Sleepless Nights

Author: Veronica

  • I fell off my chair, but it’s OKAY, because I am OKAY. My baby however, well, hmmmm.

    Two days ago I sat down on my computer chair and leaned backwards, sinking further than normal. Thinking that it felt odd, I got off the chair and looked to see if for some reason, it was bent, or crooked, or somehow or other, new. Not noticing anything, I sat back down, leaned back and suddenly found myself laying flat on my back, legs akimbo, looking at the ceiling.

    You know there is something wrong with your chair when your vertical self suddenly becomes horizontal when you least expect it.

    Obviously I am okay, except that Amy laughed at me and then wasn’t much help when I had to contort myself into strange positions to get out of my predicament. Now I’ve had to steal my husband’s chair and it feels all wrong. It doesn’t tilt quite the way I like it and I’m left bundled up in the centre of the thing, trying to work out how to type quickly and easily, while also not getting stuck like a large spider in a too small space.

    All of this is very First World Problems, which I know and understand, but I’m distracting myself from the week that was, and thus, you get to hear about my computer chair.

    Plop. There I was, flat on my back, like I’d had a rug pulled out from under me.

    Thursday, in the moments after my grandmother’s funeral, we hurried ourselves off to a Paeds appointment for Evelyn.

    The short answer to “What happened, dear Veronica, tell us because we do love your baby so” is – we’re doing more testing.

    Digression: Evelyn, when she was a vaguely preterm baby stuck in special care, bled beautifully, provided it was only a heelprick that we needed. Since then, she’s had plenty of cannulas and assorted other needle pokes and I am convinced that my baby does not actually want to part with her blood. And who can blame her really? Having needles poked into you is miserable enough without the blasted nurses then stealing the blood like vampires and taking them away. No. If I was Evelyn, I wouldn’t want to bleed either. But bleed she must and between you and me, Internet, I am dreading the next time we head into the hospital. End digression.

    We’re now testing for neuromuscular diseases, because her tongue tremor is uncommon and concerning and Things Need To Be Ruled Out. Evelyn is also going to have another EEG, which is going to be Fantastic Fun when this child does not find things being placed on her head and stuck there with tape at all amusing. Also: Hair.

    Needs must and all that, and in the middle of it all, I am stuck sitting on a computer chair that I Do Not Like and this is the end of the world.

    Because when you’ve spent too much time reading about Neuromuscular Diseases, then obsessing over your chair just makes more sense than anything else.

    Now excuse me. I have to go hug my baby.

  • I am the super cat catching woman. You may call me Kitten Whisperer

    When I told Nathan we were getting not one, but two kittens, he was exasperated with me. Grumpy as well. I promised him that he wouldn’t have to clean up any kitten accidents and Amy and I would take care of the kitty litter. He rolled his eyes and refused to talk about kittens anymore. Then our kittens came home and he came to terms with them quite quickly. He’s a giant softy, really, despite his grumbling exterior.

    Rosie and Alley have settled in beautifully and Nathan has stopped grumbling about them, which is nice, frankly.

    This morning, as Nathan left to take Amy to school, I took Evelyn back to bed. Two minutes later, Nathan was home and worried. He’d seen a little grey kitten dart across the road in front of his car and was Alley inside and safe?

    Yes, yes she was. Fast asleep on the couch, in fact.

    But there was a grey kitten hiding in the hawthorn bushes in the corner of the paddock bordering our property. I followed him outside, and sure enough, there it was. Grey and skinny, the little kitten hid under the bushes, looking terrified. Nathan left, telling me ‘good luck with that.’

    Five minutes later, I’d lost the kitten. Tangled in the bushes, I’d heard it dart through the fence, but hadn’t managed to see where it went. I gave up, feeling bad for the poor little thing, but figuring I could leave some food outside and see what happened.

    Evelyn was crying and not sleeping when I came back inside, so I spent ten minutes putting her down, then I headed back outside with cat food and the dog, Maisy. You’d think taking a dog on a walk to find a terrified kitten would be a stupid idea. You’d probably be right.

    Needless to say, I spent fifteen minutes walking around the hawthorn shaking the kitten food before Maisy got very interested in trail, presumably left by a kitten. She followed it to our chook shed and there it sat, cold and hissing at me. Moving closer, it panicked and tried to get into the roof of the shed, but found itself trapped.

    This was, of course, good news for me, as it spat and hissed and freaked out, ten feet from the ground, above a tangle of blackberries. With no where to go, I stood on top of an old nesting box, stripped off my long-sleeved t-shirt and caught the kitten.

