State of the Nation
Two nights ago Stephen and I sat down on the couch and let out a collective relieved sigh. Both children had been bathed, fed and put to sleep. And I'm going to throw this word out there, the word that describes the feeling just before a fall - smug.
The smugness lasted all of a literal minute because at that moment the noise of a seal auditioning to become part of the Ushaka Seal Show came resonating from Grays bedroom. To be honest I didn't know seals could waddle this far inland.
When I say I could mainly see the whites of Stephen's eyes I am not over exaggerating.
We froze. And then the bark again. The croup bark. The bark to end all barks. The bark that launched a thousand ships in the opposite direction.
Shit.
Having recently unpacked our medicine cabinet - it is literally the only thing I unpacked in our entire move I made a beeline for the aspelone as fast as my bruised nether regions would allow. Within seconds our poor little sleeping boy was pinned down, medicated and had a nebulizer shoved in his face. There's nothing worse than having to nebulize a confused small person. At one stage he suggested that we should put the heater on rather than the nebulizer because that would make him better.
Treatment done my beloved boy curled himself into me and fell fast asleep. Stephen then walked in with more whites showing in his eyes. Apparently croup is contagious.
And that's when we truly realised that we are now the parents of two children.
Needless to say I stripped my freshly adorned pj's and scrubbed myself in the shower with detol soap. I was so clean I could have performed open heart surgery. And then ten minutes later Eva woke up for her feed and like a neurotic I continued scrubbing my hands all night. No one wants a one week old with croup. And apparently whooping cough is doing the rounds... Won't get onto my favourite subject here...
We seemed to weather that particular storm and Gray's croup had simmered down to a minor cold by the morning.
I had a boyfriend several years ago. A complicated chap. He used to have what he referred to as 'state of the nation' dreams. They were his way of taking stock of his current state of mind.
I had a state of the nation dream last night.
It was horrific. I was bathing and just beyond the window of my bathroom was a small garden that dropped off into a raging torrent. Gray was pottering around while I got distracted with something. And the next moment he was gone. And I ran to the edge of the torrent to see his turquoise and white shirt bobbing up and down in the waves. I still weep when I remember that feeling. Hell on earth. I dived in after him screaming for Stephen who jumped in after me. And we found him down stream in a pose reminiscent of the photo of the little Syrian boy washed up on the shore. And all I could see was his little sock half rolled down his little foot. I woke up sobbing and haven't been able to shake my grief all morning.
And it is a grief. Gray is no longer the only center of my world, of our world. For the past almost four years absolutely every decision Stephen and I have made has been focused solely on his well being. His happiness, his security, his spirit. And I think we have done well.
But now we have a whole other entity to consider, protect, nurture and love. And sometimes in doing what is best for her I might not be doing what is best for Gray. And that, I suppose, is parenting.
The trick is not to get too distracted by one child while the other teeters close to the torrent. It is not to scrub away all the beautiful essence of one child; no matter how sick, complicated, difficult they may be; in order to focus on the easier one.
And so although the second child is far easier - I always remember to switch the monitor off before I pick her up out of bed, I can swaddle in my sleep and I know when a letdown is about to hit - this is actually going to be painfully difficult.
And so this morning I snuck into my little boy's bed and held his hand and waited for him to wake up. And when his eyes opened his first question was, 'how was your night?' My sweet boy if only you knew...
The smugness lasted all of a literal minute because at that moment the noise of a seal auditioning to become part of the Ushaka Seal Show came resonating from Grays bedroom. To be honest I didn't know seals could waddle this far inland.
When I say I could mainly see the whites of Stephen's eyes I am not over exaggerating.
We froze. And then the bark again. The croup bark. The bark to end all barks. The bark that launched a thousand ships in the opposite direction.
Shit.
Having recently unpacked our medicine cabinet - it is literally the only thing I unpacked in our entire move I made a beeline for the aspelone as fast as my bruised nether regions would allow. Within seconds our poor little sleeping boy was pinned down, medicated and had a nebulizer shoved in his face. There's nothing worse than having to nebulize a confused small person. At one stage he suggested that we should put the heater on rather than the nebulizer because that would make him better.
Treatment done my beloved boy curled himself into me and fell fast asleep. Stephen then walked in with more whites showing in his eyes. Apparently croup is contagious.
And that's when we truly realised that we are now the parents of two children.
Needless to say I stripped my freshly adorned pj's and scrubbed myself in the shower with detol soap. I was so clean I could have performed open heart surgery. And then ten minutes later Eva woke up for her feed and like a neurotic I continued scrubbing my hands all night. No one wants a one week old with croup. And apparently whooping cough is doing the rounds... Won't get onto my favourite subject here...
We seemed to weather that particular storm and Gray's croup had simmered down to a minor cold by the morning.
I had a boyfriend several years ago. A complicated chap. He used to have what he referred to as 'state of the nation' dreams. They were his way of taking stock of his current state of mind.
I had a state of the nation dream last night.
It was horrific. I was bathing and just beyond the window of my bathroom was a small garden that dropped off into a raging torrent. Gray was pottering around while I got distracted with something. And the next moment he was gone. And I ran to the edge of the torrent to see his turquoise and white shirt bobbing up and down in the waves. I still weep when I remember that feeling. Hell on earth. I dived in after him screaming for Stephen who jumped in after me. And we found him down stream in a pose reminiscent of the photo of the little Syrian boy washed up on the shore. And all I could see was his little sock half rolled down his little foot. I woke up sobbing and haven't been able to shake my grief all morning.
And it is a grief. Gray is no longer the only center of my world, of our world. For the past almost four years absolutely every decision Stephen and I have made has been focused solely on his well being. His happiness, his security, his spirit. And I think we have done well.
But now we have a whole other entity to consider, protect, nurture and love. And sometimes in doing what is best for her I might not be doing what is best for Gray. And that, I suppose, is parenting.
The trick is not to get too distracted by one child while the other teeters close to the torrent. It is not to scrub away all the beautiful essence of one child; no matter how sick, complicated, difficult they may be; in order to focus on the easier one.
And so although the second child is far easier - I always remember to switch the monitor off before I pick her up out of bed, I can swaddle in my sleep and I know when a letdown is about to hit - this is actually going to be painfully difficult.
And so this morning I snuck into my little boy's bed and held his hand and waited for him to wake up. And when his eyes opened his first question was, 'how was your night?' My sweet boy if only you knew...
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