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Last night she’d been asleep about an hour before the shouting started. Shout, shout, shout. We took it in turns to go up to her, she was boiling hot and sweating – whatever it’s been these last few days was making its way out, it would seem.

By around midnight she was calling out for either of us, then screaming hysterically about whatever was going on in her dream – a bit like a night terror. Shaun went to deal with it, but it made her worse, so I got out of bed, cuddled her, she started to sleep again, woke a tiny bit when I said I was going to my bed, got hysterical again; and my 1am frame of mind decided the sensible thing to do when faced with a hysterical child at ridiculous o’clock was to stay in her bed all night. She, of course remembers nothing of this other than waking up with me next to her.

I just remember being woken up at several times in the night when she realised someone was in her bed, so she called out for daddy. Loudly. He slept through it. I believe I got some sleep in there somewhere. Two nights of this is not a good thing.

Today we lasted until around midday before her temperature rose – a swift dose of Nurofen and she fell asleep on me for 40 minutes and seemed to be fine for the rest of the afternoon, but a bit angry at everything. (example : we pretended to fly a kite. I passed a pretend kite to her, but it wasn’t good enough so she threw things on the floor and stomped about a bit. Ignoring it seemed to work, and I asked for the pretend kite back as it was better than mine, and that also seemed to make her want to try. (there I go again, letting her competitive/better nature work again. argh)

Actually, truth be told, she was angry at me. We watched Mary Poppins yesterday and I was reminded SO much of how Jane and Michael want Mr Banks their father to join in, but he’s tied up with his work. Today was a work-from-home day for me and I did what I could (what she’d allow me) and all I could see was the parent who put work before fun. Fortunately it gave me a bit of time to think of creative things I could do quickly that took her a bit longer – like drawing four pictures that we’d jump into just like in Mary Poppins. That seemed to work, thank goodness – although by the last picture she was angrily scribbling on the paper to get my attention and telling me “daddy will hate this picture as it’s so horrible” (it wasn’t).

So yes, I felt guilty – but I had work that couldn’t wait. I’m pleased I got a fair bit done too – we watched ‘Annie’ this morning so that was a distraction for a good couple of hours. But still, I feel like Mr Banks and it’s not a good feeling.