...because tomorrow Steve is 30. Ha, I've told him it's probably time to trade him in for a younger model.

I've unfortunately not done any of the things I wanted to for his birthday, because being a 'last moment' sort of person, I was going to sort it this week. But then Small Child got the pooey spewey thing that's going around, and now I've got it - was throwing up all Tuesday night, burning up on the sofa with intermittent crawls to the bathroom to pass watery foul=smelling crap all yesterday, and am now in the 'weak as a kitten' phase. All the while I've been having to look after a poorly little lad too.

Steve is surprisingly easy to be around when I am sick. I hate people being by me, but he doesn't mind my grumpy hiding away. He'll ask me if I need anything, and go on errands for Lucozade, and then he'll shut up and keep clear. He was annoyed I wouldn't cuddle him in bed tho, even though I explained that I didn't want him to catch anything, especially for his birthday. Woke up with him wrapped round me anyway.

So poor thing only has two cards and one present (from Small Child). Oh well, I might tell him I've written off his £500 debt to me. Not quite sure he deserves it though!

So for now it's back to fighting Small Child for the 'good' end of the sofa, and lolling around pathetically between pale-faced chores. Can't yet make it out of the house, which is worrying as Steve has tomorrow off for partying. I love to party, but I think I'll struggle right now.