets anxiety attack that it all is coming back again and he’s falling and nothing will stop this.

The good thing is that today I’m feeling better and as soon as Arya is up we, are out.

I say basta to the toy mess in the living room.


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