I feel v poorly today. Dear heart has gone back to work for a half day, so I am sitting on my own feeling desperately poorly. Obviously not too poorly to type.
Poor little bear has had some time drawing and colouring and now I have put him up in his room. Poor lad, in a warm, safe room (no witch hazel!) with plenty of toys and books. And what sounds like a vivid imagination and a cast of thousands. He is shrieking and laughing and I am wondering if he has a feather in his nappy.
Poor little mite is shut up there because that is what I can cope with. Soon I shall go and make sandwiches for lunch and then go and change him, dress him and stagger down the road to nursery. Dear heart can pick him up.
I feel really bad that little bear is confined to quarters, but as he is having a marvellous time from the sound of it and it is all that I can cope with, I am letting it be.
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