Plague of 2010. Snap, crackle and POP.
M has been sick for the past two weeks. Coughing like a hardened smoker, sore throat, the works. Small Z and I thought that we had missed out. We thought wrong. This is DISEASE! This is THE PLAGUE. Yesterday morning, after a bad night, I went and laid down next to Small Z and it felt as if my ear was filling up…
This is not good, I thought. This is not good at all. I sat up, but it was too late. My ear started to stab me with tiny pickaxes whenever I swallowed the wrong way. I was beyond soldiering on. I called the medical centre on redial until they opened at 8am (this is what you have to do to get an appointment) and booked in for 11.10am, barely believing I’d got one of the two doctors I’d asked for.
I was a zombie. The pain in my ear, coupled with the shovel-loads of snot in my head and my chest along with a cough that sounded like advanced emphysema, all gathered together to put me beyond speaking. Except for the yelping I would do when one of the swallows struck my ear. M (the best person to have on hand during a crisis) drove us all to the medical centre, where we had to wait for one of the longest hours of my existence because they were running over time.
I comforted myself that this was because the doctor is thorough and doesn’t kick you out when your 10 minutes is up. Small Z and M did so well. An hour is a looooong time in a crowded waiting room. Small Z would cough herself silly every now and again, and then bleat sadly, “Take my temperature? Medicine?” Finally we got in to the doctor. I cried at him. He, in turn, looked in my ear and then showed us all pictures of lookalike ears in a book – and then, for further comfort, scarier pictures of what ears look like when your eardrum bursts.
“It probably won’t burst,” he said, “But just in case it does, you’ll feel a bit of a gush and the muck will all come out. And if this happens, don’t get your ear wet for a month.”
“When you use the words ‘burst’ and ‘pop’ in the context of my eardrum, is that what I will hear? Will I hear a ‘pop’?”
I was so glad when he shook his head. Eardrum disintegration I could probably deal with, but building up to a big bang wasn’t in my increasingly limited repertoire. “Don’t worry,” he said kindly, “You’re not being a wimp or anything, this is a really painful thing.” I nodded mutely. Then he heard me cough. “I know you’re not smoking now with the pregnancy, but did you smoke before?” “No! This is the worst cough I’ve ever had!!” Then Small Z coughed almost in unison…
He examined her and said that if she hadn’t improved by Friday then to give her some antibiotics. He was impressed that she had never had any before. He carefully explained what I could take and I almost kissed his feet when he prescribed me some antibiotics that were in the same class of ‘this-won’t-harm-the-unborn’ as Panadol. Diagnosis? Bronchitis* and infected eardrum. Gah. We took the prescriptions straight to the adjoining chemist, where I gave them Small Z’s instead of mine and cried again when I realised I’d have to wait another ten minutes.
Finally it was sorted and M came over to where I was sitting with Small Z. He began gathering things together. I could take it no longer.
“M,” I said, in a tone that sketched a sledgehammer, “GIVE. ME. THE. DRUGS.”
He looked at me blankly, handed me the bag and then watched as I ripped open the box and threw back the first capsule. I was as desperate as a junkie.
The rest of the day I spent in bed trying not to move my head too much. The drugs didn’t really kick in until mid-morning today. It’s really hard to blow your nose without disturbing your ear. And the ear is weird. Crackles and pops and, if Small Z is being particularly loud, I get a little echoey kind of reverb. This has been the most hideous sickness that I can remember ever having. The ear pain took me back to 1992 when I had an infected wisdom tooth, but was worse than that. Oh god.
Obviously I am going to have to think of something lovely to bestow on M, as he has coped stoically with much sobbing in stereo from Small Z and I, as well as mountains of scary tissues and short tethers. And he’s going to have to stay home for the rest of the week as I haven’t been able to do any work yet and need to get two days worth in. If someone could send their private jet to take us all to Bali for the week, it would be wildly appreciated…
* – an umbrella term for a cough that sounds like a death rattle
Week End
This weekend had is hit and miss aspects. We are now all sick with the same hideous bug, to different degrees of despondency. M has had it the worst and the longest, Small Z has a recurring fever, horrible hacking cough and a nose that explodes at regular intervals. Me? I’m just going with the cough and the very snuffly nose.
Because Small Z seems to come good for several hours during the day we have gathered false confidence on both days this weekend and gone out. Yesterday we arranged to meet D&E and Small E at an hysterically bizarre venue – Selandra Rise. A property development site. Why? Purely because The Mudcakes were playing. For free. And it was basically halfway between our two houses.
Despite the Bureau of Meteorology being an organisation known for its incredibly precise predictions (yes, that is sarcasm) the day was vile. A steady, unrelenting drizzle greeted us… and the 50 or so other people who attended. Obviously the organisers had counted on having a slightly better turn out – there were multiple stalls, food, a petting zoo full of ‘baby’ animals that were so young that some of them were basically still in utero, and plenty of be-suited people with shiny white teeth spruiking the house and land packages.
