One vomit and you're out

Ciaran's not been too well today.

Nothing serious. He just threw up over his breakfast at nursery.

Ellen dropped him off at the usual time - around 8am - and I got a call from the nursery about half an hour later to say he'd vomited and could we pick him up as soon as possible. Preferably right away.

The nursery have a very clear policy on unwell children. One vomit and you're out the door. For 24 hours. And then you can come back again, unless you vomit again...repeat the cycle.

Ciaran's been on the downhill slope since Saturday to be fair.

He awoke at about 7am on Saturday morning - Daddy on early morning backside duty - with one eye open and one shut and what looked like early onset of conjunctivitis. He also had a heavy cold and runny nose.

Later, we took the kids to Milton Keynes.

As I placed the unwell Ciaran carefully into his stroller, Ellen remarked that her second born had come to resemble "the sick, manky cat in the street that your Mummy tells you never to touch".

He wasn't looking his best. Sure. But who does when they have a cold, let alone conjunctivitis?

We'll keep on giving him his eyedrops and the cold should run its natural, messy, very messy, tissue-ridden course.

In the meantime, the little blighter is soundly asleep in his little nursery, accompanied by his little blue teddy and his little white muslin in his little wooden cot that Daddy built.

You see. I have a soft side, really.