Barely hanging on

It's been a hellish few days. Although Harri continues to recover well from her operation and adjust to life in plaster, it's bloody difficult adjusting when the worst cold in living memory afflicts you. Last night was particularly bad as idiot boy here was trying to finally come off the Paracetamol only for her ladyship to keep us awake during the midnight hours. Toni finally succumbed to the cold (or flu as she thinks of it) a couple of days ago, and all in all it was a miserable night.

Up until now I've tried to put a brave face on things, count our lucky stars, that sort of thing. But last night was a step too far. Quite frankly this whole thing sucks. Harriet's condition should have been spotted - she ticked all the boxes (first child, a girl, difficult birth) for babies with hip conditions, so it's obvious we're paying the price for incompetence, not bad luck. The fact both hips are affected is also bad luck, as is the fact I'm increasingly convinced one of them has dislocated, so all we'll have to look forward to after this spell in plaster is another spell in plaster, and the whole thing just stretches out.

Still, let's be happy, eh? We do now have a date and time for Harri's follow-up scan: 1pm on 23rd December, so it's before Christmas - be fun driving on the M25, so I may have to scout out an alternative route (at least we don't have to leave before the crack of dawn). Who knows, a new variant of the cold may be doing the rounds - symptoms should kick in late on Christmas Eve if Sod is still applying his law so rigorously.

With a bit of luck we'll know the worst before 2008 is out, and then we can get what's increasingly become a miserable year out of our system. And if anyone has a brave face, I wouldn't try offering it to me anytime soon...