A few weeks ago Missy started developing a spotty rash. It wasn't because I hadn't been washing her or that I'd been feeding her peanuts; she had chicken pox.
Kids are always getting strange and unusual rashes so it was with a degree of skepticism that we kept her and The A-Bomb home from nursery, after all it wouldn't have been the first time I'd made a misdiagnosis.
Missy did have chicken pox and returned to nursery the following week. But the wait for the others' spots to appear dragged on. When they eventually arrived it was with celebration– at least now we knew they really were the contagious disease carriers that we'd been treating them like.
The A-Bomb was especially pleased to be able to follow in the ways of his sister. The boy who makes everything into a competition wasn't about to make chicken pox the exception.
It turns out there's more to chicken pox than a few spots (unless your Missy). The poor chap had a sore tummy, threw up, and stopped eating for a couple of days. Thankfully his cheeks were substantial enough to sustain him through this hard time.