Sometimes I long for baths with candles and oils. For afternoons where I work my way through a bottle of wine and reminisce with my man about stomping our feet to drumbeats or playing pool with travellers where three countries meet.
These days any bath I have involves a little plumply pale wiggle of boy-flesh called Finn. Fun but not exactly sensuous. My bath has squirty toys instead of ‘products’.
My man and I reminisce about sleep…
All this weekend our son has been battling sickness to try and walk. And more power to him-. It’s a Herculean effort and one I have full respect for. I feel extreme pride in watching his tenacity. But oh the misery that in applying it he’s cried every half hour for ten minutes for the last 72 hours. During which time he also wouldn’t eat.
I’ve always remembered the stress felt when my cats haven’t eaten as it’s seemed a precursor to Very Bad Things (like feline aids or cancer).
So add that to the fact that at 4 days old my son was near-starving without me understanding just how poorly breast-feeding was going for us and you might start to have an impression of how horrible it has been to watch my baby go without food for days.
People and ‘experts’ say a baby or child won’t starve himself or herself if food is offered. To them I say FUCK OFF AND WATCH MY SON DO A GOOD IMPERSONATION OF ANOREXIA.
Finally today, at 4pm after much crying from parents and bub there was some respite: a tired baby taken out for a very long walk, then bathed with some drops of lavender, then made to watch his fave TV shows, then sat down to eat.
And he ate- rice and stew then fruit and yoghurt. Then a cracker to top it all off. With every bite my shoulders dropped by an inch. Now he sleeps and I am having gin-tonics and nibbling olives. I have never been more deserving.
And I JUST DON’T CARE that I thought my next blog would be more interesting.
Next stop: reality, population 23, no camping, no fires, no dogs off-leash.