The ‘MC’ for the day, who stood bravely in front of the stage in his suit with his cordless microphone, appeared very savvy, except for several references to the upcoming performance of ‘The Mudrock Kids’ and his suggestions ‘for the guys out there to get on over to the tradies area where you can talk to real-life tradies and find out about becoming one’. Yeah. That’s right. Because female tradies? That’s just weird.
The Mudcakes were great, despite the rain and the fact that most people stood about 50 metres away from them in order to stay dry. Small E got up on stage and accompanied them on bongos while M and Small Z danced at their feet. However, about an hour after that Small Z faded rapidly and we had to bail. Each time I see E lately I think (and it’s very possible) that next time I see her she’ll have a newborn. Oh. My. GOD. And then I panic and try to arrange to see her ‘just one more time’…
This morning, the weather was so beautiful that staying home felt too hard. We went out on the trimaran, arriving a bit early and having to wait for about 40 minutes for the tide to lift us off the mud. It was excellent to be out even though we just stayed on the creek. We did some motoring and some gorgeous quiet rippley sailing with just the jib up. Anchored just past the Warneet pier and had copious cups of tea for an hour or two.
We then pulled up at the pier, and I was thankful that M has had several solo manly adventures which have enabled him to be very good at pulling up alongside such structures without any assistance as I am both not very mobile or good at balancing at the moment. We wandered up to the park and Small Z had a brief swing before we headed back out – racing the tide to get back home. It sunshowered…
That was when Small Z suddenly hit the end of her rope and demanded I cuddle her. She then fell asleep for about an hour while M secured the boat and made hot drinks. If you are unaware, she never ‘falls’ asleep, no matter what her exhaustion level, so we figured her fever was kicking back in. The drive home was fairly dire, but it was still worth it – feeling crap on the boat was far better than feeling crap at home.
We have finished off our evening with M cooking an awesome roast chicken and his new amazing baked spuds – the secret of which is semolina used in a way he won’t divulge – and some stewed rhubarb. Judging from M’s ongoing symptoms, we are all going to be under the weather for the next few days at least. Better now than in six weeks time…
Sedentary and Sick
M has been sick as a phlegmy dog for the past three days. Last night poor Small Z woke up at 3am and I almost burnt my hand off on her hot little head. So today there was no work for me, that will come tomorrow when hopefully M continues to get better. Instead we gently handballed Small Z to each other all day and basically did not leave the house.
Thank goodness we don’t have jobs that demand our presence or else. M showed Small Z something this morning and she looked at it in awe and said; “I can’t believe my eyes! As of tonight both of them seem to have improved considerably, so hopefully tomorrow things will be more normal. However, I can feel a tickle in my throat…do all my vitamins count for NOTHING!?
The 2.5 Kid
Small Z recently became two-and-a-half. As of the last two days she is officially out of nappies. None during the day, and none at night. The guru was right. And from this minute? Due to our great pre-planning and forethought, that gives me about fifty-one days of nappy free existence…until the next two-and-a-half years click over. [eyeroll]
Small Z is a lot of fun. I have loved almost every ‘stage’, but just lately? She is such a companion for me, and one that makes me laugh hugely many times a day. With her nighttime routine still in place I am more often than not getting some couch-time before going to bed myself. This helps me to be a better person in daylight hours – when I manage to get myself to bed before 10pm.
We are still co-sleeping and I’m happy with this. I like that I am able to be there if she wakes with a fright. I love that I can hear the freaky little sleep-talking that she does. During the day I don’t notice, but when her little voice comes abruptly out of the quiet night, I can hear what a baby she still is. It only happens every so often, but last night it was:
“Penguin. Penguin. Penguin. PENGUIN!
Tom bought me a PENGUIN!!”
I did make an attempt a month or two back to get her into her own bed, mostly in preparation for the new babe. It didn’t really work out, and why would it? She isn’t ready. If I was her age and used to snuggling up to my mum every night, I don’t think I’d be that keen on being in another room alone in a bed. I decided to just see how things roll when the new one arrives and to work it out as we go along. There’s no point stressing over the utterly unpredictable.
Yes. There are meltdowns. Mostly hers. And usually due to sleep deprivation. I do try and have quiet time with her, in lieu of the no-napping. The other day I was so sore and exhausted that I just lay on the couch. She is so small, but so patient. She laid a ‘blanket’ over me and climbed up to lie next to me.
Tell-me-a-story about Moon-Sheep… After a few stories she played with some toys near my feet while I got a catnap in. She also unzips my boots at the end of the day, when it is hardest to reach my own ankles. Grateful doesn’t cover it.
Her vocabulary has always been her strength. She continues to love words and obsess over rhyming. She corrects us if we baby-talk her and says things like “Look at my ENORMOUS poo!” and “I have brought you this wire, mama, please don’t leave it there again.” and “I am looking at a par-tic-u-lar cloud.” Right.
Two days ago we were lying on the bed just around noon when she pressed herself against me:
“I love you, mama. I am so glad you came here.”
I gulped and tried to do a mental screenshot capture of the moment. She had never said that to me before. And was lucky I didn’t squish her alive and then eat her up like a raspberry marshmallow. It was one of those parenting moments, and I won’t lie. I lapped it up like a puppy.
