I got up early this morning. It was 4.30 am when I took my stuffed-up head and padded out to the kitchen in search of tea and medicine.
Three fluffy cat bodies weaved around my legs as I shivered my way over the cold floor tiles towards the kettle. I ignored the cats' persistent mews for an early breakfast while I waited for the water to boil. Then, with tea in hand, I turned off the light and felt my way back to bed.
It was late when I woke up the second time. Sophie came to visit me.
"You're still in bed, Mum!"
"I was tired..."
"You're not well. You need to rest. No need to get up. I'll get you some breakfast."
She had a delighted smile on her face as she left my bedroom. She likes helping me. When I let her. Yes, I'm one of those annoying people who keep on going even when they don't need to. I'm not an easy person to look after. I especially don't like lying late in bed.
But this morning, I did what I was told. I lingered under my thick quilt, ate hot creamy porridge, sipped more tea and crunched up a couple of paracetamol tablets. Yes, I let Sophie help me, and I enjoyed it.
There was a second reason I lingered in bed: I didn't want to face my wardrobe. It's looking rather empty at the moment. All my knitwear appears to be in the washing pile. I really must do something about that. When I'm better.
It's good to let people help us, isn't it? It makes it easier for them, in their turn, to accept our help. So if anyone wants to help me wash my clothes, do you think I should let them?
Image: There's a whippet in the bed! by Lachlan Hardy, (CC BY 2.0)