All fright on the night

It has been one of those weeks this week. Mummy and daddy spent their Valentine's Day morning in the children's A&E department after George's temperature rose to 38.7 and even though the Calpol kept it in check to some extent, we wanted to be sure it was nothing serious.

The nurse took down some notes about his weight, pulse and temperature, etc, before giving us a little cup and asking us to collect a urine sample. So – into a cubicle, off with the nappy and while mummy filled up George with the bottle at one end, daddy stood at the ready with the little cup at the other end.

Soon the paediatrician arrived and after checking his ears, throat and lungs – while we distracted him with the warm milk – said a urine sample wouldn't be necessary – phew. Anyway, it seems that on top of George's teething, he has a little virus that contributed to the rise in his temperature and his lungs, ears and throat are all fine and dandy.

Back home, we're feeling a lot more relieved, even if George isn't. He's not his usual happy self and it's sometimes a little difficult to distract him from the pain in his sore gums – even by showing him his first Valentine's card from his great aunty and uncle in Canada. Bedtime is perhaps the most noticeably awkward time. He has taken to waking more frequently and then it's harder to settle him – and there's only so much Bonjella a child can take (or is allowed).

He has also started to roll over in his sleep and move around the cot somewhat – which is a bit of a worry – so we've set up the movement sensor on the baby monitor. The other night it went off and mummy and daddy, hearts pounding, raced in to check on him (false alarm, as he'd shifted himself into the corner of the cot and away from the sensor pad). We didn't get to sleep for quite a while after that, but happily, George slept through the whole thing.

Because of his sore gums we've been extra careful when trying to get George off to sleep and, though he may be able to sleep through car alarms, fireworks and other unplanned noises, it's the moments just as he nods off that are the most precarious. Daddy managed to rock him to sleep in his nursery the other night only to realise that George was the "wrong way round". To lay him in his cot the right way meant either having to swap arms or rearrange the furniture – and it was very tempting to call for mummy via the monitor to get her to shift the cot and the chest of drawers.