Sleepless Nights

Blog

  • Suicide Hour

    Suicide hour: That hour as you’re busy cooking dinner, the children are hungry and tired and no one seems able to do anything on their own without help.

    It normally involves frequent whining, a couple of tantrums and an urge to throw yourself off a bridge. Or time out everybody while you finish cooking. Or time out yourself and let everyone else fend for themselves.

    Also known as Arsenic Hour, The Witching Hour and Please Everyone, Just Go Away and Let Me Cook Dinner Alone Hour.

    ****

    Both children are at my feet, screaming at me. Amy is tugging on my top, asking for a glass of milk and Isaac is wailing at my feet, clutching my pant leg.

    It’s dinnertime and I just had to hop into the lounge room to settle a dispute.

    Amy, no, you play with this toy. That one is Isaac’s. Isaac, here you go.

    Unfortunately, my presence has alerted him to the fact that he is hungry and tired. He clutches me, wailing, while I try to make it back to the kitchen. I can smell things starting to burn.

    Isaac! I grump – Sit here! Right, now play with your toys.

    Amy! Give him BACK his bottle. You’re a big girl, you don’t need a bottle.

    But I neeeeda bottle, she wails.

    No, you don’t.

    I make it to the kitchen before the wailing begins again. My head is going to explode, I can feel it. Glancing at the clock I mentally count minutes until I can feed everyone and start putting them to bed.

    Nathan makes his way to the lounge room, ostensibly to give me a hand. Neither of the children want Daddy though, and they remain at the kitchen gate, wailing for me. My stress levels rise as I run the stick blender through the pasta sauce and drain pasta. I only just caught it in time, gluten free pasta won’t stand for overcooking. I’m pretty sure no one wanted to eat pasta mush with their tomato sauce.

    I start dishing up as the wails get louder. I’m getting frustrated now, how hard is it to entertain the baby for 5 minutes while I dish up dinner? Amy screams about an imagined slight and I have to remind myself to breathe deep and ignore it for now.

    I mentally take myself to my happy place, only somehow, my happy place has been infiltrated by tiny short screaming people and it’s looking less like a happy place and more like hell with every passing moment.

    The house has been trashed in just one short hour. Toys are everywhere and I’m fairly sure I just fractured something as I dodged a thrown baby bottle and stubbed my toe on the cupboard.

    I manage to keep the swearing to an under my breath mutter and slowly, I get the pasta dished up and sauce allocated.

    The baby sits on the floor, pasta and cheese in a bowl in front of him. He spreads it out in a giant circle around him before starting to eat. I ignore it, wishing, yet again that he would submit to the highchair.

    Amy sits at the table for 2 mouthfuls before needing a glass of water/the potty/to bother her brother. Still trying to grate cheese over my own dinner, I get her fixed and heading back to the table.

    It’s a useless effort of course, because as soon as I sit down, my dinner becomes The Most Interesting and Tasty and both children end up sitting at my feet, begging for mouthfuls of now gone cold pasta.

    Sighing, I give up on getting to eat unbothered and share my dinner, wishing I could get away with hiding in the bathroom to eat.

    Slowly we finish my dinner and I start to get the mess Isaac made cleaned up. My favourite method of cleaning just involves letting the cats inside, but as Isaac still looks hungry, I pick up the pasta from the tablecloth he was sitting on and pop it back into his bowl. He, of course, spreads it back out in a circle again.

    I give up.

    As I head to the kitchen to dump the plates and open the door for the cats, Isaac notices Daddy. He’s eating dinner relatively unphased  by the circus surrounding him. Isaac hauls himself to standing and stays there, holding onto Nathan’s legs with his mouth open like a baby bird. Amy notices and climbs up, to sit next to her father as well.

    Reluctantly, he shares out his dinner as well, even as his eyes plead with me to rescue him. I look at him, trying to keep a straight face, but I can’t.

    Please? He says.

    Sorry honey, I’ve uh, got to go outside and uh, do something.

    Smiling now, I disappear outside for 5 minutes to get my head back together before the bedtime circus begins.

    God knows I need to after all that.

  • YAY! I’m Thrilled

    The 2010 Bloggie finalists were announced yesterday.

    I had been pressing refresh on the page all day, waiting for the results to appear. Eventually they did and as soon as I saw the results of the Best Australian category, I was on the phone to Mum, squeeing in delight.

    You see, her blog,  Frog Ponds Rock is a finalist. I am over the freaking moon for her.

    Quickly we scrolled through the rest of the categories, looking for my other blog, but alas, I’m not a finalist this year (I was last year though, and still, squee!).

