Sick baby, sick mumma, sick daddy

There’s something oddly special about the first time you are sick the same time as your baby and your husband. There is a kind of sweetness in the cuddles and sniffly noses we are all sharing together.

It is the first time I have felt like a real parent, you know, more than just the lady in charge of feeding and changing the baby.

There are such strong memories I hold dear to my heart of when I was little and my parents would look after me and nurse me to sleep. Brushing my hair back with their hands that smelt like them. Feeding me lemonade and butter menthols when I had a sore throat. I wish and hope that my babies have those memories of me too.

Max is still so tiny. It’s hard to believe how strong he is already and how his tiny body can fight off all the bad stuff in this big bad world. It is a constant reminder of how delicate and extraordinary life is.

I just loved this moment in time, regardless of how I felt. My two loves, sleeping by my side. My little family battling on together.

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