Sleepless Nights

Blog

  • I’m a little insane. But I like it.

    Who is doing your wedding cake?

    Well I’ve been meaning to talk to bakeries, but … Why? Would you like to make it?

    I was thinking about it this morning and well yes, I’d like to if you don’t have a bakery lined up.

    That would be lovely.

    It will be our wedding gift to you.

    Nathan’s brother and his girlfriend are getting married in three months and I just offered to bake and decorate their wedding cake for them.

    I’ve got three months to decide on flavours with the bride, bake and freeze 3 tiers of cake, source some cake boards, boxes and dowel, perfect my (already pretty good) buttercream recipe and go insane making sure everything is perfect.

    Not to mention all the cake recipe testing I will be doing in the meantime.

    Plenty of time.

    It’s going to be insane.

    It’s going to be great fun.

    I will be referring to this set of posts as often as I can (every day), paying lots of attention to the comments here.

    Not to mention, I will be photographing everything as I go and posting updates, that is, if you’re interested.

  • Dear Isaac

    Dear Isaac,

    Next time you need to poo, could you not do it while your nappy is off? Today is not the first time I’ve hastily grabbed baby wipes and cleaned you up, trying to make sure nothing went on the carpet. Today IS however, the first time you’ve been faster than me.

    Your sister would be proud.

    Today for lunch you had: a small breastfeed, half a cup of mashed peas, a whole mashed pear and a slice of bread. You ate it all. You are slowly losing interest in milk-as-food, preferring instead to eat solids like the rest of us. Milk is a quick snack, grabbed between meals, or a mouthful here and there to satisfy thirst.

    Except overnight of course. You drink more milk overnight than you do of a daytime. Thanks for that.

    You’ve only had 2 naps in the last ten hours. Each of those naps were 20 minutes long. That’s not enough sleep. Not that I don’t love spending time with you, I do, truly. It’s just sometimes, quality is better than quantity. Tomorrow you can nap longer. I won’t mind, I promise.

    That 10 minutes of non-stop giggles before? Awesome. The tired crash you’ve had since then? Not so awesome.

    Your eczema has come back. I know, it sucks. We’re slathering you in cortisone cream and sorbolene, but until it starts to work, could you possibly refrain from scratching your eyes out? In the end you will be better for it. Eyes are handy things.

    Your mobility is outstanding. You can’t crawl yet, but that doesn’t stop you wiggling all over the house. A quick note though, there is nothing interesting under the futon. You’ll just get stuck. Again.

    You’re growing at a rate of knots. Clothes that swam on you yesterday are fitting perfectly today. I admit, this scares me a little. Soon you’ll be big and your head won’t smell nearly as good. I’ll cope though.

    Oh and one last thing, if you could refrain from letting your joints click when I change your nappy/pick you up, that would be lovely. You have an appointment for an echo-cardiogram this week. It’s an Ehlers Danlos thing. I’m sure everything will be fine, but we’re just checking. Your sister will have to have one too. And me.

    Anyway little man, I love you very much.

    Love, Mummy.

    Pout

  • Life in mashed peas

    I awake to the sound of Isaac crying. Blearily I stumble out of bed and down the hallway. His face breaks into a grin as I look at him, the nightlight casting shadows over both of us. I pick him up and sit down on the couch to feed him. He arches his back and turns away, hunting for the light.

    For him, it is morning.

    I peer at my watch. The nightlight is not conducive to watch reading, surely it doesn’t say 5am? Unfortunately, it does.

    I gather him up, still in his swaddle and take him back to my bed. He’ll play and I will pretend it is still night time.

    We snuggle down, him, a cracker in hand and me, hiding in my pillow. He grabs a handful of my hair and munches contentedly. The pulling hurts, so I wiggle him further away and hand him the remote to chew on. Contented, he sighs.

    Nathan opens one eye and looks at us, his peace disturbed. I counter by placing my cold feet on his legs to warm them. He mumbles, but doesn’t pull away.

    Contentment never lasts longer than 20 minutes, so our time here is limited. Soon he will complain about his wet nappy and his belly that is grumbling for solids – my milk; not enough.

    I sniff the top of his head and sigh. I’m so very tired, but this is nice

    Later we will watch the sun rise, looking out the windows with him on my hip. Amy isn’t awake yet, this is our time. Him and me. Me and him.

    Us.

    ***

    Breakfast time.

    Amy sits on the floor peeling grapes.

    Why?

    Huh?

    Why are you peeling grapes?

    Cos.

    Oh. Okay.

    It makes sense to her, I won’t argue.

    I boil the kettle while Isaac grumbles on the floor. Not long woken up from a nap, I suspect he’s still tired. A mug, a teabag and some sugar. Add the water and walk away.

    I find some peas in the freezer and pour boiling water over them. Not yet warm enough, they go on the stove to heat through. I add milk to my tea and stir. A big sip later, I’m happy. Why didn’t I do this 3 hours ago when I first woke up?

    Oh. Right. I was pretending it was still night time.

    Isaac grumbles louder, near to crying. I hand him a square of bread to gum while I prep the peas. He gurgles, putting his fist in his mouth, bread and all. I drain the peas and place them in a container.Two minutes later and breakfast is ready.