    You know what though? I’m not diappointed in the slightest. I am so thrilled to see Mum a finalist that I don’t care I’m not there. Not at all.

    In fact, I am positively delighted that she doesn’t have to share the spotlight.

    So please, if you’re so inclined, I would love if you would vote for her. As we figure it, the voting contains such huge numbers that she has as much chance as the other four nominations.

    My other Bloggie picks for votes will be Violence Unsilenced for Best Community Weblog and The Bloggess for Best Writing and Best Humour. You can vote for them as well if you like.

  • Bedtime never goes how I want it to.

    It’s bedtime.

    However, I still have one child sitting at my feet eating steamed carrots and the other child, well she is laying in bed, screeching her demands. It’s a good thing she doesn’t have any hostages in there, as the situation is escalating.

    I NEEEEED an APPPLE!

    No. You don’t. It’s bedtime.

    I walk away again, before the next demand comes.

    MUMMMEEEE! I lost my DRINK!

    Back down the hallway I go, to point out to her that her drink is still next to her pillow.

    But I need cordial and water!

    Not for bedtime. For bedtime you get water.

    OOOOOOH.

    And the meltdown begins. Again.

    I can hear her now, demands silenced in the face of my No. Go to sleep. attitude, playing with the toys. It’s meant to be bedtime, but Amy is Three! and Three! doesn’t cave to the demands of sleep and how your body is tired. Not tonight.

    Isaac is crawling around, a late nap in the car has stuffed his bedtime up. As much as he enjoys playing, for him, it’s suicide hour and I’m not sure if my legs will survive anymore biting. We won’t talk about my nipples.

    I chase him around the lounge room, trying to change his bum. The little bugger is getting faster and he giggles as I pin him down. Until he realises that I am putting a nappy back on him and then he fights me, like I’m trying to murder him.

    Stop that! You need a nappy on.

    AIEIEIEIIEEEE.

    He twists and turns and it’s like wrestling an octopus.

    An octopus that someone has covered in oil.

    He’s faster, but I’m bigger and stronger and I confuse him with kisses for the 10 seconds it takes to get the nappy done up.

    Exhausted, I let him run away to play.

    It’s almost his bedtime, and today, almost mine as well.

    I love my children, so very much. But my favourite part of the day? That comes when they’re both tucked up in bed, asleep and I can breathe again, without any short and loud people throwing themselves at my front in a huff.

    I like the evenings.

  • Happy Birthday Isaac!

    Dear Isaac,

    It’s been a huge year little boy. You spent your first few weeks in a sling, coming with me to doctors appointments. Your great-grandmother had cancer and we were part of her support team. She was in hospital when you were five months old. We sat there, waiting to speak to the doctor when you began to scream. And scream and scream. You got to spend a night in hospital that night. We still don’t know why you screamed, although I have suspicions.

    Nan died a few days after your hospital admission. You were in the room with us when it happened, fast asleep in your pram. I’m grateful for that, that you were sleeping.

    You had a seizure when you were 6 months old. We spent yet another day in Emergency with you, only to be sent home. Luckily you haven’t had another one. The six months since then have been a whirlwind of doctors appointments, geneticists, tests and more tests. You’ve been diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos Syndrome and been poked and prodded and shown to students.

    You’re my happy boy, always smiling. You’re a bit grumpy this morning, but that is what you get when  you spend most of the night awake. You’re still smiling, you just want to be doing it from the safety of my arms.

    You still don’t sleep through the night, or sleep much at all actually. I’m going to blame genetics for that, your sister didn’t sleep either and neither did I. Or your grandfather for that matter. It could be the Ehlers Danlos; actually it’s highly likely it is, but we’ll never know as you can’t tell me.

    You crawl so fast, especially when you think you’re missing out on something fun, or food. You like nothing better than launching yourself at your sister, only to have her scream ‘Isaac is going to GET ME!’. You giggle and I have to rescue her, as you try to pull her hair, or squash her flat. She’s not very rough and tumble and yet, you are.You don’t walk yet, although we’ve had moments when you’ve forgotten to hold onto anything and stood by yourself for a few moments. I’m not worried about the lack of walking, not at all. With your bendy bits, walking is too hard for you right now. You will do it when your legs and body are ready and that is fine.

    Isaac, we’ve got an interesting road ahead of us as you get older. I’m not looking forward to seeing how the EDS manifests in you and your sister. I spend a lot of time hoping that you’ll only ever have a mild hypermobility, but then, I’ve seen your skin tear and I may be kidding myself.

