Smacking – Part 3.
Slight delay in this post as I have had the most horrendous toothache for a few days. It started at New Year and then on Sunday night it was so bad I honestly would have rather taken pill after pill than continue to go through it. Luckily my mum was on the end of the phone and talked me through it.. I don’t even know how to describe it.
Way worse than having babies. Way.
Anyway – smacking story – there is a reason for this story – I do really want to help other people and there are some facts and details in the way that we dealt with this that I would never have known save for the help of my very good friend, C.
We arrived at the children’s Ward anyway – probably around 6.30 or just before. Kit would normally have been having milk around this time and he was grumpy and clingy to me. Obviously wondering what on earth was going on.
There were several ‘worse things’ about this day and I can’t keep saying ‘one of the worse things’ as it doesn’t quite get across how awful so much of this was. When we arrived at the Children’s ward we were let in and basically all the nurses acknowledged Dave and Anna by name. This didn’t really register with me until much later on in the evening when it suddenly dawned on me that everyone … everyone in that ward knew why we were there. We were suspected of abusing our children. The knew Dave – he was an officer for Children’s Police Protection Unit and they knew Anna – a Social Worker from Children’s Services. And they all said hello like they all knew each other. I cringe when I think of the minutes of discussion – they don’t look like the type, or worse, they do look like the type, which child? All of them?
Gossip gossip….
Dave explained once we were in a room that the next step would be a Paediatrician would come and examine Ella’s finger and would also want to look at Kit seeing as Rowan had described the morning with his grump over the mobile phone.
We weren’t quite prepared for what followed though. Anna was clearly watching us – I felt very watched. My every interaction with the children was being observed. Kit was clambering over everything. Standing on the bed, shaking the metal frame, throwing himself around and generally having a whale of a time. Luckily we had some snack biscuits for him in his bag and he was munching on those one after the other. Ella and Rowan were showing off as they are likely to do when faced with adults who are watching their every move and interested in every single word they have to say…
The Paediatrician explained that he had to x-ray Ella’s finger and check for a break and it was kindly explained to me that if Ella’s finger was broken then I would be charged with ABH against my child. A lot of the time now events in my memory are jumbled of this evening. There were times I was in the room with all the family and then there were times where I was next door either alone and talking to Dave and Anna or just Dave. Sometimes BN was with me and sometimes not. I pretty much sobbed my way through the evening when not in front of the girls. I didn’t cry in front of them at all.
Ella’s finger was not broken – as we knew and then the Dr explained that he needed to examine them. Whilst we watched and helped a little a Dr examined Ella from head to toe. including removing her underwear and examining her genitals for signs of abuse. He held an A4 piece of paper where he recorded every single abrasion or mark, cut, scrape or bruise on her body as if I was watching some kind of TV program. To be honest she basically had nothing on her. She had a scraped knee and he asked her how it happened and she said she’d fallen at school. He marked the injured finger and that was it. I kept jolly throughout reassuring her. Ella giggled her way through the whole thing. Her little nervous laugh when she’s not quite sure what’s going on. She does the same thing when she’s in trouble but when she’s not sure quite how much trouble she’s in. Rowan got very unsure at this point. She was in a plastic hospital chair up against the wall and when the Dr started to examine Ella’s bottom, Rowan said ‘I don’t like this anymore, I want to go home.’
My heart absolutely broke for her.. I saw a sudden flicker across her face of ‘what on earth is going on here that I don’t know about…?’
We reassured her quickly that the Dr was just looking at Ella to make sure she was well after she got hurt and Rowan, bright spark as always, said - Ella hurt her finger, why is he looking at her bottom?
What could we say? I just said it was fine and that we’d be going home soon … I remember digging my nails into my hand to stop me from crying.
He then looked at Kit – the Dr I have to say was just lovely. He was an older Indian man and he quietly glanced sideways at BN and I and said he was not concerned in the least – he even said he would expect to see far more marks on kids of their ages just from life in general. He told us not to worry.
Would have been nice not to have to.
Kit was amenable thankfully – he was also stripped naked, nappy off, bottom examined, penis, every inch of his body scrutinised and appraised. I wanted to shout at everyone to just get away from them. Stop touching my babies and STOP IT RIGHT NOW!
But you can’t. You have to let them. And it killed me.
I can’t ever forgive the people that made that happen. Ever.
After this I was taken into a separate room. Kit fell asleep in BN’s arms as we sat and listened to Dave explain what would happen next. I was to be questioned under caution the following day at the Police Station. I didn’t understand at first. When Dave said he wanted to talk to me, I thought he meant that he would be coming round to the house. I asked what time – he was kind it has to be said… he was very gentle with my feelings – probably worried I was going to go into premature labour or collapse. I was so distressed. Sobbing with no tears left.
He wanted my version of events. My side of the story. My chance to explain why all of this was so very wrong. Except of course that isn’t what he wanted. He wanted my version of events to see if I needed to be charged with a crime. Punishable by up to 5 years in prison.
I mean really? The reality of this still hasn’t really dawned on me.
