Manflu

So hubby has cold. A sore throat, blocked nose. You know, the usual winter cold.

He thinks he has flu/bronchitis/tb/some rare, but extremely painful and potentially fatal disease. That headache might be a tumour you know.

I might have had a little more sympathy had his reaction to my cough over the past few days been a little more supportive than sighing in exasperation when, despite water, cough sweets and sitting up, I can't stop coughing during the night. But, since it hasn't been more supportive, he can suffer away. For sure, Kieran won't be interested and will demand business as usual. No days off on this stay at home parent lark.

One of the best things about parental leave for fathers is that they learn how tough the job is; how, be it manflu or mastitis, you still have to drag your ass out of bed, feed the boy, change the nappy, play, sing, cuddle, encourage, and put to sleep again. 4 times a day.

Meanwhile, I'll be back in the office, far enough away to hear neither hubby's death throws nor pupo's screams as he insists that bottle milk just won't do.