Four years, nine months, 25 days since trying to become a mum and three months 29 days since becoming one

I wanted to write this now, in the moment, while my heart is still beating fast. What an evening.

It's now 3am Christmas Day morning and I have not yet slept. You've been poorly for a couple of days with what we presumed was another bout of nasty teething – a runny nose, a cough, nappy rash, albeit with really nasty sores that definitely go beyond the usual nappy rash, and generally not quite yourself. But on Christmas eve, that's yesterday officially but still today for me not having had the marker of sleep yet, you were very listless, not at all hungry and bloody hot. I gave you some Calpol, took your temperature then put you to bed. We then had friends round, got a bit drunk, got a bit festive, nice evening yada yada, then they left, then I thought – I'll just check her to make sure she's ok and guess what, your temperature had soared to 38.4. Someone had told me that anything above 38 is a visit to A&E so I immediately went into panic mode. My head was suddenly racing with all sorts of scenarios, none of them good and all of them dramatic. I started to pack a bag, think about phoning a taxi, all while you're still in your cot, trying to sleep with me & Old Pa Cooke going into meltdown around you. Luckily I thought to phone our friends next door, I knew they were up as they had not long left, as they have three kids between them so are two ahead of us in terms of dealing with such situations. Mike said that actually a temp higher than 40 was cause for A&E and he suggested I ring NHS to get their advice.

I did. I listened, I made them repeat things, cos I'm still panicking at this point, and I then administered more medicine, removed some layers of clothing, gave you some more milk and put you back down to sleep for an hour til I had to check your temp again. I then got dressed for A&E anyway, set an alarm and we sat on the sofa watching some crap film, waiting. Course Pa fell into a deep slumber, but skittish that I am, I awoke at the first millisecond beep of the alarm and went up to take your temp again. Poor Louse, you were so deeply asleep and I had to wake you again. You were all confused, too tired to cry really. But I pinned you down, shoved the thermometre up your bum and took another reading, praying it would be at least 1 degree down from 38.4.

And it was. So you're all asleep again, my heart is beginning to slow down and I'm writing this before finally going to bed.

All that to say, I know people have stayed up all night with their kids before, monitoring their fevers, but when it's your turn... ducking heck. Just now, cuddling you before putting you back down in your cot, I cried a bit. Ok, quite a bit. If I didn't already realise that I love you deeply, I do now.

No photo this time, it would be really too cruel to wake you to get a photo of your tired snotty face.