I was asked to attend the station the next day and if I wanted a solicitor which I declined. After this, Anna asked me to sign a voluntary request not to be left alone with my own children. I didn’t even really get it. We asked questions. I wanted clarification of how far this went… how does BN go to the toilet? I do bathtime every night upstairs by myself while BN cleans, tidies, hoovers and gets bedtime drinks ready - is that allowed?
They said just to use common sense. BN had to be within earshot of me with the children. He couldn’t go out and leave me with them. He couldn’t go to the shop. Or to work. I wasn’t allowed to be alone with my own kids. Anna feared for their safety. Until she knew not to.
Around 7.30, the girls were given a couple of slices of toast each by a nurse. They were waning in their enthusiasm for the situation although credit to them they were never naughty, they were bored. But I think by this point they were aware that perhaps there was something else going on that maybe they didn’t understand. I certainly think Rowan had an idea. Although she wouldn’t have known what.
We were released. We called a cab. We got home. We gave the girls cereal, we gave Kit some milk and put him to bed. We sat. We stared. I cried. BN made phone calls to the people we had called. I stared. And cried. Great wrenching sobs. Small tearless weeps.
I sat like that in a daze really – till around 1am when I felt I could sleep. I was awake by 3am and I just lay there looking at the ceiling, weeping, thinking, imagining all of the bad things to come. BN woke up and put his arms around me and I just lay there. And I felt very alone.
I think even in the position I’m in – a very strong, loving, trusting relationship – I felt very alone. I wasn’t prepared for that at all.
It’s one thing having your family examined – it’s another thing being the reason that it’s all happening.
Smacking Part 2.
I left work immediately – my manager called BN at work using my mobile as I just couldn’t even speak. I remember shaking badly and walking around my office and trying to press buttons on my mobile and that she took it from my hand.
I met him from work and we went straight to the school where we were met by a ‘family liaison officer’ and shown to the family room. Her name was Clare and it was really evident to us very quickly that she was new. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that she had no clue what she was doing.
I was really upset, BN was more questioning. We asked to see the girls, we were refused, we asked where they were and what was happening and we were told that they were in the school and being looked after and that we were waiting for Police and Children’s Services to arrive and that they should be here very shortly. We got there about 3.20pm I would say, and they didn’t even get there until after 4pm. The girls’ belongings were in the room which was incredibly distressing and I immediately spotted a note on the top of their things written in pencil by Ella’s form tutor, ET.
It said
‘what shall I say to the girls’ child minder when she arrives?’
or words to that effect. It was signed by her and of course what this told us straight away was that this had been going on for hours. We hadn’t been called, notified or contacted in any way. Clare saw me find & read the note, I showed it to her, I think she acknowledged that it was unfortunate that it was there and tried to take it. I resisted and eventually she gave up and let me take it - I told her I was keeping it and put it in my hand bag. It was an uncomfortable moment but to be honest I wasn’t really bothered about what she thought.
Before the Police Officer, Dave, and the Social Worker, Anna, got there, I asked Clare what were the potential outcomes of what was happening. I was clearly pregnant, clearly distressed and she said ‘the worst case scenario is that the girls will be placed in alternative care for the night, ideally they like to place them with family though.’ Her tone and demeanor? She may as well have said – well usually we like to give children vanilla ice cream but if we don’t have any we offer them chocolate.
I heaved really sharply and was almost sick, she fetched a washing up bowl from the sink.
I can’t even begin to tell you how her words affected me. And then she left. She was supposed to be our family liaison officer. And she left the room. She left us. She was clearly out of her depth – she was unsure how to handle us, she didn’t calm us down in the slightest, she offered no concrete process or facts to reassure us or help. She was transparent platitudes and incompetence wrapped up in an unsure bow of inexperience. And it was painfully obvious.
I started making calls immediately. I called my mum and found that she was literally moments away from stepping onto the Eurostar to go on a 3 week holiday. My dad now lives in Egypt and my sister was newly pregnant. All of BN’s family either live just outside North London area or in New Zealand. My brother is in Australia. I was frantic. I was starting to think that if they were to be placed elsewhere then who would they send them to if we had no family?? I thought of a close friend we have who the girls know really well and I could think of my child minder and that was it. Would it even be our choice if we had no family available?? My mind was racing.
I rang one of my oldest friends. It suddenly occurred to me that my good, good friend, C, worked in Children’s Services for a County Council elsewhere in the country. And to be honest, if it weren’t for her and her contacts and knowledge not just then but through the entire ordeal …. then I really, honestly don’t know what would have happened differently.
She was amazing.
I called her – and first of all she reassured me that the likelihood of the girls being placed in alternative care was basically zero. She calmed us down wonderfully and gave us great advice about how to communicate with the Police when they arrived and the Social Worker. By the time I finished talking to her I did feel a lot better. One of my many criticisms of the whole event was that it just shouldn’t have been her responsibility.
When Dave and Anna finally arrived they made it very clear that from a Police perspective they did not want my version of the events from the morning. Dave needed to talk to the girls first and foremost. Get their story, independently from one another. My children were interviewed by Police and Children’s Services. I still can’t get over that.
