Sunday: A&E

Linnea had a rotten night. At some point on Saturday she hurt her arm - she spent some time swinging out of people - and complained quietly about her hurt wrist. "My bang my wrist," she said. "My wrist is hurt." On the train we established that she could squeeze a finger, and that she didn't have pain any further up her arm, so we wet a muslin in the cold tap of the train loo and wrapped it around her arm. She whimpered as I wrapped it, but when I had finished she said "Thank you very much" in tones as pathetic and noble as any I have ever heard.

So on Sunday we didn't wake her early. We let her sleep in, and when she did wake we had another go at helping her hurt arm. An elasticated bandage seemed to help ("Thank you very much" again) but she still didn't use her arm at all, not even when offered a treat for each hand, which would usually work wonderfully. So we sorted ourselves out and piled into the trike, all four of us.

And so to A&E. We checked in, or whatever it's called, and waited some, and a nurse came along and examined the dangling, limp arm. Linnea didn't express pain, but then she generally doesn't. The nurse had her play with some of the toys in the waiting room, and sure enough she didn't use the dangly arm. As part of the diagnosis, the nurse flexed the arm and turned the wrist. The way it was dangling, she said, looked like a pulled elbow. And about half an hour later, while we were waiting for the doctor, Linnea used the hurt arm to shove a wooden toy castle big enough for her to hide inside across the floor.

We waited to see the doctor anyway, and he said it was probably a pulled arm that righted itself. If we'd had the courage to flex her elbow and turn her wrist, we might have fixed it at home. But wrists scare me.

We were at the hospital an hour or so. This time, I knew it wasn't my fault, so I didn't tell anyone it was. So that's nice.

After hospital we went into town to look for a fleece jacket and a rain poncho for me. The only ponchos I could find were the same material as my existing raincoat, which gets just as damp inside from sweat as it does outside from rain. That level of breathability isn't good enough if I'm going to have a baby in a sling on my chest under it. So I've got to investigate Vaude ponchos which Altimus can get in for me if I decide I want one. The Badger the Bodger or Bodger the Badger fleece jackets seem ideal; I'm a big child size and they are high-quality fleece at medium-quality prices.

Then we ate at Cafe Iguana, whcih was gorgeous - it's Reading's only vegetarian cafe and they have a real passionh for organic produce - and headed home, where we ate again almost immediately. Oven chips, fried eggs, and frozen veg. Ew.

Linnea had another rough night, including me in her bed for an hour, during which time she rolled forcibly into my abdomen, which really, really bloody hurt.

Monday: The library is closed

We managed to get up on Monday morning, though Rob was late because I was hurt and needed time to get upright and full of painkillers and so on. He went to work and I sat around unable to think how to cope. Only one thing was essential - returning the almost unwatched Balamory video to the library. So I got all three of us dressed and clean-bottomed and we walked to the library. It's something like half a mile, so that's not a trivial endeavour with a buggy the size of a Hummer and a two-year-old with the turning circle of one.

The library only opens from 2 pm on a Monday. I couldn't check this before leaving the house, of course, because we had no connectivity over the weekend for dreary reasons. So I mollified Linnea by promising her that we'd get the bus into town and go to the big library, which we did. First we went to the shopping centre, where we found a bookshop, a cafe where no-one had any idea what was in any of the food, and a Spud-U-Like. We had tuna and tato, therefore, and then walked past the machines that do things - ride-on helicopter, Barney the bloody Dinosaur, a car I recognise from telly, and Thomas the Tank Engine. Linnea wanted a go, and I knew I had one fifty pence piece left in my purse (and a twopence, and a penny) so I said she could as soon as I'd changed Emer.

Into the changing room, change Emer, feed both, give Linnea her 50p and head out to the machines. She wanted to go in the helicopter, so up she hopped and I said "Did you put the money in?"

"Oh yes!" she said, and put it in.

Nothing.

I leaned over to see what was wrong. The helicopter, it turns out, is the only toy on the row that needs a pound to work, and it doesn't offer change. I pushed the coin return button. Nothing. No change means no coin return either.

Linnea took it very well - I explained I had no more money but I would get some later and she could go on the Thomas in Mothercare. So she played for a while on the other toys, occasionally telling me that they don't go, and we headed off to the library via a couple of banks to find an ATM that would give me money.

At the library I used the self-service machine to return Rob's books, Linnea's books, and my own books. That was simple enough. Then I read Linnea a few stories and we took a book each out - Linnea left the library under prtest and with bribery - and we went to Mothercare, where the Thomas the Tank Engine ride appeared not to work. The plug socket had been turned off, at the wall. That was easily fixed, and then she was content.

We went home after that, on the bus, and had a few arguments because Linnea was hot and tired and I was tired and achey. But we got here. Linnea settled in front of the dreaded telly again, and I found that connectivity had returned, so I sat in front of a computer with Emer at the breast and read and read and read.

And found that John M. Ford is dead. Didn't know him. I know someone who loved him, and I am deeply saddened by her loss.

In the evening I did budget things, read more Ford tributes, sorted Linnea's outgrown clothes by size, found more nappy wraps for Emer, and spent some time hugging Rob.

Accomplished!

I sorted a load of laundry and put it in the machine, and I collected the dry laundry off the line, and I rehung the stuff that was in the shade so that it could dry too. Linnea did about 45 minutes of gluing, so I cleaned up after that. We had our snack. Um. I also emptied the dishwasher, but I can't bend enough to fill it with Emer in the sling. Emer is always always in the sling during the day; she's happiest here. I do need a more comfortable sling though.

I also phoned the doctor's office to make appointments but apparently we've forgotten to hand over and/or lost a piece of paperwork so Emer isn't registered with them yet and I can't make my postnatal appointment until she is registered even though I need to see a specific doctor and she doesn't. Bah. We'll have to look for the paperwork tonight when Linnea is in bed.

Rob has been reminded to make his own appointment. I also called the dentist but the line was busy.

Linnea has watched a lot of telly today. We're going to have lunch and go to the library later. My reserved books are in.

I don't like Kushies all in one nappies. I didn't like the style when we were using Boots ones with Linnea - we had one medium and one extra large and neither was much good - and I don't like it with Emer either. I'll wash them and give them to someone else, I suppose, but I've yet to meet anyone who does like them, as far as I'm aware. The woman who gave them to me gave up on cloth nappies because they were the only kind she tried.

Maybe I can call Fiona now.

Breastfeeding: "if you want something bad enough, it will happen"

I am livid. I've been angry about this on and off since last night sometime. Apparently if someone wants to pump enough to feed their baby badly enough, they can do it! If someone wants to breastfeed badly enough, they can do it! If it doesn't happen you mustn't really have wanted it, you selfish, inconsiderate failure, you.

I am spitting mad.

No, wanting isn't enough sometimes. You can want more breast tissue all you like; it won't make it grow. You can want functioning ovaries - it won't necessarily make them pop out viable eggs. Plenty of people really, really want to live, and die anyway. Wanting isn't all it takes.

And it's disgusting and callous to say that it is.