As predicted yesterday, I woke up feeling completely crap. I felt like I'd been hit by a steam roller, and just generally wanted to crawl back into bed. I cancelled plans to catch up with a friend and hit the Nurofen Express and endless cups of tea. This got me through to eleven, when the boy slept until two this afternoon. This doesn't fit with his Huffle routine at all, but I was glad of the respite.
As I managed a nap myself, I woke up feeling a little more human, and realised I needed to be out of the house for the cleaner. I took Dexter to our local Toys R Us, which unsurprisingly made me feel a tad fragile again. Having negotiated our way around aisles of brightly coloured and violently flashing gubbins, I settled on a sand and water table.
I managed to lug the boy, the tray, some moulds and a bag of sand that is probably a third of my body weight, from a street away (damn parking), to the back garden. It proved to be a hit with the boy, but after about twenty minutes of Dexter pouring freezing and sandy water over his own head, he was chilly and filthy. The quickest solution was a warm shower; he SCREAMED.
The shower trauma helped bring about a relapse in my weird achy, flu-like thing. In the absence of any from the husband, I took to Twitter for some sympathy.