    It fought. Oh Internet, it was terrified and it fought and hissed and scratched and bit. I had it by the scruff of the neck through my shirt though and a few moments later, it was bundled up tightly and unable to do much except shiver. It was cold and I could feel its ribs.

    So, like any normal person, I brought it inside, just as Nathan got home. He hadn’t expected me to be able to catch it, but I am the woman who caught a rabbit with her BARE HANDS and I am amazing.

    It’s sitting in a cat carrier in front of the fire now, looking discombobulated. I’m pretty sure it’s not a feral, because it didn’t freak out and hiss the moment it saw me in the hawthorn, and if it was feral, it ought to have been in a den somewhere, not walking through the wet grass and running across roads alone. Also it doesn’t seem nearly freaked enough by the dog to be feral.

    I live on a highway and animals get dumped all the time. I think that’s what’s happened here. When I get Amy off the bus tonight I’ll ask the neighbours if anyone is missing a kitten, but if not, it looks like we might have a new family member.

    Poor little thing.

    dumped grey kitten

  • Farewell Kathleen

    My great-grandmother passed away early yesterday morning after a short illness. She will be dearly missed.

    Nan and Evelyn

    Go in peace Nan.

     

  • I am worried about this baby.

    This morning, I put Evelyn down for her nap and when, five minutes later, she complained loudly about having to fall asleep, I picked her back up again. I tucked her under my chin and we paced the floor, snuggled together, while I listened to Neil Gaiman talk.

    She snuffled my neck and wound her fingers into the tufts of hair behind my ears, tugging gently.

    The talk finished and I put Evelyn down, patting her gently. She fell asleep and I was left looking at her. Baby soft cheeks and milky smell and I am so worried about her.

    She has no depth perception, you see. She flinches when we walk in front of her, or we wave our arms, or something moves. She can’t judge where that thing she wants to grab is. Every new thing I notice is like a check mark against her; against the possibility of normality.

    Last night, I rubbed her tummy while she fell asleep, feeling so lucky to have her. I watched her while she seized and seized and seized, thinking that if we end up having to go to hospital every time she seizes for longer than five minutes, I’m never going to spend any time at home.

    Her tongue trembles, and she holds the tip of it arched up to the roof of her mouth. Her gross motor skills aren’t improving. She still has head lag when I pull her to sitting. Her shoulder joints slide around under my hands.

    I worry about her, because no one know what is going on.

    And yet – when I leave the room, she cries. She is amused by kisses. She watches her siblings avidly. She soaks everything in like a sponge. Her mouth moves in response when I talk to her. Cognitively, she seems very much like an almost nine month old baby, even if physically she can’t master anything she’s meant to be doing.

    I like facts. I like to know what is going to happen. I like plans and progress and an idea in my head. I like these things because they give structure to my unbridled imagination that is always darker than my reality is likely to be. Because if someone says unequivocally “Your baby has X” then I know what X means and I can stop waking up at 3am, worried that she is dying.

    This is what it means to be waiting and seeing. It means I pace the floor with my baby, listening to Neil Gaiman talk about throwing things to the wind like dandelion seeds, while I try to impress the smell of my child into my brain, just in case.

    Because like he says, no one knows what will happen. No one knows where an idea will land.

    And sometimes, that is the scariest thing of all.

  • Kittens and babies: mix well, add seasoning.

    You’d think that Evelyn being able to catch a kitten would be a sign of her growing mobility. Actually, it’s a sign of the stupidity of kittens when it comes to small children and babies. Alley, the tabby kitten, lies underneath Evelyn’s bouncer, seemingly content in her safety. She might be right for all we know, as Evelyn rolls towards her, chubby fingers grasping for a kitten tail.

    With a flick, Alley removes her tail from Evelyn’s grasp, right as Evelyn topples over in the wrong direction, to be distracted by a sock monkey.

    Small moments in my day. A sleepy teasing kitten and a grappling baby who desires more than she can have.

    I rescue the baby and snuggle behind her ears, breathing in soft milky smell. Babies are delicious. She clamours in my ears, simultaneously wanting all my attention, but also wanting to get down and eat the cat.

    I’m an obliging mother. I put her next to the kitten, who submits to the ear grabbing and head chewing.

    Before I know it, the kitten is asleep and the baby is distracted again, grumpily rolling herself in a new direction, intent upon destruction; a book abandoned upon the floor.

    Baby and kitten