More shoes, more painting, more tantrums, more baking

[ailbhe]

Letters and Panic Attacks

I had nightmares last night. I tried to write a letter on Friday, and again on Saturday, saying "I wrote to me GP and had no response, here is a complaint," but I couldn't. And it gave me nightmares.

This morning, there were two letters that looked as though they probably came from doctors or hospitals or both - they called me Mrs, and as far as I know, only medical people do that. So I put them on the table for Rob to open, and I felt sick. I felt sick while I gathered laundry, sick while I put it on, and sick while I told him to open them and read them for me, to see if I could read them myself.

The first one was from the GP to whom I sent the letter. It said, basically, "While I was away my colleague received your letter and has written to the gynaecologist. I hope this speeds things up. I can't do much else, such as recommend that you see a gynaecologist outside the hospital, without funding. Hope this helps." So that's ok; they are looking into things, which might help, and she will recommend a private gynaecologist if I hear nothing from the usual one.

The second letter was about my EUA. It said "To: Ailbhe's Doctor. Cc: Ailbhe. Wow, what a lot of scar tissue! No wonder she's in pain. Since her bowel function is much imporived, I don't think surgery will help much, so maybe we should send her to a pain management specialist. Hey, Ailbhe, if you're reading, this is your cue to consider before we meet in person in two weeks' time. Ta-ra 'bit!" So that's... Meh. Pain management. I can avoid the pain already - I don't really understand how I can do the things that cause pain and at the same time manage the pain. Painkillers 15-30 minutes before attempted sex? Only have sex when mind-numbed on painkillers? Meditation? Acupuncture - have sex while trying not to disturb the tiny needles between my toes (I hope it'll be my toes)?

I managed to read both letters and then I collapsed, shaking horribly, and couldn't cry. I could gasp, and talk frantically, and pace, and curl up and rock... but not cry. It was most peculiar.

Rain and Painting

Shortly after ten am, Linnea and I ventured forth in the rain (and oh! what rain!) to go painting at the Jelly Leg'd Chicken workshop. When we got there I stripped her down in the loos, changed her into her painting nappy, and let her loose on red and yellow paint with several brushes. It was pretty good fun. She had her snack in the adjoining Biscuit Tin Cafe afterwards, anda bit of a rampage, including scaring a Polish boy who was using the free net access by falling off her computing chair - she was trying to reach his keyboard, you see, and the PCs are too far apart for an adult to do it, so she thought that if she just stretched a little... bit... more... But no. Kerflump.

Shoes and Tantrums

On, then, to Mothercare, for toy-ties (useful bits of fabric for tying things to the buggy in an easy-to-remove-and-replace way) and a net bag for the stroller (footballs, for the toting of) and some stuff they didn't have. Then to John Lewis for shoes for Linnea.

First we tried a lovely blue pair in a 6G, but they were too narrow at the toes, being a girls' fitting, so then we tried a less lovely black patent leather pair which slipped on the ankle, and a pair of boys' walking shoes which rubbed on the heel, and a pair of purple and pink fake suede girls' shoes which almost fell off her heels, and then three more pairs of boys' shoes, all of which rubbed on the heel or the ankle or both. Then we tried a pair of boys' brown boots, and she freaked out. She had had enough. She'd let us try all sorts of shoes on, and stood still while we pinched her toes and her heels and rubbed her instep and made her walk so far and no further and come back and take them off and put on more and slide fingers between the shoe and her ankles and stand still and walk over there and she just stopped cooperating and started to kick. And yell. And wiggle. And arch. And I decided to give up.

I asked the assistant to set the brown boys' boots from her feet, and the pink girls' boots not yet tried at all, aside for later, and gave Linnea a feed, and took her to look at toys, and then to the Parent and Baby room for another feed, and she did a nappy while we were there so I changed that, and had about half her packed lunch, and ran around a bit. Then we went back and put the brown boots back on, and she stood for us, and walked for us, and they fit.

Hallelujah. I left them on her, paid for them, sobbed my gratitude to the bruised assistant, and wobbled out.

(While we were at the till, with Linnea sitting on the counter waiting for me, another assistant came up with a big barrell of lollipops and set them in front of Linnea to offer her one. I said "No!" before she could reach in, and the assistant offering them said "Oh, is she not allowed?" and I said "No, sorry, no thanks," and she said "But they're sugar free!" and I was... almost at a loss. I remembered then that lollipops have dangerous sticks, so I said "It's not just that, they're on sticks, and she runs.")

Downstairs I had to make Linnea scream again, because it was still raining and she needed to be reinserted into her raingear.

Easel, Phone and Home for adult lunch

I headed straight to a shop called "The Entertainer", which I'd never entered before because all the stuff visible from the street has always seemed somewhat electrical in nature; noisy or flashy or vibratey or all three, with themes. But I'd heard a rumour that, unlike Mothercare, the Early Learning Centre, or John Lewis Toy Department, they might stock an adjustable height easel, or a tabletop one.

They didn't, but they did have one whose legs come in two halves, so we're just not going to put the bottom halves of the legs on until she's taller. Now she can paint in the garden or the kitchen!

She miraculously fell asleep in there, and I went to the Orange shop to get them to tell me what to do about my phone, every effort at reading the manual having been thoroughly toddlered. Not only did the nice young man tell me in words of one syllable what to do, he also transferred all my contacts from the old handset to the new one. Now it's just the photos and SMSes to worry about.

We got the bus home; she woke up crossing the road to the bus-stop because a gust of wind got in under her hood. She wasn't impressed. But the bus journey was simple enough, except that I and the other woman boarding with a buggy had some trouble getting on in the first place; the door was opposite a bin, the bus-stop itself, and a bollard - so I had to wiggle a lot, with my tiny, nippy buggy, and then I had to turn around and help the other woman lift her buggy over to the step up to the bus; there was no space to wheel her buggy in. Presumably, had there been a wheelchair user, the driver would have reversed to the usual stopping point?

Also, in spite of there being visibly enough space for another buggy, the driver refused a couple at the next stop permission to board, because he already had three buggies on. They will usually take four. I must remember to find out what the actual policy is, when it happens that no-on is using the buggy-space seats - this bus was easily three-quarters empty.

When we got home, over 6 hours after leaving the house, I had my own lunch. And a cup of tea.

Visitor!

A neighbour, whom we met through the antenatal classes and who is pregnant with her second child, dropped in just as I had decided that Linnea could watch TV for the rest of the day until her eyes glazed over and her brain dribbled out her ears. So Linnea saw part of one cartoon and that was it, and I was cheered up from my damp and panicked day. We've arranged to visit other pregnant antenatal class neighbour (due on Thursday! So exciting!) tomorrow sometime.

Rob cooked dinner, took Linnea to the park, and gave her a bath. My sister phoned to say she's moved to a house with a landline and appalling decor, but she hopes to impress upon the landlord that she's not like the last tenant and gain permission to paint the walls something nice and neutral, not H-Block orange and brown (that's only the hall, but it's bad enough). This shouldn't be hard, she's about as good a tenant as I used to be; tends to get things mended and cleaned and maintained and so on.

Then we put Linnea to bed and I made flapjacks. They're baking now. It's 22:10 - two and a half hours after I started this entry.

Having children really does change one's life. I'm sitting here eating unbaked flapjack mixture because I couldn't be bothered to grease another tin.

Comments

Hey little girl, want a sweetie?

[ailbhe]

I emailed John Lewis. I may go so far as to speak to someone about it if we get back into the store on a calm day.