It’s now been around a month since the latest hunger strike began. He eats small amounts, but not enough and mainly only smooth, sweet things. I make a meal, he refuses to eat it. So I make another meal and he refuses that too. By the time I’ve made porridge or weetabix P and E’s dinners are ready so they eat with L and mine goes in the bin! The plus side to this is that my clothes are now all hanging off me and there is definitely not on ounce of baby weight left… but I’m ill now and I can’t seem to shake this cold. I NEVER get colds!!! So, the hunger strike. He ate like a trooper thursday and friday (at nursery) and we were told not to worry if he wasn’t hungry for dinner as he had eaten so much. But by last night (sunday) he still wasn’t hungry. Oh. Apart from the jar he ate at P’s mums…. so now we are totally either doing something wrong or inventing all of this again. No wonder he is always full of a cold or tonsiltis!!
Today he has eaten very little again but he is so happy. He’s such a beauitful little boy and on days like these I love him so much.
We started out with a happy surprise and from the moment my daughter was born, I became someone else. Her birth wasn’t particularly straightforward but it was an event that ultimately ended in the presentation of the most beautiful girl in the world. When they made the first incision and began to dig around inside me, I never imagined what on earth they would pull out. I never knew it could be so good! They pulled her head out first and rested it on my body. I remember thinking, ‘she feels like a kitten!’ and then before I knew it her whole body was free and kicking in the harshly bright lights of the operating theatre. There were exclamations of, ‘It’s a girl!’- we already knew that!- and peels of affectionate laughter as our daughter took her first wee all over the midwife. She was washed and wrapped in a gaudy yellow hospital blanket, then handed to P to be cuddled whilst they stitched me up. I couldn’t take my eyes off her! I produced this wonderful, amazing, terrifying creature!
Straight away, her eyes crinkled and her now infamous bottom lip trembled as she prepared herself to protest her indignation at being ripped from her warm, cosy home. She’d been induced at two weeks past my due date and obviously had reservations about this, becoming distressed at the doctors insistence that she no longer had a place inside my womb. So the emergency section had been the ultimate price to pay but I swore then that it was nothing- I would do it all again tomorrow for something as precious as this!
So my daughter screamed and cried and felt all the pain I did not as they stitched me and closed up her safe haven once and for all. Her cries were tiny yet they inprinted on my soul and I began to feel helpless, lying there, unable to soothe her. Then, seemingly suddenly, they finished and- joy, oh joy!- they handed her to me. And then. And then… she stopped crying. She looked at me and her eyes locked with mine and then all of a sudden I was falling. I finally understood the phrase love at first sight, a phrase I had always found to be soppy and unrealistic.
Some years later, whilst pregnant with my son, I recalled this moment during a conversation with my sister in law and her response was the only response another mother could give. She bent down low and kissed my daughter on the top of her shiny head- just for being her.
So my daughter’s birth was termed as an emergency and I was helpfully reminded by an extremely sour faced midwife the next day that: she and I had almost died. Why? What had happened? All the pain and the fear and the terror of the previous day had dissipated and I was here, now, with my baby and my life complete. So, I nearly died, nearly lost my baby… but I didn’t. I raised my chin and I took her home. Home.
Before I start, I really want to emphasise the point that in no way do I believe my second child to be ‘difficult’. If my son reads this one day: I love you. You know that. Maybe one day you will have children of your own and maybe one day you will then understand the title yourself. You are not difficult. IT was difficult.
I am liking the use of the word ‘was’… but that is a direct comment to my son, who at this moment is only ten months old. At this moment, he is sleeping gently in his bed, probably dreaming of his toys, his sister, maybe mummy, probably daddy… maybe anything else that his small world allows. ‘Was’ isn’t a word I can use just yet… it’s not the past yet, it’s now. And now is, at times, difficult. And to my son once more: I’m writing this because I need to remember and I need to explain. I don’t want to forget this intensely important time in our lives… I want to learn from this. Maybe already you understand?
So. He’s not difficult, as such. I mean, he is a more spirited baby than his sister was- and that was certainly a surprise, given her spirited nature! Unfortunately, things that happened when my son was born- and maybe even before he was born or even conceived- eventually conspired against us and left us reeling a little bit. This is the story of what happened and what we did. In light of this rather confused explanation:
My son is not difficult but having him was, in so many ways.
So this is the wonderful world of blogging. I don’t actually know why I have set up this account, accept for the fact that it was recommended to me and I am currently trying to avoid real work. SO, here I am. I guess this will be my chance to try and work things out in my head and to finally get THAT project started… wish me luck!