Dave reassured us that it was very straight forward and that they should be back with us within about 10-15 minutes. He talked us through potential outcomes. In some cases, families have to visit the local hospital to be seen by a Dr. he said and that seeing as he hadn’t seen Ella’s injury as yet, he didn’t want to make a call about it. Again he told us not to worry. He understood it was difficult and so on. He was perfunctory but nice.
They left us and judging by his explanation we looked at the clock and expected them back somewhere around 4.40pm. By the time it got to almost 5pm I was once again frantic. I was pacing, crying, looking through the glass panel in the door into the corridor… pacing, crying. I could see Rowan’s reception teacher from the year before in an opposite room…. and she saw me looking and gave the flat mouth detached sympathy face – like oh dear that poor woman – not poor Rowan’s mum who I *know* but just – that woman. I felt utterly alone. We were alone and I was even more desolate. This wasn’t aimed at BN it was aimed at me.
They didn’t trust me. Me. I was suspected. Not BN. Me. Just me. And it was incredibly lonely.
Finally they returned about 5.10pm and things took an even more unexpected turn.
They gave us the details of the girls’ interviews. Ella had candidly told them she had never been smacked before – which actually isn’t true but I thought that at least showed that it is part of their discipline so infrequently that she couldn’t even remember it happening before. She told them that she had been naughty and that I had told her off, smacked her hand etc.
In Rowan’s interview though – bless Rowan with her dramatics – she told them that I had lost my temper and shouted at Ella and that she hadn’t deserved it. She told them that I threw Ella on the sofa (a fact that Ella disagreed with in her interview when asked) and that I had smacked her hand. Dave and Anna then apparently asked her if anything else had happened that morning that she thought they should know. Rowan told them that I had made the baby cry and wouldn’t let her make him feel better.
Now this was something totally separate. And frustratingly I probably could have avoided this added extra stress at this point if I had taken a bit more time to explain to Rowan in the morning why I didn’t want her to make Kit feel better when I had told him off.
Around 6am – BN had gone to the bathroom – Our morning routine was that we would do whatever with Kit at whatever time he woke up and that around 6 or so BN would go the bathroom first and get showered and ready. He would then come back to our room about 6.30 and all of them would go downstairs whilst I took a shower. Whilst BN was in the bathroom, Kit had been sitting on the bed, crawling around etc. and the girls were watching TV. He was occasionally occupied by telly but at 11 months if any of you are familiar, they tend to watch a bit and then generally mooch, cry, giggle, get tickled, try to kill themselves by leaping off the bed in the direction of the floor, head first usually in Kit’s case.
I had been looking at my mobile and the room was fairly dim, I put it back on the bedside table and I was still very reclined in bed. Just my head and shoulders propped up on pillows and 5 months pregnant. Kit was a big boy. He was over the 100th percentile in development and at 11 months he was wearing clothes sized for 12-18 months old. He was a hefty boy. But obviously not walking yet or being very stable, he was a bit of a lump. He saw the light from my mobile and suddenly launched himself across my body. I think for the phone. Instinctively I grabbed him, I caught him by his hips and pulled him back over my body and put him back on the bed. He would have landed head first on the floor. There’s no doubt in my mind. Beds are soft and infinitely less likely to cause injury to heads. Could I have put him down softer on the bed? I’m not sure really. I was trying to stop him hurting himself and he was very heavy. I had to pull him back hard to resist his falling weight. And he landed on the bed with the force of his own bodyweight I would say is the only way I can articulate it. He was cross – he didn’t like that I wouldn’t let him have the phone and he did a grumpy strop. You know babies, right? A shouty scream at me and clenched fisty type of strop. He was very capable of telling me that he wasn’t happy. Clearly he had no clue that he would have landed on his head on the floor. I told him no, sternly, and then it was time to get up. Rowan went to give him a hug – she’s very motherly which is adorable and wonderful and to be honest? I mostly take it as a tremendous compliment to my own mothering. I think that’s allowed. She loves to hug babies, sooth them, cuddle them, help change them, carry them, help with nappies, mother them and generally be in charge. It’s only that bit that can get in the way sometimes. I snapped a bit I should think. It was 6.30 ish in the morning. We’d already been up for 2 hours. I told her not to make him feel better (because he was in trouble) but I didn’t explain that to her and I probably should have. Could have. It had all happened in an instant and she hadn’t seen it I don’t think so I just…. didn’t.
All they told me was that Rowan had relayed an event from the morning involving the baby and that they felt he should be seen. At first I was gobsmacked and incredulous. I didn’t even remember any event from the morning. Kit leaping off the bed was a ‘nothing’. It must happen at least ten times a day when you have a very young, trying to toddle infant. I felt my jaw drop. ‘Nothing has happened to the baby’ I spluttered. I was wracking my brains trying to think where Rowan was getting it from – I fleetingly wondered if she was making stuff up. There’s no doubt that Rowan loves attention. She particularly loves adult attention and she’s very articulate so I wondered if perhaps she had just embellished something because she (obviously not understanding the seriousness of the situation) just loved that she had two adults simply hanging on her every word….
