Sparky is sick. He went to bed last night with a bit of a hitch in his breath, and woke up at three AM with a full-blown asthma attack. We were all up for two hours until he finally got back to sleep after having a fit at the mask and inhaler, then struggling against the rhythm of his breath. When we all got up this morning it was evident that an impending chest cold had triggered the asthma. It’s kind of like an early-warning thing. He’s currently coughing through his nap.

Counting back I figured that someone had a cold at Sunday’s birthday party, and after thinking about it I know which one it was, which is rather argh-inducing. I’ve kept Liam home from several parties because he’s had a cold. I keep him home if he has anything more than a runny nose, out of concern for the well-being of other kids. I get frustrated when other parents don’t show us the same courtesy.

When he’s up again we’ll head to pharmacy for a refill of his asthma meds, as they expired a couple of months ago and I didn’t know until I pulled them out last night. (Indirectly, this is a good thing: it means he doesn’t use them more than once or twice a year.) And of course I’m worried that they won’t refill them, despite the number of remaining renewals indicated on the scrips, because it’s been a couple of years. If they don’t I’ll call our GP and get her to call the pharmacy instead. It’ll just delay things by a day or so.

He’s cheerful and perky, as usual, except when we bring out the mask and the inhaler. I wish I was that perky when I’m sick.