Dark times

At midday today our power went off.  I was expecting it to be off for a short time.......not for ten and a half hours.  The kids weren't bothered at all.  It was a lovely evening and they played outside until the rain set in at about 6 o'clock.  I wasn't bothered either until Bryony decided it was bedtime and needed a bottle of warm milk immediately.  Having chopped some kindling (not one of my better skills.....poor patio) I lit the woodburner and warmed her bottle on there.  It took twenty minutes longer than she would have liked but patience is a virtue right?

By the time Mark called from his hotel room in Lincoln I had made the kids some hot chocolate on the woodburner, read countless Mr Men books by candlelight and was down to the very last dregs of my candle collection - who wants their home to smell like 'sparkling cinnamon'?  He probably thought that I was a bit off with him but I wasn't really interested in where he was meeting his colleagues for supper because here we were doing 101 ways with a saucepan and woodburning stove!

Once Jamie and Carys had gone to bed I was considering how fortunate I am.  Not once did either of them moan about not being able to watch television, access the internet or play on the wii.  Then I chuckled again about the conversation I had with Carys just before she went to bed.

Carys:  "We have only lived in Great Oak for five months and we've had loads of power cuts that have lasted forever, been flooded in three times, flooded out once and had brown, muddy water for a whole weekend."
Me:  "Lots of people have had power cuts this year because of the really strong winds and lots of people couldn't get to places because of flood water, it wasn't only Great Oak that had storms.  Its lovely here.  The Red Kites are back, there's a pair of Blue Tits in the nesting box and the weather is much improved.  Great Oak is a great place to live."
Carys:  "ummmm.....maybe, but until I see at least two baby Blue Tits I'm just going to call it Oak."

TIME for a new car?

To cut a long story short, about 2 years ago when my people carrier looked like it would fail its MOT  we decided to get rid of it and buy a brand new little something.  I only use my car for ferrying kids around on week days so we decided on small engine, low fuel consumption, very little tax and minimal insurance.  I ended up with a ‘cocktail green’ Chevrolet Spark.  Cocktail green…..I know, sounds disgusting.  Well, for the record, it is disgusting.  I really wanted baby pink to match my snooker cue and ukulele but Mark said he would look silly enough driving one of them as it was without it being pink.  We never agree on colour; picking paint is always problematic, even choosing a bottle of wine is a bloody nightmare……I like red, he prefers rosé - our neighbours call him Rose. 

This doesn't quite show how disgusting the colour really is!

 

Anyway, as long as it gets me from A to B then make, model nor colour bothered me really.  Cars aren’t really that important to me, in fact, I neglect mine and have recently driven it through flood water that was far too deep.  Carl (Roses favourite neighbour) drives a white, top of the range BMW.  It is sparkly clean all of the time and I am beginning to wonder how he gets home because he certainly doesn’t drive through the same shite as I do.  During the recent weather, he would walk to the main road measuring the depth of any water he came across.  His rule, anything above 5 inches is too deep to drive through so stay at home.  My rule, if you get wet feet it was too deep to drive through.  Gadgets don’t excite me either.  Sat Nav is highly irritating, I’m not a fan of talking to people on the phone so Bluetooth is pretty irrelevant and heated seats make it feel as though you’ve wet yourself.  That said, having bought a brand new car in 2012 I really did expect it to have a clock!

 

Admittedly I am a little obsessed with time and did once accuse a friend, who was late for coffee, of wasting ten minutes of my life.  Slight over reaction she said.  May be so, I thought, but we never get those wasted minutes back do we?  At first I thought I was being a bit ‘girly’ and spent a number of days searching for the clock.  I kept thinking it must be on the radio display somewhere.  In the end I gave in and mentioned that I couldn’t fine the clock.  “Of course it’s got a clock, you are just being bloody dopey” said Mark who promptly marched out to the car with a smug look on his face.  About half an hour passed before he came back in and declared “I can’t find a clock either but it must have one.  It was a reasonably cheap car but not that cheap”.  The following day I rang the dealer and spoke to Gary who had sold us the car:

 

Me:  “I’m probably missing something really obvious but I can’t find the clock”

Gary:  “Your car hasn’t got a clock Mrs Williams”
Me:  “It’s 2012, how can a car not have a clock?”
Gary:  “Mrs Williams, you said you didn’t want anything fancy”
Me:  “Indeed I did but I didn’t think having a clock was fancy”
Gary:  “Your car has things that other small (he meant cheap) cars wouldn’t have”
Me:  “Like what?...a steering wheel and a rear view mirror”
Gary:  “You’ve got central locking and an air conditioned glove box”
Me:  “What use is an air conditioned glove box”
Gary:  “It’s handy to keep your lunch in when out and about”
Me:  “Very true….only I won’t know when its lunch time as I haven’t got a clock.

