Our home is warm. The shutters and blinds are drawn just before the sun dips low in the sky to maintain the heat in our bedrooms and the upstairs lounge. Garlicky pumpkin and potato soup bubbles away on the stove top whilst Byron plays with Love in her new playpen. She seems content to sit in his lap as he turns pages of her books.
Every few minutes or so I stride across the room, wielding a soft tissue to dab at her tiny nose. No wonder she was restless last night. I didn't sleep a wink either, some kind of evolutionary keen mama hearing prevented me from relaxing as I watched over the rise and fall of her body's outline in the darkness.
Despite the nasty cold, she's still as sweet as usual. I hope it passes soon.
Get well soon, baby girl.