fever, vomiting, misery. and attitude

er pupo is sick again. Last week he was bright as a button. That's a very shiny jeans-type button, not the dark plastic ones you get on men's shirts. He was ready for the MMR. Owing to his highly inconsiderate allergy to eggs, the whole thing was quite the circus and mother and toddler went up to hospital to have the jag administered under the supervision of paeds and nurses and auxiliaries and vets (might have made the last part up) and then we stayed for 2 hours to be "monitored" in case of some adverse reaction. There was a reaction, but only to the massive room full of toys in which er pupo was to wait. There was even a child-size formula one car that he got to play in (batteries thankfully removed). I was knackered within an hour. Er pupo had a brilliant time.

So home we go, happy and healthy is he. Till Monday, I am in my office, enjoying my morning ritual of waiting 15 minutes for my antique PC to start up (GOD, I miss my mac and she is still busted, but don't start me on that), when dagmamma calls to tell me to come right away, he has a fever of 38.5 and his eyes are rolling. Last night, it was over 39 and he woke hourly looking for something to drink.

I put it down to the MMR. A delayed reaction. The trusty internet confirmed my suspicions. The doctor this afternoon did not, and called it "an ear infection" and gave him antibiotics. Thankfully, he isn't in pain (at least, not in his ears), but I have a sneaking suspicion that doctors in Iceland use "ear infection" the way in the UK they use "virus." It's a catch-all when they don't know what is wrong or what to do, but in this pharmaceuticalised land, parents get the reassurance of walking away with a prescription. In er pupo's case, it seems to be working very quickly and tonight his temperature was a reassuring 37.6 and that without paracetamol.

The boy is well enough, it would seem, to express his preferences. And the boy has taste. I put him in his cheap and fluffly soft slippery shoes from China. He seems happy enough. For about 5 seconds. Then he spots his fancy Italian expensive sandals and cries out for them. I hand them over, he rips of the soft shoes and throws them down, and proceeds to attempt to beclad himself in the sandals. Fair enough, I love a good pair of shoes myself and I can't fault his taste.

He managed a good play session this evening, involving climbing into the shower and getting stuck whilst I was indisposed (oh, use your imagination!) and whining because I wouldn't push him on his little car. (Hey, my arm is still sore here!)

I'll be home tomorrow morning, then in to teach some more; hubby will take over and hopefully, if his temperature continues to fall, we can fire him back to daycare on Thursday. It's not that I don't like looking after my son, it's just that, well... I kinda like my time in the office too!