My fantastic work colleagues are covering for me while our little band of Devereauxs fights this virus. Given I was breathing my germs on everyone for two days earlier in the week, and given it's about a two day incubation, I think I'll be covering for them come Monday.
I've hardly seen Tracey all day - she's been in the bedroom with the baby. While I've been chasing after the four sickly ones she's been wearing a facemask and continuously washing her hands with some alcohol foam, as though she suffers from severe OCD, in an attempt to not pass on this flu. Miss0 has been coughing for a few days, but otherwise seemed okay. Despite all these precautions though, little Miss0 started a fever earlier today. But we're controlling it, and she's still happy, so all good.
Our doctor returned our phone call tonight at 7.45pm (he's really been putting in the long hours lately) and given us good and bad news. The bad news is there's nothing they can give Miss0 because she's too young. The good news is this strain of the flu doesn't appear to be at all life threatening.
"Are you sure?" I asked Tracey when she told me. "Because, seriously, I'm so friggin' sore and tired, if another kid comes up and screams at me for nothing I may have to kill them."
Master7 knows what I mean.
This afternoon I insisted all the kids have a nap because I needed them to be quiet. After half an hour of chasing them back into beds and hissing at them to stop talking and close their eyes I gave up and focused on getting to sleep myself.
Despite being the sickest of the lot, Master7 took over the role of overseer.
I'd feel him stomp past my head and then he'd start up: "Stop talking! Lie down! Go to sleep! Don't make me get mum!" You know, using all the same lines I do.
After a couple failed attempts at getting his sisters to at least try for a nap he jumped back into his own bed and I heard him mutter to himself, "It's times like this I really wish I could swear."
My guess is he's thinking it. I know I have been all day.