The poor babe got her first cold, days shy of turning three weeks old, and she’s miserable.  Or, I suppose, it’s me who’s miserable, looking at and listening to her.  To be honest, she doesn’t seem much fazed by it, not yet having the life experience to make judgments such as “sick equals bad.”  Other than sleeping more than normal–and really, how much difference is there between eighteen hours a day and twenty hours a day–she’s going along the same as ever.

The rest of us are sick, too, and unfortunately not as oblivious to it as little Brynja appears to be.  Petra, in particular, is feeling the effects, and it’s wearing on us all.  Since getting the stomach flu week before last and moving straight from that to a nasty head cold, she’s turned into a little monster we hardly recognize.  I think feeling bad has kicked her terrible two-ness into high gear.  She screams and cries and hits and kicks and rolls around on the floor in full-on temper tantrums.  She’s more or less stopped sleeping through the night, treating us instead to long, painful scream-fests in the wee hours, during which she refuses absolutely to be consoled.  We’ve quite nearly reached our wits’ end, and just want our sweet little girl back.