Little puff

Our Jamie has had it hard, to be fair.

I'm sitting here, tapping out rubbish, and just a few feet away the little man is coughing away in his sleep.

Yet again, he has a heavy cold - no more, no less. But it's about his tenth cold in eight and a bit months and it's not exactly fun for him.

Vanessa took him to see his crap GP again yesterday who sent him home with an inhaler. There is genuinely no indication that he will develop asthma -apparently you can't really tell until they're two in any case - but she hasn't a clue what she's doing so she thought she'd prescribe it anyway.

I am biased against her based on personal experience: twice I've been to see her myself, twice I've suggested what I thought was wrong - aside from the obvious - and twice she's joylessly written out a prescription without as much as looking up never mind check me out. Exactly the same thing happened the one time I took Jamie to see her, although Jamie was too shy to describe his symptoms and asked me to do it for him. OK, I made that last bit up.

We keep being told - not by the crap GP who's not arsed but by others - that everything should stabilise once his teeth start to come through but, the way things are going, I reckon he'll never have teeth and will always have a mouth like Metal Mickey.

Here's hoping I'm wrong.