Dave then described what Rowan had told them. That I made the baby cry, shoved him on the bed and wouldn’t let her make him feel better. It all dawned on me, I tried to explain, he wouldn’t let me. They felt this warranted a trip to the local hospital so the children could be examined by a paediatrician.
A short while later, the girls were brought back to the family room and ET was with them (writer of the note from earlier, Ella’s form tutor). She had her head bowed, made no eye contact with us at all, muttered that she was getting her bag and left the room. I felt utterly judged. Judged and found guilty.
The girls were thrilled to see us – they were full of stories and over excited. I asked them if they had been given tea. I had repeatedly asked if they were being fed throughout the time we had been there. They are used to a cooked meal at 4pm as they go home with the child minder – I really must think of a name for her. I can’t keep writing child minder. We had repeatedly been told in response that they were being well looked after.
They had been given a banana and a drink. The girls actually told us they had been given nothing. But we found out later they’d had a banana. I was livid.
I’d had to call the nursery several times as we usually collected Kit daily at around 5.15 and we were terribly late. Although they were open until 6pm we were never actually there that late. By the time we got there in separate cars – Dave had taken BN and girls to the children’s ward at the hospital and Anna was with me – it was around 6.10pm.
The one girl at the nursery that I didn’t particularly like was with Kit. Sarah just wasn’t on the ball as much as the others. She gave him standard crisps one day instead of infant low salt ones which annoyed me as I’d specifically told her. She wasn’t one of his detailed key-workers and I dunno – I just felt like she didn’t know him as well and I didn’t really feel that she paid attention as much. She was lovely, just a bit meek and mild and not as thorough I guess. The nursery was FAB and I loved it there. It was just Sarah. However, in a nursery when there are shifts and so on, she would occasionally be the one left with the remaining babies and that was the case this day. I asked how he was and she started detailing how clingy he’d been that day and how unlike his usual self he’d been. Well, yes, he’s teething I replied with the Social Worker standing behind me. I felt like Anna was just thinking – hmm clingy, not usual self, we’re going to find injuries. Totting up the evidence. It was just awful.
We put him in the car and made our way to the hospital to meet Dave and BN with the girls.
I thought I’d had the worst three hours of my life by this point. How wrong you can be.
Smacking.
The whole debate over the Coronation Street brings me nicely onto the issue I had last summer.
I don’t actually watch Coronation Street – or any soaps for that matter – I hate that my parents were right about that. I did grow out of them. Dammit. But everyone is talking about it and I wanted to blog this – so deep breath – get a cuppa. It’s a long one and probably going to be more than one installment.
Last year – I was around halfway through my pregnancy with Nina – it was coming up to the end of June and Kit was a very draining and demanding 11 month old. BN was full time at work – as was I. Kit was going through a very difficult phase – waking very early every morning and never going back to sleep. It had been going on for about 3 weeks. That in itself would have been OK but for months at that point, each and every morning the first thing he would do is wake up, stand up…. and cry. And if you didn’t get him – like – IMMEDIATELY he would scream. Scream, cry, tears, snot, dribble – scream screaaaaam.
We tried sleep training – we tried pick up put down – we tried cuddling back to sleep and then placing him down fast asleep (cue wake up and scream), pacing the floor, Calpol (teething?) extra blankets, a drink of water, milk. I tried everything. Everything in my repertoire – all I had and he was just impossible. So every day started at 4.30am – with screaming and crying – and I must admit it was tough. Really tough.
The days themselves weren’t like this at all - he got himself to sleep every night in his own bed – always cute, funny, great sense of humour – really cheeky and really, really good fun to be honest. Never a dull moment and hardly ever a scream or a cry in the day. He was just learning to walk – taking a few stumbles every other day and eating fine – drinking plenty. Trust me – I really thought of everything.
So eventually - we just stopped trying to work out what was wrong and we just got on with it. Every day started like that – we just had to buckle up and suck it up basically. It was awful - truth be known - every day between 4.30 and 6.30 I didn’t want to be with my boy. But mainly because I wanted to be asleep!!!
The girls were great – mostly they knew we were having a tough time in the mornings and they were ace at getting up and getting themselves ready (with occasional reminders of stop watching TV with one leg in your trousers and continue getting dressed) :) and basically being just fab. Love them.
Ella was struggling with the new baby thing a little bit – not in very obvious ways and definitely not all the time. But every now and then Kit was just ‘in her way’… in her way of me – of cuddles – in her way of daddy – of anything she wanted at that minute. Those minutes were few and far between by the time he was a year old and considering she was only just 4 shortly after he was born and I think she did pretty well. A tough age to be usurped.
Anyway – on a particular day – she wasn’t being great. Kit had been up since 4.30 crying and screaming. Don’t forget the screaming. I was tired – not at the edge but just tired and you know – wishing it was Friday and not Thursday. She has a very particular way of being cheeky in an amazing way when she’s in a good mood and a very expert way of being cheeky in a very aggravating way when she’s trying to get under your skin.
