Most of my weekend activity took place on Friday night and Saturday, when I felt relatively fine - well, better than my sick day on Thursday. I was back at work on Friday and out and about on Friday evening, all day Saturday and on Sunday morning. Then by Sunday evening I was coughing and retching and feeling wretched again.
I spent all of today at home in bed, alternating between sleeping and watching Buffy, only dragging myself out of the bedroom to heat up milk or Heinz tomato soup. I couldn't even switch on the computer until now, thus feeling especially guilty for not being able to compensate for not being at work by checking work emails.
I have enormous amounts of energy and rarely get colds and when I get even the hint of one I beat it down with paracetamol and megadoses of vitamin C. With a baby inside to think about, I'm now even afraid to take a decongestant. I know there are things I can take while pregnant, but it's simply too much effort to seek them out.
Apparently colds last longer during pregnancy, perhaps because the immune system slows down to protect the baby - a foreign object - from immunological rejection. So, for the sake of my baby, I have to suffer. Something tells me that, as a mother, it will always be like this from now on (suffering for the sake of the children).
Some good news today though - it looks like the guy whose house we are buying has finally sorted out the complications around the flat he wants to buy and the chain we're in can finally move again. His solicitors tell us we should exchange before the month is out. I'm holding my breath and crossing all fingers and toes.