 

Gary made note of my observations and would pass them on to the relevant department.  He also advised me that Halfords would be able to provide me with a stick on clock for about fifteen quid before quickly hanging up.

 

Today, almost two years later, Gary called:

 

Gary:  “Good afternoon Mrs Williams, Gary from Newtown Motors here”
Me:  “Is it afternoon, I was wondering what time of day it was”
Gary:  “You still haven’t got over the clock thing then”
Me:  “No, and if you’ve called to tell me that my car is nearly two years old and that I should think about changing it then don’t bother because I’m not interested”
Gary:  “I was ringing to inform you that we won’t be importing anymore Chevrolets as of last Friday but that your service plan and warranty is still valid and parts will remain readily available in the UK”
Me:  “So, what you are saying is that you will no longer be selling clockless cars”
Gary:  “I suppose I am Mrs Williams”
Me:  “About bloody TIME”

No more babies!

Not long after Bryony was born we decided that our family was complete so yesterday, as a birthday treat, Mark had a vasectomy.  Although I don’t regret our decision, I do feel a little sad.  Mark says he feels sad too but surely there is a big difference between feeling sad and feeling sorry for yourself? 

Mark said it’s the end of a chapter, I said it’s the beginning of a new one.  Either way, there definitely won’t be any more babies in this family.  At 32 I consider myself young to have three children, especially as Jamie is nearing 9 years of age, so to close a door on that part of my life seems a little drastic but to move on with Mark and three children is very exciting if not a little daunting.  A friend recently said that I was made for babies – fair comment I thought, but I’m not made for any more.  I also had a brief conversation with a friend about how we sometimes hide behind the things that we are good at.  I’ve put everything into being a mum and like to think that I’m doing ok at it and I suppose that when the kids are still young then I’m still Mummy.  What will I do when they find their own independence? 

Life is hectic.  With an eight year old Robbie Williams impersonator and a six year old drama queen there is never a dull moment but I wouldn’t have it any other way.  I’m teaching Carys to play the harmonica and Jamie to play the ukulele – it sounds bloody awful but they are enjoying it so who cares…..other than the neighbours?  Jamie and I are ‘writing a book’, I’m the author and Jamie is the illustrator.  I don’t always have time to sit down and think of another ‘Tale from Great Oak National Park’ but he enjoys drawing, he’s not bad at it and, although only 8,  he says he wants to be an animator so if writing stories together is going to improve his drawing and help him achieve his goals then its time well spent as far as I’m concerned.

Jamies Pooh Bear, drawn about 18 months ago - my favourite to date

 

 We are fortunate enough to be able to spend loads of time together and with two animal mad kids there are plenty of options to choose from come the weekend.  All Jamie wanted for Christmas was to be a zoo keeper for the day and to help the South American Tapir so Father Christmas brought Bristol Zoo membership, a zoo keeper experience and a small percentage of Noah Ark Zoo Farms tapir.  Carys particularly likes birds and reptiles so is the proud owner of WWT membership and is looking forward to her zoo keeper experience in the Reptile House at Noah’s Ark – odd child!  We talked last night about what we will do with our time when going to the zoo with your parents becomes really un-cool.  Our relationship is stronger now than it ever has been and we really do enjoy the very rare moments of ‘childlessness and togetherness’ but how, regardless of how much love we share, will we appreciate each other in the same way when the kids are older and it’s just the two of us for the majority of the time?

Having said how much I love and appreciate Mark, he really does need to man up!  I’m not normally one for the ‘poor old female’ nonsense but surely his 15 minute procedure doesn’t compare to the major surgery involved in delivering Bryony.  In the two hours that it took to deliver Bryony,  and ‘close up’ as they call it on Holby City, I lost 1350mls of blood.  Mark lost 4mls……that’s not even a teaspoon!!  Its tradition on a Friday evening to do ‘our best part of the week’.  Carys’ was getting a gold award in school.  Jamie’s was a piece of work, about a Cheetah, that got top marks.  I will admit that when it was my turn I grinned a pathetically childish grin, looked at Mark and left the room………I never did find out what Marks best bit was!

Maternity leave

I haven’t written here for ages and my excuse is a miserable pregnancy and a traumatic emergency caesarean section 4 weeks prior to my due date but we’ll just call it maternity leave.

