Recovery

The thing about having a sick child is that nobody wants to be your friend, especially not those people who've got kids themselves.

Sally Dawson phoned me for the first time in months this morning. She was heading out for morning tea in Coogee and wondered whether we fancied joining her. We did, of course, but it was only fair to say Ella had been ill yesterday, at which point she backed off the whole idea, understandably so as Ella and Niamh would probably be all over one another in the cafe.

But then Kate phoned to see what we were up to (and I think that's the first time ever our Sydney phone has rung twice in the same morning), at which point I'd decided to push Ella around Centennial Park for convalescence and fresh air; that's her convalescing and me needing the fresh air - a touch of the gastro being no Glade Plug-in.

Alas, Kate didn't want to be friends either, didn't even want to chance walking alongside us in the park in case Bradley caught the lurgy, so pity all those joggers and mums with jogger strollers who brushed past us because they're probably hanging over their toilets as I type (and speaking of mothers with jogger strollers, has nobody told them how daft they look jogging with a pram?).

Anyway, we did an hour circuit of the park on our own, past the pond with the resident pelicans and black swans. Ella was on recovery setting all the way around, a setting I've never seen before, one where she sits quietly in the stroller while I point out lillipads and cockatoos, one without the usual fight over her wanting to get out of the pushchair but not really wanting to walk. One without any whining.

I like the recovery setting a lot, but I don't think it's set to last much longer.