thinking 'bout my baby

I am worried about my Bubs. Yesterday she vomited in spectacular fashion all over Daddy in his work shirt, and then again on the floor at home and again all over Mummy's shoes (not her dapper little heels, her only beloved pair. The Birkenstocks got it this time.) She slept through the night, which would've been great if I hadn't got up every 2 hours to check she was OK.

When Emma is ill I am not nursey-nurse, capable but calm-in-a-crisis sort of gal. I run amok screaming "Shall I take her to hospital?" to anyone bold enough to pay me some attention.

She has not been sick today, she doesn't have a temperature, but she is not her gurgling, bouncing, fat-cheeked little self. Instead she's been staring into space alot and whimpering.

My plan of action: encourage drinking. watch her like a hawk.

Still glowing from my parcel. Got JoJo's CD playing at the mo and having a disco jiggle here in my office chair. Have prepared a return parcel that I am not optimistic will arrive before Christmas. It's not the work of art I received, not by a long shot, but it's packed with love. Feel the love, people!