Dear Slapped Cheek,
Oh how aptly named you are. You are a pain in the ass. You hung around my household a month ago, stayed over 3 weeks, fecked off for a week, and apparently you're here again as of this morning.
You have my eldest son looking like hell, purplish cheeks, a fever, tired. He's missing his best friend's party this afternoon, and his own birthday is tomorrow, who knows how we'll end up celebrating it now.
You had me worried my baby had meningitis, only 11 days ago, necessitating a doctor's visit. You scuppered many of our plans, had us up nights with feverish babies, and have really put a dampener on our summer so far.
We were only just getting back to normality, trips to the zoo, days out, fun in the sun, ice-creams and barbecues.
I'm feeling hard-done-by. I'm back nursing almost constantly, I can't get out to the library to get the books I've been looking forward to reading, I'm stuck on the sofa / in bed for how many days this time?
I jinxed it the other day, told a friend we were fit and healthy again, and wondered how long it would last. Big mistake. Should've said nothing.
So, slapped cheek, it's on. I'll fight you with booby power, homeopathy coming out their ears, resting and endless Spongebob marathons. Do you really wanna mess with me? 'Cause I know you now, I know what I'm dealing with, I know how you roll.
Bring it on, bi-atch!