Thank God it's Christmas

What a week! Since I lasted posted that Lucy woke at 3am she has turned it into a nightly ritual, but thankfully seems to be able to settle herself at least some of the time.

Yesterday was a date on the calendar that Hayley and I had been looking forward to for months. We don't manage to go out as a couple without the kids half as much as we'd like or, frankly, half as much as is healthy for a relationship. So we planned before the start of the football season to go to a few Man Utd home games together. Yesterday was the first.

Or at least it should have been. Oliver came down with a temperature of 102 in the night and was no better in the morning. We had no choice but to cancel. Not only was this a huge disappointment but at £44 per seat it was also £88 down the drain.

So we set about salvaging the day. Oliver was in reasonably good spirits, all things considered, so we asked if he would like to go to Brookside Garden Centre where he could ride on the miniature steam train, getting off half way round to visit Santa's grotto. Not only did he like this idea but he then proceeded to tell us what we would do when got there, repeatedly. "We get on the tracks. We get off. We see Father Christmas...."

However, when we got to Brookside, purchased our tickets and queued for the ride, he started to say "no". When we got to the train he physically struggled to get off. Clearly this was a non-starter, so Hayley and Lucy went for a ride while Oliver and I sat alone in the little station waiting for their return.

I managed to get a refund, just ("you can still walk round to the grotto"!) before we headed home feeling properly deflated.

But still there was an evening out and a few drinks with friends on the cards for Hayley to look forward to. Off she went at 8.30pm and wasn't seen again until 11.30pm. While she was away, despite all appearing calm as she left, I found myself running up and downstairs, alternating between my feverish son and my happy but insistent-on-my-attention daughter. Finally Lucy nodded off on the sofa. When she awoke, instead of her usual smile, to my astonishment she screamed. I don't know why for certain, but I do know she was very tired and drank barely 1.5 ounces of milk before going to sleep for the night, screaming every time she woke between the sofa and her cot.

Five minutes later Oliver was wailing and I went in to find him hot and upset. I gave him some Calprofen, settled him down and he asked to go back to bed.

Two hours later, the scene was repeated, but his pyjamas and bedsheets were so drenched in sweat that we changed them all. After that he only shouted out occasionally in his sleep.

Lucy, meanwhile actually slept through the night without crying, stirring occasionally but getting herself back to sleep. She even managed it around 5.30am when she was very sniffly and not able to breathe properly through her nose. I was amazed but delighted that she managed that. And it is worth mentioning here that in the last few days we have moved her out of her Moses basket and into her cot. (Although in fact we have had the basket inside the cot for a while to get her used to the new environment.)

At least we now have Christmas to look forward to. Hopefully everyone will feel better from here on in.