She was not happy – she was pushing buttons – I had already heard BN telling her off whilst I was getting washed upstairs – it’s never anything serious apart from answering back or having a moan about something she hasn’t been able to do – the usual I’m4andangryattheworldsometimes sort of behaviour.
BN was on an earlier shift that day and he left about 7.30 and I had about 20 minutes before we had to leave. Rowan was disappointed because he had inadvertantly spent longer cuddling Ella when he left and so I pulled her on to one knee and Kit onto the other and called Ella in for a group hug. I’d been snappy and a little grumpy that morning and I always like to make sure that when they leave for school they are happy and smiling and feeling loved. I can’t have it any other way.
Ella took part in the group cuddle which I had to cut short because Kit had started to squirm on my lap and instantly she whined. Why have you put me down, why did Rowan get a longer cuddle, it’s not fair kind of whine. I explained that she’d had a longer cuddle with Daddy and I was trying to make sure that Rowan had got a good cuddle too. I said she had also been part of that cuddle and that (in a firm way) I didn’t want her to whinge and complain because she wasn’t being fair. It’s fair to say I was on the cusp of exasperated. I tried to get everyone feeling happy and settled and it had got spoiled by her moaning – so they were harsh words I suppose.
She flipped – Ella has like a Jekyll and Hyde switch somewhere sometimes and immediately she stamped and clenched her fists and growled at me and gave a response of some kind – I can’t actually remember but it was something stroppy and she went to stomp out of the room.
I picked her up, plonked her on the sofa and told her off. I took her left hand with my right hand by the wrist and slapped the back of her hand with my left hand. I am right-handed. It wasn’t hard. I didn’t leave a mark or hit her hard AT ALL but a few minutes later when all the kids were already absorbed in morning Milkshake TV again, Ella said that her finger was hurting. Her little finger on her left hand – I took her on my knee – it felt slightly warm and looked a bit pink and puffed up – not exactly swollen but puffy. I asked her if it had happened when I smacked her hand and she said yes … my heart absolutely sunk and I just made an instant decision to take her to hospital.
I dropped Rowan off at my childminder - told her what had happened – Rowan being Rowan was distraught that Ella was going to hospital and cried when I left her – I explained that this was just about checking she was OK and that I didn’t think anything was really wrong. I dropped Kit at nursery and took Ella to A&E.
We were seen immediately by a triage nurse who looked at her finger and assessed that there was no serious damage. I broke down on her as well. I felt such awful guilt and I remember she leant over and touched my face and said look – this happens – it was an accident and she’s fine - she even said you can see a Dr if you want – there wasn’t a long wait that morning but that she didn’t think it was desperately urgent to see one if I didn’t want to. I made a choice to stay – around 40 minutes later (after Ella had jumped all over the children’s soft play area) – we were seen by a Dr who said that he didn’t think there was any damage. He said maybe maybe a soft tissue damage or a pulled ligament under the finger but he wasn’t sure if it was even that. I think he said a mild sprain. My only thought that was perhaps when I had taken her hand in mine or when I had put my hand forward to smack her my hand had somehow caught her finger at an awkward angle. The Dr agreed and reassured me that he didn’t think it would have been possible to cause her injury by the smack itself. I agreed. How can smacking a child’s hand on top cause a pulled ligament or soft tissue damage underneath…? She was offered calpol and she declined it saying it didn’t hurt. It was slightly more puffy and pink than it had been an hour before and it was warm but she insisted she was fine and wanted to go to school.
I took her to school around 10am – took her to her classroom and spoke to the teaching assistant as the actual form teacher was with other children in a computer suite and told her exactly what had happened. She again – knowning me from Rowan’s class the year before – reassured me – said accidents happen, she seems fine. I told her the Dr had recommended no aggressive play for the day and to try to keep the hand rested on the desk rather than letting it hang down – only to reduce any potential swelling. I asked her to take Ella to see Rowan to reassure her that all was well and that Ella was back from the Dr and not dying anywhere. Rowan has a tendency to the dramatic 
Ella and I kissed and cuddled, I left and she was all smiles.
I got to work, told my colleagues, cried briefly on another couple of managers at my branch that day and when I say cried I mean not sobbing. Not out of control crying. Just a bit teary that I felt I had hurt my own child and that I didn’t really know how it had happened. I felt bad.
My childminder asked me via text in the day if the hospital were reporting it and I text her back saying she was mean with a I said I felt bad enough without her taking the piss - she text me back and said she wasn’t she just genuinely wondered if the A&E dept. were going to report the case. The thought had never crossed my mind. AT ALL.
Smacking is a last resort in our house. We do warnings, we do time out – we do talking, debate and discuss making choices about our behaviour. If they are riling me I generally ask them to tell me about the change in my tone of voice – how does my voice sound? – what is going to happen next? – they’ll answer – we’re going to get a warning, your voice is getting cross. We’ll have time out etc.
