Good afternoon everybody.
I'm sorry that it's been so long and I must also apologise that my last visit to MN was such a moany, grumpy one. I seemed to descend into some kind of hellish alternate dimension where M turned from a happy, chilled-out and chubby little smiler into a grizzly, angry and ill screamer. It was the sore throat that was the worst. She screamed whilst trying to feed and sounded hoarse and scratchy. The steroids quickly sorted out the croup side of the virus but it took a good two weeks for her to start to come out of the other side of the rest of the symptoms. She's still a bit under the weather but improving. The postie turned up this morning with the parcel AM- I ripped it out of his hands and ran up the stairs screeching, 'It's here, the drugs have arrived, DH, we have drugs'. Poor old postie climbed back on his little pushbike and pedaled off as fast as his (quite hot) little legs would carry him. Mathilda is currently crashed out on the sofa and has been for about 90 minutes. I feel much better (eyeing up the Medised though), but have a bad and disgustingly productive chest infection.
The virus seems to have coincided with some difficult developmental changes chez SOH. The Tank is becoming exceedingly frustrated in her immobility. She can pivot 360 degrees when lying on the floor- sort of walks round with her legs, using her head as a balancing point but can't work out how to get off this endless plane- cue much frustrated screaming. She seems desperate to be up and moving but her body can't support it- yesterday she was banging her head and arms on the floor in frustration after not being able to shuffle through the sofa, an obstacle in her quest across the sitting room.
I've completely lost my ability to make a decision over her now too. Especially where weaning is concerned I go back and forth as to whether I should be starting her. I see what I think are signs and then start putting it down to the virus. Is she interested in our food? Yes, but she's interested in DH idly scratching his nethers. She just watches everything and yes, she tries to put our food in her mouth, along with my hairbrush, a book, nail clippers, the cat, her own leg etc. She is up every hour in the night feeding which is the biggest thing I suppose but she is less interested in feeding during the day- only every 2-3hrs which is far less than her usual 1.5-2hrs during the day. I keep wondering if she's compensating or maybe she's just recovering from the virus (and on and on ad infinitum). The main problem is the fact that everything says 'wait for 6 months' and includes a perfuntory 'if you must wean after 17 weeks and before 26 then keep it bland you failure'. It just seems to read as 'if you're doing it early it's only for your own sake and your child will end up obese and stupid but you make your own decision'. Gawd I wish I was better at shunning authority.
Other changes are- she can sit unsupported and looks so grown up doing it- can even stop herself falling sideways using the appropriate arm and she can get from sitting unsupported to on her stomach and shuffling along looking for treasure. I haven't entirely decided if the sitting unsupported is a skill or just her weight meaning that she's very grounded in any position. I've also discovered that she likes being thrown in the air and caught more than she likes anything in the world atm. Not so good for my poor ol' chest but it cheers her right up.
I'm glad the last two weeks are over. I don't mean to wish any of my or Mathilda's life away but it shook me to my very core seeing her so poorly and hooked up to wires and nebulisers in the hospital. I did realise sitting there in the children's ward that it's always going to be this way- constant worry. I (nosily) listened to all of the other children being checked over and it hit me that it's not going to be our last visit full of worry. I spotted small blonde child with pea up nose, boy pushed out of tree by jealous sister, urchin with fingers glued to other fingers and far more frightening asthma attacks, fits and broken bones. I watched countless parents being all up and jolly trying to reassure upset children and then every single one of them would leave the cubicle, get round the corner and sag tearfully onto their spouses under the weight of it. What a responsibility. I have spent the past two weeks feeling wholly underqualified to reassure the Tank who just kept gazing tearfully up at me expecting me to fix it all for her. I remember my parents being heroes and never for a moment thought that they might feel as inadequate as I have done recently.
Ooh she's waking up, banging a rattle on the sofa and shouting 'aiaaaiieeeeaaaiiieieeeaaa' like a creaky gate...
Will be back hopefully.