For three days, The Baby has been very poorly with a chest infection. She has laid on the sofa wheezing, with no energy, coughing up foul gunge from time to time.

Naturally, Mummy persuaded Daddy the chest infection was because Mummy had not purchased a beautiful little coat she saw that was deemed too expensive and unnecessary (owing to the many coats and snowsuits The Baby already owns) and has used The Baby’s illness to procure said coat. Result.

But for three days, the Poorly One has managed little more than lifting her head from Mummy’s chest to cough more directly in her face, and has been laid up watching episodes of The (bloody irritating) Wiggles back to back from dawn ’til dusk.

Now The Baby is better, and such activity is no longer required. Rebel Baby does not accept this: she has assumed her seat on the sofa and is waiting expectantly for her beloved Wiggles to appear.

The screen remains blank.

The brow becomes increasingly furrowed.

“No,” says Mummy. “We don’t need The Wiggles today. You are better!”

Rebel Baby is confused. The Wiggles are her friends.

She is waiting. It’s been some time already but she will hold out.

It’s going to be a long wait…

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