I’m not perfect but neither are they – and to be honest Ella is very different to Rowan. She snaps sometimes and when she’s going to have one of her tears and sobbing episodes you very often struggle to get much sense out of her for a good fifteen minutes. She is willful and stubborn and all these things I love about her – but none of them are useful 10 minutes before you have to leave the house in the morning when you still have 5 things to do including finishing to get an 11 month old baby dressed in a coat, shoes and so on.
With Ella? A little smack on the back of the hand works. She focused. I was able to talk to her. I told her off – she got her words from me – we do not scream, stamp our feet or shout at mummy and so on and it worked. Within 1 minute we were done and she was watching telly. I can’t even tell you the time before that they – either of them – got a smack.
At 3pm – my mobile rang. It was my childminder - she had been informed that Childrens Services and the Police had been called and that my girls were not being released into her care and that she should leave without them. I’d had no call and no warning whatsoever.
I fell to the floor and cried out and I don’t remember much of the following 15 minutes.
Work is Looming
I have three weeks left.
Three.
Bless my little Nina – Full Stop as she’s known in the house – she was a happy accident – a blessing – but an unexpected one…. last year’s maternity leave left us rather lacking in the financial department to be honest and when it became clear that we were going to be having another baby, we had to make plans as to what was achievable – not achievable – realistic….
It became clear very quickly that I wasn’t going to be able to take 6 months off work again. The mat leave payment scheme at work is pretty good. The length of time I’ve been there affords me 3 months off fully paid – which is great (otherwise I’d have been back at work when she was two weeks old!) but it does mean that I have to go back when she’s only three months.
My bank balance just can’t take another three months paid at only SMP. It’s really sad and I’m not coping very well with it really. She’s so tiny. She’s been smiling for a few weeks but just this morning was the first time I got a glimpse of a proper laugh when I tickled her. And it was great and really awful all in one go.
My childminder is excellent – she has Kit all day as well so the familiarity for them both there will be great – the girls are there every morning and evening too – which is better still. She’s also really honest with me which I love. If Kit says a new word – she tells me – if he does something new like jump – she tells me. I don’t get on very well with the nurseries and so on that keep milestones a secret. It suits some but not us. We like to know.
But it hit me this morning that she will likely be telling me when Nina rolls over… when she crawls, when she walks or says her first word – all of this is likely to be stuff that I miss – that she will see.
And as much as love my childminder – I’m not happy about that and I can’t pretend that I am.
3 weeks to go.
Big unhappy today.
Out in the Cold!!
We have been bombarded with colds for weeks!
Weeks I tell you!
Weeks!
The baby got one when she was only two weeks old – which incidentally seems to be the way with my new babies – I then got a really bad cold and sore throat which led to a sinus infection which I always get as I have nasal polyps. The baby’s cold lasted for 6 weeks which I thought was pretty mean. I felt really sorry for her.
Then BN got the cold, then Ella and Rowan (although they have it far more mildly than BN who seems to have it worse than anyone) and now Kit. He has also JUST got over one. BN’s led to a chest infection – he’s now on antibiotics – with a cough that WILL.NOT.GO! and now Kit has started waking in the night (which actually he’s started doing anyway) and last night he woke with the start of a cough. A very good impression of a fifty year old dog with emphysema.
Awesome.
And now? Now – now the baby has started to snuffle and snort and sneeze. AGAIN. Seriously – I need some cold break!
On top of this? I have THE worst toothache ever. Last year after Kit was born – about 6 weeks I started to get toothache in one of my molars. I went and she found decay and I had to have a filling. Only my third ever. My first two when I was 16. I take such good care of my teeth and I was gutted. She reassured me that pregnancy is hard on teeth and I should be proud that I only had three but to be honest? It was the pain that I was most unhappy about.
Two or three days before New Year’s Eve I started to get a slight throb in the same tooth. It started off being abated by painkillers, then not. basically. On the Monday evening after New Year, it got so bad and so relentless, I couldn’t even take care of Nina. And I was crying. Crying!
I went back to the dentist and she found decay under the filling and it had reached the nerve. She seemed to do a very mild procedure, took out old filling and replaced. Gave me lots of injections …. two very far back behind the nerve that runs into the bottom jaw. And a week later and I still have really bad ache. Is that normal?? My jaw feels like I’ve been punched. I’ve developed ulcers all down my gums along the offending tooth area. My front teeth seem to have transferred pain. And whilst the tooth itself isn’t hurting I don’t think I also have apparently developed an unconscious need to push my tongue against the inside of my teeth which is making it worse. Worse? I can’t stop.
Argh!
And on top of all of that? More colds.
Bleurgh.
Testing Testing… 123….
I’ve been thinking about this for a while… loading up the page every now and then … reading the last few posts… blowing the dust off and trying to figure out what I would say. Taking pictures and thinking of blogging them.
I have facebook which I love ..
But…
I loved blogging and I’ve missed it terribly. And to be honest? I probably quit it at the one time in my life when I really needed it but I just felt that I couldn’t write about the things that I wanted to write about without potentially hurting people … family. As I knew they knew I was here. I didn’t want to write about inane stuff when really I needed to talk. I tried to set up somewhere new… but it wasn’t me. Little Nut Tree is me.. it’s my identity and trying to be someone else just felt like I was trying to hide and be me all at the same time. I suppose I got a few things off my chest when I did that.. and I haven’t taken it down…. and basically I have got past the things that were bothering me at the time even though I never even finished writing them out.
