We decided it was time to attempt another Sunday Outing. We were headed for the park, so that Maia could run around and get some air in her lungs and some bounce in her legs. However, as soon as she got in the car, she fell asleep. She has a bit of a cold, so we were alerted to her sonambulent state by her gentle snores. Or earth-rattling groundshakers, more accurately.
So, we went for a drive instead. Through Bakewell (home of the tarts) but we could hardly see the scenery for all the wax jackets. We decided to stop off at a country bookstore that turned out to have far more in stock than horse manuals, Jilly Cooper novels and Dick Francis compendiums. A cool little tea shop (extra 'pe' optional) fed us a very nice sort-of-sausage roll, cake, gingerbread men and a pot of tea and then we set off home, fed, watered and content.
Or so we thought. On the way back, 20 minutes from home, Maia started coughing. She has a very particular sort of cough that heralds a pluke, and sure enough, by the time I had screeched to the side of the road, she had managed to cover herself and the car seat in second-time around tea shoppe fayre. Ick.
As soon as we got home, we bathed a grizzly Maia, washed the car seat, cleared out the car and got sorted. She was pretty easy to put to bed that night, which is not a good sign for the week ahead. Man, sick babies are no fun!
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