I knew it was coming. It had felt as though absolutely everyone in her year had been afflicted except her.
She’s six now, so I was starting to worry that the itchy virus might not reveal itself in her primary years and may just strike at some truly inconvenient age, like at 16 in the middle of her GCSEs. But no, it hit her on Thursday, in the middle of an otherwise lovely yet uneventful half-term.
She’d been staying at my parents’ for the night, a treat for her and likewise for me. (One of those awkward guilty pleasures where I feel relieved, yet bad for leaving her, while knowing full well she is having the best time going to bed late and generally being spoilt rotten by her Grandma. Either way guilt manages to rear its ugly head somehow.)
I’d given her a bath the night before, and noticed a few little red spots on her back.
The thought crossed my mind that they may indeed multiply, but I decided to push that most-likely thought aside and instead assume they were most definitely insect bites. (Not sure how one might acquire insect bites on their back in the UK in February, but it was a hopeful thought, chicken pox was only going to mess up our play date plans.)
I returned the following afternoon to an anxious Grandma.
Her facial expression and tone of voice suggested something awful had happened during the night and she was about to break some kind of life-changing news. “Now, I need to talk to you…”
Oh dear. “I think Maia might have chicken pox.”
“Yeah, well it’s about time! Everyone’s had it! Is she okay? Is she itchy?”
She comes in, beaming.
“I HAVE CHICKEN POX MUMMY!”
“I know! How are you feeling darling?”
She shrugs her shoulders and gives me another cheeky grin.
“I’m fine! Just a bit itchy…”
Cooped up
She was indeed seemingly fine, but I knew those little red spots would only increase in numbers, and she might not feel so fine after days of being cooped up indoors, being repeatedly told to “drink more water!” and itching all over.
This was day one. (Or two if I’d paid any attention to the “insect bites” present at bathtime.)
So with that in mind, I rang my mummy-friend to inform her of the situation and see if the play-date was still doable.
Her daughter – a friend in Maia’s class – had
already had the pox.
We were on. Several cups of tea and many games of hide and seek later, I soon found myself witnessing my darling girl parting ways with one of her sacred Bocks people. (You may recall the vast quantities of cardboard featured last Summer).
Maia kindly gifted her friend with Lavender, one of her many Bocks children.
I was a little shocked myself, given how attached she’s been to these amalgamations of cardboard, but proud of her thoughtfulness and ability to let go of such a beloved creation.
Just 15 more to go.
Pox-wise, it’s on its way out.
Which is a relief because I wasn’t sure how many more times she could dress and re-dress her teddy bears, make mini-cardboard garages or re-organise her tiny-bead collection before pleading to go back to school.
Thankfully, the fun-filled yet itchy wait is over.
