When they were pretty young, both J and T got a rash that, we were reliably informed, could very well be chicken pox but who knows it’s hard to tell when they’re young. And so we went on, uncertain if they had been poxed or remained to be poxed, until shortly before Christmas, when T came down with a fever, and then broke out in spots. She refused to be photographed, or even seen in public, while they were at their peak, but this is what she looked like a few days later.
J, though, remained healthy, even though there had been pox swirling around their school for weeks. Could it be, we wondered, that he had indeed got away with a mild infant rash, rather than anything more troublesome when old enough to be properly conscious of things? Er, nope.
Two weeks later, to the day, it was J’s turn. The good news is that in both cases chickenpox involved three bad days, with the one in the middle being worse than the other two, and then a bit more whingeing a couple of days later when the spots start to heal over and become a bit itchy again. And now we know, for absolutely certain, that they’ve both been poxed. Which is one less thing to worry about in the future, I suppose.
