It's every where. Ev-er-y fricking where. Noah's face leaks constantly, and I swear, I'm too scared to touch half the burpees lying around because I know they're plastered in huge boogers and greenies and other disgustingly gross things.

Don't get me wrong, I'm obviously very sad that he's poorly, especially as he doesn't sleep at night either because he spends most of his time coughing through it. That frustrates me so much I guess because I'm helpless; it's kinda difficult to teach your kid to cough out even more F.O.F. to help clear his throat, ya know?

The best comes when you try to wipe his face, which he obviously depises, and turns his face at the worst possible moment. This usual results in a nice streak of F.O.F. across a cheek, in his ear, and if he's particularly pissy, through his hair too.

There have been too many times when I've commented on the amount of food in Noah's hair, gone to pick it out and then realised, all too late, what it really is. Mmmmmm...did you request crusty or gloopy today ma'am?

So yes, he's still very sick, and letting us all know about it. His tantrums are crazy when he has them, and I guess because he's out of sorts, they seem to be coming thick and fast, quite often out of the blue. He's also become especially good at being incredibly defiant (NO idea where he gets that from) and then watching you to see what the hell you're gonna do about it.

Noah: (hey bitch, watch me steal a bauble from your tree, NYAH!)

Me: Noah, no touch.

N: (Yeah I hear ya, I see ya...oh hey look moms! Bauble! In mah hand! YEAH!)

Me: Noah, NO TOUCH.

N: (And looky! See how I got two baubles and now I'mma kick a third one off? Watch me now!)

Me: NOAH!

N: (Hey, what? Ya say summat? ...might even pull this punk-ass tree over now...)

And so it goes on. I'm operating zero tolerance in the desperate hope that I do not have a child that grows up into an evil delinquent that leaves turds in the plant pots and steals anything from me on a regular basis (uh, I should add I'm watching Brat Camp at the minute...it's uh, reassuring?)

It's harder I think because I want to help him, to give him cuddles and say "all better, mommy loves you", and all he wants to do is punch his way off my lap and go find his dad/attack the tree/throw a fit/snot everywhere. It's kinda like he turned into a teenager when I wasn't looking, which I find quite scary given he's not even one yet (OMG he is ONE next WEEK people. NEXT. FREAKING. WEEK.)

I admit - I miss my baby, but I hope he sure as hell feels better soon. It's hard to so desperately want to help someone when there are so many misunderstandings in the way. I'm also running out of burpees and I'm worried we're going to drown in the gunk.