Nine years is a long time

But it's going to get longer...

Gosh.

Good spots, bad spots

I have a teacosy! It is semi-circular, off-white, and spotted. Now Rob or I can make tea, take the teabags out when it's the right strength, and not have to make another pot for HOURS. Honestly, it keeps it at a drinkable temperature for well over an hour. I'm impressed. I'm also properly hydrated. Go me!

The spots on the laundry are all fading as it's hung on the line outdoors. Two days in a row now it's been dry enough to do that. It's so exciting!

Emer has spots. Yesterday and the day before she was warm and slept badly, but we thought nothing of it. Both children are off their food. Today I notice that Emer has a sprinkling of spots all over her torso; more on her back than her front. They started off pale, and are getting pinker, and I think some of them appear raised. I've called the doctor to ask for a summary of the early symptoms of chickenpox.

Until I get the ok from the GP I won't be going out; I intended to go to town and buy things for Linnea's guests' party bags. I was also going to try to find a few bras. And book Linnea's swimming lessons.

Still, we all had breakfast, and lunch, and Emer is napping (hurrah!), and I did two loads of laundry, and Linnea seems to WANT to use the toilet, rather than resent it.

Rape in the Congo

My radio plays in the early mornings when I'm waking up; this morning I lay in bed feeding Emer and listening to this story, which is about as upsetting as it gets, really.

It pops into my head a lot.

Anniversaries and PTSD

Linnea will be four years old in 20 days. Rob and I have been together 9 years.

I think I'm over the PTSD. Some of the remaining symptoms are just exaggerated symptoms of anxiety anyway, which means I'm down to normal levels of, um, stuff. I'm also very sleep-deprived so not really up to a proper post about it.

But we've been together nine years. It's been eventful. Full of drama, noise, books, clutter, and a growing sense of family. We've both changed a lot, but in the same direction, I think. Nine years ago I couldn't have imagined some of the ethical choices I make now, and nor could Rob. We certainly couldn't have imagined our children.

And there's no way we could have imagined that the birth of our first child would lead to such a horrendous catalogue of mental and physical trauma fucked-up-ness. But we're both off antidepressants. We've both learned to do housework and figured out who was expecting what from whom (and ow, was that a roller-coaster ride through ingrained sexisms!) and, well, it all looks set to continue.

From the outside, it doesn't look like we do much, me and Rob. The changes and growing are all on the inside, and they're slow. But we are both, constantly, changing.

Together.

I love it.

(I also like not being nearly half as mad, yo.)

So proud I could cry

Linnea has decided what to do about the naughty boy who hurt her.

She will go back, and share with him, because sharing is nice, and then he won't want to be naughty any more.