    I sit Isaac in his bouncer with a tea towel as a bib. His eyes light up as the spoon moves towards his mouth. Happily he eats his peas, one mouthful at a time.

    He lifts his foot and waggles it at me. Preoccupied with getting peas in his mouth and nowhere else, I ignore it. He waggles harder.

    I look.

    It’s a very nice foot Isaac.

    He grins and kicks, happy that I noticed.

    The last mouthful goes in his mouth, just as he sneezes.

    Peas everywhere.

    Isaac giggles.

  • The House

    I pop my key in the door and turn the lock. It opens with a click and I walk into the dim depths. The house that was always warm is now cold. I flick on a light and wrap my arms about myself. With a press of a button, I turn on the heatpump. Knowing that it will take a while for the heatpump to warm things up, I turn on the wall heater as well.

    Nathan brings the children inside. Isaac is in his pram, complaining about the lack of mobility he has in there. Amy walks around the house getting into mischief.

    The house is a mess. As I walk around, I pick things up and put them back down again. This doesn’t feel right. It’s not easy here.

    The floor has gotten dusty. Nan would hate that. I poke at the dust with my foot, unable to muster the energy to find the broom and sweep.

    We wait for Mum to arrive.

    Boxes litter the floor. Empty, they are just waiting for things to fill them.

    It’s not right that you can pack someone’s life into boxes after they are gone.

    I take a deep breathe and pick a cupboard and a box. Chin up and head back, it needs to be done. There is no time for memories.

    The scrape of gravel outside tells me a car has arrived. Mum. Amy is excited.

    Nanny! Nanny! We are at MyNanny’s house!

    Yes. We are.

    Amy doesn’t quite understand the concept of death. She’s been told that MyNanny died, but she doesn’t understand what that means. She just knows that MyNanny is no longer here, in her house.

    I know this too.

    Mum and I look at each other, understanding without words. This is not easy for us, to work methodically through Nan’s house packing things up. It’s not a small job either.

    Grab a garbage bag. We’ll do the closet.

    Okay.

    Vinnies*?

    Yes.

    Yes.

    No. I’ll take that.

    You sort, I’ll fold.

    Okay.

    It feels a little morbid as I pick items from Nan’s closet to go into mine. We’d talked about this, in the before. I knew that she wanted me to have her clothes that I would wear. Hell, I’d been borrowing her clothes since I was 10. It was what we did.

    I take a deep breath and pick through.

    Emptying clothes hangers.

    One.

    By.

    One.

    I stroke things. Remembering things I’d borrowed previously. Remembering things Nan used to wear often. Some things I can’t bear the thought of.

    Vinnies. Please. I couldn’t wear it.

    I know.

    Okay.

    It smells of Nan here still. In the silence, it almost feels like she is watching me. I know she is not. She swore she wouldn’t haunt her house and I believe that if she’s watching me, here is not the place to find her.

    I’ll fall apart later. Not now, not here. Panic attacks when people are watching are awful.

    Breathe. Just breathe.

    Slowly we’re emptying things. Packing them up. Leaving them empty.

    A person lived here once. Not anymore.

    Here, there are just broken hearts and silence.

    A lifetime, being packed into boxes and carted away.

    ***

    *St Vincent de Paul Society. Second hand shops.

  • Blog Persona VS real life

    Brenda at Mummy Time wrote the other day about how sometimes we can seem like different people on our blogs.

    I’ve been thinking about it. A lot actually.

    Am I the same in real life as I am here?

    I like to think I am, but the truth is, no.

    In real life I have a much darker sense of humour. I’m blunt and matter of fact. I laugh at inappropriate things.

    In real life, I am sadder. I am wrapped up in my own head and sometimes have huge conversations and scenarios play out with different people. I over think things.

    In real life, I am tireder. I am snappy and out of patience and ready for a coffee break. Only I don’t drink coffee.

    In real life I have panic attacks. I have to consciously remember to breathe.

    In real life, my words don’t flow all the time. Sometimes I can argue an impassioned argument and win. Other times, it feels like my words are too heavy for my mouth.

    In real life, we sometimes eat ice-cream for lunch. I swear too much. I bake my own bread, but don’t dust. Ever.

    I yell. Often.

    I have a horrifically dirty mind. I’m always having to pull myself up out of the gutter.

    I laugh at myself all the time.

    Sometimes, I have to pull my tongue out of my cheek with pliers, that’s how firmly it gets wedged in there.

    And see, the dark humour; the snark; the blunt; they don’t always translate well to writing.

    Blogging is snippets. It’s bits and pieces hashed together to make a whole. So while each post is an accurate representation of me in that moment, it’s not the whole me and it could never hope to encompass everything I am.

    I’m multi-faceted. I’m three dimensional. I’m complete.

    I’m a real person with a blog and an urge to write.

    ***

    Do you think your blog is an accurate portrayal of yourself? Do you like your blogging persona? Do you think your friends and family IRL would like your blogging persona? (Not your blog, just your blogging persona)

    What about twitter?