Farewell Pox

Mini Minx’s face is a little less spotty every day, but the deep pock mark on her left buttock where her nappy rubbed off a seriously big, infected one a little more obvious…

Bugger off chicken pox!

She caught chicken pox from her sisters the Friday before last. It was a bit of a relief to see her first pox appear – big one on her neck was The Master Spot – after spending a fortnight on nightly spot-watch (I tell you, me and The Boss had nightly discussions about it as in-depth as any held by Brian Cox and Dara O’Briain). Still, I had a sinking heart that my bright, bouncy baby would soon be as laid-low as poor Maxi was. I restocked the cupboards with Calpol and Calprofen, said goodbye to even 4 hrs broken sleep a night, and waited for the worst.

And it just didn’t happen. She breezed through it, thankfully, bar half a day of un-Mini tetchiness. Using anecdata of 3 (yeah, fantastically valid evidence pool…) all aged 2 years apart, I can say:

  • the girls got spottier the younger they were;
  • they were iller the older they were;
  • their fevers were higher and lasted longer the older they were;
  • they got more secondary infections the older they were (0, 1 and 2 per minx).

I say all this tongue-in-cheek because I’m not even suggesting that this will be the case for any other child. Anyway, I am so relieved that chicken pox has been and gone in our household, never to return! Horrible, nasty, medieval illness. Maxi still isn’t 100%, 3.5 weeks after falling ill with it. Midi and Mini just enjoy picking off the scabs and race to see how many they can do before I grab their little fingers…. And it remains to be seen if their creamy faces will be blemished with pits. If they are, I’ll feel a pang for sure, but would never say a thing to them for fear of passing on my current, surprising and over the top concern for their appearance. I still can’t put my finger on why I feel like this, as I’m not normally a person who cares about physical appearances (evidence: how I present myself in public at all times). Maybe it’s because some horrible uncontrollable illness might detract from what I perceive to be my babies’ perfection? I’m very bothered that I’m bothered about it, at all – I mean, in the greater scheme of things, who cares about a few tiny pits? Good grief, they’re healthy! I’m not normally this shallow and vacuous. But I know someone who is…

Oh crap, you don’t think vanity is contagious, do you? Break out the face masks!

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