… Kev’s more or less better, now. I think his throat’s still a bit scratchy, but he’s back at work, and managing not to collapse in a heap of patheticness at the end of the day, which is a bonus.
Actually, considering it’s May, there still seems to be quite a lot in the way of coughs and colds flying around. Both of my kids have a slightly chesty-sounding cough, which isn’t debilitating them, but is slowing them down a little. And given that the first time Daisy got croup, we’d never heard of anyone having it, outside of Ann of Green Gables
, the number of croupy babies and children in our church is starting to become ridiculous. We’re considering starting a support group. Well, not really, but it does seem a bit odd. We have six babies under a year old, and three of them are susceptible to it, which seems a bit high.
Coughs and colds aside, Daisy and Henry are doing nicely. Henry is trying to talk more, which is lovely. He’ll make attempts at Daddy, Mummy, Daisy and Cat, and he’s signing a little too – bed and drink, particularly. He’s only ten months, so he’s not doing any of it reliably, but you can see he’s starting to get the idea, which is lovely.
Daisy has very few problems communicating. I can remember when she was Henry’s age, being quite excited, and a little impatient, for the day when she could tell me what was in her head. Now, when I have to try and seriously consider questions like, “Mummy, what do you think if me and you and Daddy and Grandmum and Henry were hung on the washing line?” I’m wondering if I was happier when I didn’t know.
Daisy’s quite a sensitive little flower, in lots of ways. She worries about things. She’s recently joined Tumble Tots, but has so far refused to tolerate me waiting in the other room for her. The thing is, a different mother would put their foot down, but I really can’t see the point. There is no merit, to me, in forcing her to a level of independence that she doesn’t want. When she’s ready, she’ll do it, and in the mean time, I can wait in the corner of the room. She’s only three. It’s not as if I’m planning to make her go to school by herself!
At least one of my friends has been heard to marvel at how I cope with having Daisy all day, every day, when everyone else’s kids are in playgroup or nursery for part of the time. I don’t really see it as coping – I cope with Daisy because I HAVE Daisy. I love her, and even when that doesn’t seem to help me LIKE her very much (and you all have those days, don’t pretend you don’t), I still want her where she feels safe and secure, and capable of behaving like a little madam if she needs to!
As it happens, my whole relationship with Daisy has improved markedly, since I realised that I was chronically dehydrated. Not acutely, but chronically, in the sense of not drinking nearly enough, for days and weeks on end. Kevin brought me a glass of cordial with my tea, one night, and I looked at it, and thought, “That’s my first drink today.” And really, that’s not good enough. No coffee, no cold drinks, nothing since I poured milk on my cornflakes at 8am. So I started making a concerted effort to drink more, and almost immediately, I found I was less tired, sluggish, bad-tempered, and overwhelmed by everything. I could get things done! And I didn’t spend my whole day snapping at my poor, innocent three-year-old.
I knew water was important, and I knew I didn’t drink enough, but I was astonished at the difference it made. I thought I just WAS that person. It’s quite a relief to discover that I’m not!