Happy new year!
I so nearly managed a "perfect" day. After a blissful Christmas with my family in Kent, we all intrepidly boarded the East Coast mainline yesterday for a New Year at my northern abode. This morning everyone arose rested and ambled around in pyjamas playing with Wriggles and drinking endless cups of tea. At lunch Wriggles finished her two-week boycott of food and demolished not one, but two (TWO ladies and gentlemen) mini fromage frais and ate the corner of a board book for dessert. Mid afternoon, I bundled her up in new woollen leggings and coat and we made forth to the city centre to see an exciting parade.
Waiting for the metro, poor Wriggles was violently sick. She still suffers from reflux and has a over-sensitive gag reflex and not particularly eloquent oral skills, meaning at 16 months she is still prone to frequent forceful projectile vomiting with feeds and sometimes can be triggered by something so much as brushing her lips. I managed to stem some of the flow with her footmuff but she still succeeded in decorating a large portion of the inside of her coat and inner ear not to mention plastering her hair. I really hate reflux. Not just because it involves dabbling around in sick and wearing that popular around strained mums, 'eau de baby's stomach contents', but mainly for Wriggles' sake. It must be so horrid for her, I just want to wave a magic wand and make her a hundred times more comfortable. It also serves as a daily reminder of prematurity and on bad days taunts me. Rational-me knows it is not my fault but a medical condition that could still be there even if she had been a term baby. Irrational-me says it is all my fault and if I was a perfect mummy like I should be, it wouldn't be here tormenting my baby. It also panics me when I run out of baby wipes on a platform in gale force winds already late to meet my family due to misplacing of the baby's mittens.
We managed to make it in without little trouble, located the family, vetoed Starbucks due to a monstrous queue and found a place to watch the parade that was causing this fuss. Now unfortunately since Wriggles' birth, I have gone from a mild dislike of crowds to having panic attacks when in crowded places and/or stressful situations, or sometimes, Just Because. Cheers mental health. However, I have not had a full-blown one since her birthday in September when we went to a singing and music day (how not to appear a normal level-headed potential mummy friend at the local play centre) and later on that day, the post office.As I took up my spot, I could feel my airways tightenings, panic rising and tears springing up. It is not easy juggling a wriggly Wriggles (my sister had commandeered the buggy to house her shopping sale purchases; this baffled me. I literally cannot remember anymore shopping being anymore than a terse trip around Sainsburys and occasionally a slightly dog-eared jumper from Oxfam which is next to Sainsburys) and practising deep breathing whilst trying to stop sobbing and not appearing a lunatic to a) my family who seemed entirely unaware as were busy bitching about the taxi parked in front of their sight line and b) the general public including a picture perfect family stood next to us. When the parade finally went through, it seemed an utter let-down, possibly as I was wishing it to go faster so I could run off, and partly as Wriggles was far more interested in trying to wave at the two-year old little girl nearby and fend off a little boy who wanted to hold her hand (she will not hold hands with strangers. This is the only hint of separation anxiety; apparently I have shouldered the rest of it). The "Norse-themed mythical spectacular" featured dragons, morris men and mermaids as well as some 'wolves' which looked more like rabid lions on a bad hair day. Apart from that, it was extremely jolly I have been told from people more with it.
The rest of the evening passed without offence. The new year came and went; we all watched Cyndi Lauper in a bin liner on Jools Holland and watched some poor fireworks out the kitchen window. Wriggles slept unaware of the year turning. I sat her down on New Years Eve and explained about the concept of years and celebrations to be greeted with a blank look and a biffed nose. It could have been worse; she is quite partial for biting noses when teething. Mostly this can be relegated to long suffering Mouse, Christmas Hedgehog and Wheely Hedgehog but occasionally she still goes for people's snozzles or Grandma's toes. New Year always feels such a anti-climax after the bustle of Christmas. However, the next day (post-lunchtime) feels like a fresh new start. Which I fully intend it to be. It is hard to believe my little girl will be 2 this year. This last year has been undoubtedly tough with it's frequent and frightening admissions to hospital. When counting up, we spent as much time in hospital as I do work; not a healthy balance to off-set nice time at home. But now we are crossing the magical boundary of most time ever out of hospital......Long may it continue! That is my new years thanks.I have spent a lot of the time of 2011 reflecting and regretting the sad moments, so want to stuff 2012 with as many happy times as possible. Bring it on!
My New Leaf:
*throw out holey tights (they do not magically self-mend and there is only so much nail polish you can apply to "disguise" ladders) and pair up to socks to avert odd-sock crisis on work mornings
* try to be slightly more punctual. 5 minutes late is acceptable. 55 minutes late is not.
*be nicer to nice people and self-I do try my best and that is all I can do
*be less nice to dastardly all-night-raving complaining crack-of-dawn-shelf-putter-uppers (where do they fit in sleep?) rude neighbours
*keep in touch more frequently with my grandparents
*worry less (hahahahahahahha.......................)
*dwell less on the past to create more for the future
*take a picture everyday of Wriggles so I don't forget this fast-moving time where she seems to learn a new skill/cause more chaos every day. I know I will treasure these times when she is a sullen teenager borrowing my shoes
*get involved with Tiny Lives, the local charity that supported Wriggles' SCBU and is a regional unit providing much needed support and funds.
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