Bryony has brought so much to our lives in the 18 weeks since her birth.  I don’t know if it’s because we are older or because we waited a long time for her or because, at 36 weeks, we thought we may have lost her.  There were occasions during my other two pregnancies that I would think to myself that the baby hadn’t moved much and then eventually I would get a kick, a punch or even just a wriggle but it was enough to convince me that the baby was fine.  The night before Bryony’s birth I led in bed thinking I won’t wake Mark just yet, she’ll move soon.  By 4:30am I gave up trying to sleep and decided that coffee, rich tea biscuits and a stroll with the dog might wake her up.  I was beginning to think all sorts and had already started to blame myself, I had a dental abscess earlier in the week and although the midwife had told me to take stronger painkillers I couldn’t help thinking that they may have harmed the baby.  That was my first thought when the midwife mentioned stronger pain relief but, quite frankly, I have never felt pain like it!

6:30am came and still no movement so I woke Mark who immediately phoned the hospital then started making Childcare arrangements for Jamie and Carys – of all the days to have a training day! We arrived at the hospital at about 9 o’clock where I was hooked up to the monitor.  They eventually found the baby’s heartbeat but it wasn’t fluctuating at all which indicates poor or no movement.  About 20 minutes later a consultant arrived and told us that he couldn’t guarantee the safety of our baby and that he would recommend an emergency caesarean section.  I signed the consent forms and Mark reappeared in scrubs and said they were just waiting for a paediatric doctor as they wanted one present in theatre.

A midwife took us to theatre and told me to sit still and stay calm so that the anaesthetist could set the epidural up.  It was at this point that it dawned on me that the monitor wasn’t picking the baby’s heartbeat up at all and that the midwife was frantically trying to find it but failing.  At this point I was thinking that she hadn’t made it.  I was also thinking about 4 years previous when we lost a baby at 9 weeks.  Although hard, we dealt with it but how the hell would we deal with losing a baby at 36 weeks – she would still have to be delivered, she would have existed in the real world, we would see her, hold her yet go home without her.  Everything was a blur at this point but I do remember thinking about my Grandmother.  She lost her youngest daughter to cancer in July of 2012, and although I hadn’t met my youngest daughter yet I suddenly realised how my Gran feels and I started to question how my Gran deals with that – my respect for my Gran was great before, it’s immeasurable now! 

At 11:07, Bryony was delivered.  The midwife told us that she was fine but needed the all clear from the paediatric doctor.  I still wasn’t convinced, she hadn’t cried and we hadn’t seen her.  I clearly remember Mark saying ‘fuck this, I’m going to see her’.  My first thought was please just come back and tell me she is ok and my second thought was that Mark never ever swears.  He returned, minutes later, with a crying baby and streaming eyes.  As worry and anxiety turned into relief and love I realised how awful I felt, declared how sick I was feeling and then had a complete breakdown.  I was given an anti-sickness jab, Mark laid Bryony next to me and theatre became a warm, calm place – it was cold and chaotic before.

Bryony, 1 hour old

 

Bryony weighed in at 7lb 4oz so, although not massive, a good size for a ‘pre term’ baby.  Her blood sugars were a little erratic but of no great concern.  She seemed shocked, appeared vulnerable and had a constant look of worry about her.  We had a brief discussion about names when I declared that I didn’t really care, she was here and was safe, and that’s all that mattered.  That was all that mattered but I did care about names, I’d wanted to call her Niamh ever since our 20 week scan but Mark hated it – I thought he might have taken pity on me on this occasion but he had clearly pulled himself together by this time too.  “You had better go and ring my mum” I said to Mark.  “No need” said the surgeon, “she has been stood outside my theatre doors for the last hour!”  As they wheeled me out of theatre and into recovery my mum shouted “I’ve been ringing your mobile”…..it was at that point I decided it may all have been a dream!

We took Bryony home 48 hours later and knew immediately that this time was going to be different.  When Jamie and Carys were babies we tried to get them into a routine as soon as possible, we tried not to pick them up and cuddle them all the time – we didn’t want them to be clingy.  I couldn’t give a bugger if Bryony did become clingy, she still had a look of vulnerability, was probably as traumatised as I was and somehow she just deserved to be cuddled…..for most of the time……all of the time. 

Even now, at 18 weeks, I make  what Mark calls ‘special allowances’ for Bryony.   She really is old enough to face outwards when in the baby carrier but I feel that she is safer facing me, she is closer and more secure.  Jamie and Carys were both in their own rooms by 18 weeks and although Bryony sleeps between 13 and 14 hours a night, she is still tucked up safely in the cot next to our bed.  I almost sound as if I never put her down or that I never leave her but I do and she is happy to sit in her chair and watch what’s going on around her and she is happy to go to other people so I really do feel as if I’m having the best of both worlds.

Bryony, 18 weeks old

 

Having said all that, what really makes it different this time is that I will most definitely not be doing it again!