We were heading to London on Sunday morning for a trip to Pulse trade show and, more importantly, to celebrate the second birthday of Natalie’s daughter. As we glide through Richmond a call comes through informing us that one of Milla’s chums has chicken pox. We all turn to look at her an there on her cheek are three rosy spots. Doom. A few hurried messages to other people who might be affected and agreement that best to stay away from the party.
Normally I would embrace Milla getting chicken pox out of the way but Monty is only three months old and I think it may be too soon for him. So instead of a morning in the park with Mr Kat and an afternoon at the party poor Milla had to endure hanging out at the trade show all afternoon. She wore it well.
This morning she wakes up with angry red spots on her face and arms. Crucially, not on her torso. Dates and spots don’t fit pox. Then they all fade only to reappear a few hours later. I decided to Google the symptoms which, I don’t need to tell you, was a big mistake. In the end I figured it out: heat rash. Duh.
Edit – UPDATE: not heat rash. Turned out to be a virus which three of her chums also had.