One of the things I’m terrified of is hurting people’s feelings. Saying something that I shouldn’t say… being out of line. Over the line… not being able to take it back.
But if anything that last 18 months or so …I’ve really changed in some ways. Not in others.. I’ll always worry that I’ve said something that has caused someone else pain and I will always try to ensure that I am diplomatic in life and in virtual life… but for once in my life, last week I actually said what I really meant knowing that it could result in someone withdrawing from me… from my life…. but it was upsetting me not to say it… not to vent was hurting me and this person had already really hurt me… and so I thought do you know what? If I don’t say this? Then I’m an idiot.
So I did.
And it felt goooood.
So really since that conversation… I’ve been thinking – If I can say things out loud to someone’s face in the right way… then as long as I’m careful when subjects are emotive… even if someone reads it when it’s about them … then I think I’m OK.
I think one of the things that got me the most was something that happened a few weeks ago.
Ella asked me what her first word was and I just couldn’t remember. Kit has started to talk and we were all laughing as he kept repeating ‘aarrloh’ for hello —– walking into and out of rooms waving …. aarrloh aarrloh. It was the talk of the house … well that sounds dumb… Not the talk of the office or the world but the house… but there are six of us, yes six! Fair enough one of them really doesn’t talk and one of them only says four words.. but hey. They’re there in spirit!
I could remember Rowan’s (oh dear!) I mean it was actually ‘oh dear’ not oh dear I can remember it… Kit was saying Hello left right and centre… but I just couldn’t remember hers. She was looking at me .. expectantly and waiting and I didn’t want to lie… so what did I do? I sent her off to do a quick job for me and I looked on my blog. I searched for around the time I knew it would be and read some posts. And you know what? I found it. It was bub bye!
And I suppose that’s really truly when it hit me. I am missing stuff. I need to do Nina’s birth story before I forget it. I have all of this fabulous information for the girls when they’re bigger and Kit and Nina just wouldn’t have anything. Having another baby so soon – there are things I wish I could check from when Kit was new. When did he sleep, when did he feed? How tired was I? What funny thing did the girls do that cheered me up?
Tweeting with a friend yesterday and reassuring her that I breastfed through the night loads of times with tears streaming down my face through tiredness and that she wasn’t alone… joy at his first smile…. the girls at school, Rowan reading, getting glasses, Ella’s birthday message, Rowan’s, Kit’s… Kit burning his hand walking, crawling… and none of it is there … I feel like I need to go back and do a catch up story for him so he has stuff to read.
I had a horrendous experience last summer in the vaguery of sleepless nights and full time work… I probably needed support. I was 5-6 months pregnant dealing with an awful personal matter which I will blog about to help others… and I didn’t tell anyone really. I didn’t tell any of my family at all. I didn’t want to bother anyone. I got the help I needed from friends I knew could help practically but I didn’t actually go anywhere for just.. hugs. Words. And I probably should have.
So … there has been IT issues – we lost our WiFi for a bit and my laptop broke. That made things hard for blogging. Charger still broken, screen still cracked…. but I am going to be here. I am going to be blogging. And my assumption is now I’ve been gone so long no one will be reading it anyway so I can say what I like!!
Ella – 4 years old, 10th August 2010.
Don’t faint but here I am.
The notable absence has been more due to the fact that I am unable to talk about stuff I really want to write about. So saving everyone from protracted and boring passworded accounts of everything, I’ve disappeared.
Sad really, I kinda hoped that Kit would be my most blogged pregnancy and baby and it turns out that he is probably going to be the least of all of them.
But anyway – the reason for this entry is my Ellabean.
Yesterday my middle bean, my littlest girl was 4. It seems crazy that this time four years ago I was looking after another little newborn. She was the cutest baby. All placid and sleepy. Easy to look after. We even took a picture of her crying once, to prove she did! She smiled early at 3 and a half weeks. Started as she meant to go on.
Ella,
You are the possibly at your most precocious right now. You have hit the emotional age of a 13 year old with full force and currently you’re waging one long, insistent battle with anyone that stays in your line of sight long enough. Couple this with your insatiable need for affection and your desire to love everyone with wild abandon and you are one bundle of contradiction.
You are still my funny one – my little cheeky monkey. Crazy Ella you still very much are. Bonkers and out of your brains silly, loving and gorgeous, witty and clever. I can’t believe that you are going to be at school in less than a month. It doesn’t seem five minutes since you were born. Daddy and I were just saying on Monday that this time 4 years ago we were just getting to know you and now how could we ever imagine life without you!?
This year you begged and begged for a Princess bike for your birthday, we went out and bought one ready and whilst it was waiting in the shed to be assembled, the very next day you decided for the first time in months that actually you would like the Hello Kitty one. After this? You decided you didn’t want any presents at all….