    When it comes to food you are SO there. Any and all food, you don’t care, so long as you can feed it to yourself. You’re gluten free like your sister, as gluten causes you terrible eczema. You’re off to have (genetic) blood tests for coeliacs tomorrow and I suspect that is going to be great fun, pinning you down for a needle.

    Your favourite things are wheels and buttons, although I suspect boobs come in very close. We’re slowly weaning, cutting out feeds left right and centre. I wouldn’t be so adamant that we needed to wean if you didn’t keep biting me. Biting is not pleasant. Laughing when I tell you no, even less so.

    You’re getting so big and I’m not entirely sure where the time has gone. It passed in a haze of appointments and grief and busyness. It’s been a hard year this year and it’s still hard. You’re always ready with a snuggle and a hug though and for that I am grateful.

    Happy Birthday baby boy. You’re my handsome boy, my beautiful happy child. I love you more than life itself and I would do anything for you, even when you do bite my nipple and stay awake all night.

    Isaac - First Birthday

  • I want…

    I want to run myself a bath.

    Slip under the water and feel it swirl around me.

    I want to lay there, in the warmth and day dream, imaginary conversations between me and people I’ll never meet. I want to let my imagination run wild and emerge, warmed through and ready to write something, anything.

    But, it’s the middle of the day and Isaac has just woken from a nap. Amy is asking for food and Isaac is laughing at me.

    There is no peace, not for baths. Not for daydreaming or imaginary conversations.

    ***

    Everyone is talking about Haiti.

    And I want to ignore it.

    Because after getting emotionally involved with Black Saturday, with Hurricane Katrina, with the Tsunamis, with everything, I just can’t.

    It comes on the news and I purposely zone out.

    I can’t think about it, I just can’t.

    I need to protect my emotional integrity, in order to have enough for myself.

    I can’t take on board the suffering of hundreds of thousands of strangers.

    Not this time.

    ***

    It’s been almost 7 months since Nan died and I miss her more every day.

    But it’s been 7 months and it’s harder to say that I miss her when I’m having a bad day.

    It’s not an excuse.

    It just is.

    It’s also the reason I can’t look too hard at the eyes of the Haiti victims.

    Because I need my emotions for myself.

    And I’m sorry.

    ***

    I thought I was over the bitterness that trying and failing to conceive brought out in me.

    I thought I had lanced that wound with the successful birth of a healthy baby boy, who seems to have made it unscathed to his first birthday (more on that tomorrow).

    I’m not though.

    The announcement of a pregnancy this last week, from a girl who I will say should not be pregnant again, has me bitter all over again.

    That poor child.

    The mother, and the baby to be.

    She sounds pleased about it.

    I can think of people who would better deserve a child.

    And I’m a bitch to think that, I know.

    Who am I to say that she shouldn’t have a baby? Who I am to judge?

    I’m no one.

    I don’t get a say.

    But I still think it.

    And I discovered, from this, that having trouble conceiving a baby leaves wounds.

    It leaves wounds, that while they might disappear under the surface, they never really heal.

    So I can safely say, that while I am happy now, I can still be bitter.

    I want to not be bitter.

    I want to read her pregnancy announcement and be simply happy for her and not terrified about what it means for everyone else. About what it means for a system already clogged with women like her, babies like hers.

    It’s a horrible thing to admit.

    ***

    I want to curl into a ball, and hibernate for a while. I want time to be sad, to be bitter, to ignore the world for a while.

    There is no time, not for me.

    Eventually.

    Maybe.

    I’ll be less busy.

    I’ll have more time.

    ***

    There will be a doctors appointment soon, where I discuss my panic attacks and hopefully, get something done about them.

    Because they’re crippling.

    And horrible.

    But I have a tendency to be matter of fact about things.

    And doctors don’t take matter of fact seriously.

    ‘Oh that? I just dislocated my shoulder. I’ll be okay.’

    ‘It’s just my knee. Hang on, I’ll put it right.’

    ‘Meh, it will be okay.’

    I want to say –

    I hurt and

    I keep panicking

    and I’m not sure it’s normal to wake up at 3am and not be able to breathe because you have something sitting on your chest.

    But meh.

    I’ll be okay.

    I just won’t look the Haiti victims in the eyes.

    At least,

    not until I’ve got my head back together.

    ***

    Isaac turns ONE tomorrow and I will certainly have a post celebrating that. We had a good day today, with my parents coming over to visit and gift him with a wooden train. It was a good afternoon. I’m just a little flat this evening.

    If you want to donate to Haiti you can click here to donate through the Red Cross. Just because I can’t watch them, doesn’t mean they don’t need helping.