Hard to please? You? No not at all
Love you millions billions and squillions
Mummy
x
Freddie
If you could find it in your hearts to support my sister in supporting the hospital SCBU that took care of lovely Freddie in Aptil then I would really appreciate it.
You can find out how here
On a more upbeat note!
I am officially one month away from my due date.
I have a bug or buglette due to join the Nutty Family Tree and I am apprehensive.
Excited.
But apprehensive.
Can I do this again?
Labour?
Delivery?
Will everything be OK?
Will I cope with a baby??
No sleep??
MY BEST FRIEND SLEEP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Waaaahhhhhhhhhh :’(
I am large for my dates – I had an appointment with my midwife a couple of weeks ago – should have been measuring somewhere between 32 and 33 weeks but actually measured… 36 – 37 weeks! eeek!! 
Scan appointment was made for the next day and sure enough… it showed that Bug or Buglette – is hooo-ajj. (huge)
I had to have a glucose tolerance test (which I had previously declined) to make sure there was none of the diabeeeeties in there causing massive babyness. I had declined it earlier seeing as the only reason for it was that I have a raised BMI. I read up on gestational diabetes a lot … plus having a bit of biology knowledge and interest myself back in the day
I know you if you have it you have a lot of thirst… like very abnormal thirst … a very sweet tooth… glucose in your urine…. a large baby also being a sign … can be more apparent in women with a higher weight etc. but I was stubborn.
I was 26 weeks pregnant – not showing any signs of any of the above apart from the fact that I was overweight.
I had better things to do than sit in a waiting room for 3 hours having blood tests!
But the measurements of big babyness prompted the midwives into flat out ordering me to have the test.
It was negative – as I knew it would be… so I have another scan booked for 23rd June. They have said that if it still looks 4 weeks + ahead in size then I may be offered an induction for early delivery. The consultant was concerned about my hip size ability to deliver an 11lb + baby … EEEEP!
They think if I have it about 37 weeks it would more likely be 9lb ish.
So – to intervene or not to intervene.
I am half way through – or more really – my penultimate week at work. Next week last week – woooohooo! Am knackered! So that’s good – obviously things are crazy busy at work and I am busy training a replacement for me as well as trying to keep everything going in general worky type stuff. Also simultaneously doing the job of a member of staff who is on holiday until the day I leave….
*deep breath*
But – all looking good.
Can’t say I’m that thrilled about the prospect of impending agony again ….but hey…..
I am trying to be positive!
A lot going on round here you know
So…. you may or may not have noticed that I’ve not been around really.
It’s been very hard.
I have been desperate to blog but I’m stuck in that place again where the things I want to talk about unfortunately can’t be private because there are people that I know read here or could easily find me… that I want to talk about.
I have stuff to get off my chest and topics to attend to, upsetting things that you could all no doubt help me with but I’m too frightened to do that for fear of saying the wrong thing and offending people I wouldn’t want to offend… upsetting anyone or making anything worse than it is.
So
The majority of my next few posts will undoubtedly be private but I want you to know that if you think you should have access to those, you are probably one of the people that I would want to be reading them anyway… if you would like to read them, then feel free to email me at [lntblogs at gmail dot com] …. I can only say no …. (but I probably won’t).
I just can’t run the risk of some big or little people coming across things I would like to churn out….
I will be back … now I have decided to do this… it may take me a few days but I’ll be back.
Ella
Ella has just spent the last hour saying
‘Dirty dirty dirty’
In a Devon accent.
BN laughed so much he spat drink all over the place and I nearly choked on a pitta bread.
My children… and their obsession with the horny and the dirty??
Rowan
Rowan’s reading is really coming along in a major way now. Lots of working hard and really trying to read most things that come her way.
A really good friend of ours came to visit a couple of weeks ago and brought with her some reading books that her little boy has outgrown. He’s actually 6 weeks younger than Rowan but has just grasped reading in an amazing way and is reading at the level of an 8 year old.
So … we were reading one of these books the other day and she was doing brilliantly …
±±±±±±±±±±±±
A little boy is walking round his (presumably) family farm and offering all the animals something for breakfast.
On most of the double pages all that is written is “I went to see the cows/sheep/goats” etc. and on the opposite page” ‘Breakfast’ I said” or “I said ‘Breakfast!’ ” under a picture of him feeding the various animals.
She was reading it really well and is starting to understand that it’s OK just to recognise some words such as ‘see’ or ‘to’ ‘the’ and so on rather than having to actually read it every time.
But – we got to the last page and the format changed and her confidence wavered.
The little boy was sitting down to his own breakfast – after gathering some eggs from (again presumably) their own hens.
What it said
In a thought bubble …. ‘I like eggs’
Underneath
“I like Breakfast … I am hungry”
WHat Rowan said:
Breakfast makes me really horny.
BN had to leave the room and the only memory I have of the few minutes after that, is wiping tears from my face
Freddie 02/04/2010 – 13/04/2010
Today was the day that my beautiful little nephew slipped away peacefully after a brave fight to stay here.
I am truly sorry that I never got to meet you and I am so glad that you are at rest
X