And here’s the thing. I am both excited about the new babe, and mourning the loss of having Small Z as my little ‘only’. She is still so small. And yet I know that alongside a newborn, she is going to immediately become the Incredible Hulk.
I am sad that just as everything has got a easier (pregnancy woes aside) we are going to plunge back into the new baby haze and all the upside down crazy shit that goes along with it. Of course we will adapt and change to accommodate. But my focus will have to split, and I can’t help feeling a bit forlorn about that.
So I really feel like grabbing these next (almost) two months and making them special. It’s the last chance I’ll get [cue: me crossing my fingers for a great birth and healthy baby...] I am also trying remember things from this time, but basically, what you’re reading here is the only written stuff I have, so excuse me for a few minutes while I get a few things down for posterity…
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We have a lovely routine going where we make porridge together in the morning and share a kiwi-fruit. We are usually assisted by her favourite toy of the moment – a bee, a Tigger, a crocodile, a train…
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Despite her predilection for excellent diction, she still has a few words escape her, and often says; I need to find my zizzors.
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Current obsessions include bees, trains, sea creatures, the moon (of course), and worms. We got a book out from the library called Over in the Ocean in a Coral Reef and she has basically learnt it by heart. We had it in Collingwood a few weeks back at the time she went to the aquarium. This was recorded that night before we went to sleep…
Over in the ocean on the sandy sea floor,
lived an old mother stingray and her little stingrays four.
Stir, said the mother. We stir, said the four.
So they stirred with their fins on the sandy floor.
Over in the ocean doing somersault tricks,
lived an old mother dolphin and her little dolphins six.
JUMP! Said the mother. We JUMP! said the six.
So they jumped and they played doing somersault tricks…
Over in the ocean their sea fan heaven,
lived a mother angelfish and her angelfish seven.
Graze, said the mother. We graze, said the seven.
So they lazed and they grazed in their sea fan heaven.
Over in the ocean drifting in a yellow line,
lived an old mother gruntfish and her little gruntfish nine…
(Much grunting…)
GRUNT! said the mama. We grunt, said the nine.
So they grunted in a yellow line.
Over in the ocean in their sea grass den,
lived an old father sea horse and his sea horses ten.
Flutter, said the father. We flutter, said the ten.
So they fluttered all around in their sea grass den…
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And the moons and the tigers persist. There was much joy when we discovered that Ligers actually do exist and weren’t something we had created merely for rhyming purposes. Who knew? This is some audio I recorded about three weeks ago, just as we woke up. Silvery Blue Moon Tiger Snackbox
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A large farting noise from Small Z.
Me: “Goodness. You are a stinker. What did your bum just say?”
She thought about it.
“It said… GO. TO. BED!!!!”
Me: “An excellent idea.”
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Her first ‘why’ question was about four months ago, as we were reading Possum Magic.
“What does ‘shrink’ mean?”
…and since then the questions tumble out like water. This morning it was colours while she was drawing with her pastels.
“What does green and yellow make? Ahhh. AVOCADO COLOUR!”
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There you go, Future Small Z. All those little snippets of the past five months or so that would otherwise be eaten by fatigue, the passing of time, or both. Of course, this is more for me than you… There are things I have already forgotten, and things I will remember later, but the most important thing is that there is a few bits and pieces here NOW. And a little part of me can relax and consider it captured in cyber-amber.
I would rather be…
Tonight, had teleporting been invented as it should have been by this point, I would be at the Corner Hotel at the launch of Sally Seltmann’s album Heart That’s Pounding.
Small Brother gifted me the cd for my birthday and it’s been on high rotation ever since. It’s lovely. I had thought, while listening to it, that many of the lyrics sounded like she was talking about an unborn baby and the feelings that go along with that. Today I read that she had a baby in the same year that Small Z was born – 2008.
We went for a chat with the midwife today and listened to Pikelet’s little heart drumming along, and I thought of course. That’s what she is singing about… you’re the harmony to my heartbeat, baby…. It’s the perfect pregnancy pop album. It’s here.
The laneway festival
Wednesday was our second last day house-sitting. I had great plans for Small Z and I, but the morning was utterly fraught. Both of us were exhausted. I took Small Z to a playground in Carlton for an hour or so and then drove around until she fell asleep. I felt like my brain was leaking from my ears, like I was an awful, crotchety, hopeless mother. I felt like the black dog of despair had fallen asleep on top of me. And then farted.
I drove and drove. Had thoughts of pulling up outside my friend Bridget’s house in Brunswick and begging for strong tea, but in my fog, could not remember the name of her street or usefully navigate the congestion of Sydney Road. And then there was a more pressing requirement… One of the hazards of the driving-the-child-to-sleep thing is my inevitable need to WEE! Can NOTHING be EASY?
I was so at the end of my rope with the whole situation that I drove around and around Sugardough, looking for a park right out the front that would enable me to run in and get a hot chocolate and a cake. As I did it, I found a laneway. No one was around. I whacked on the hazard lights, pulled my seat forward, jumped in the back and… filled Small Z’s potty. Oh god. The relief. Small Z slumbered onwards, oblivious…
I reassembled myself, opened the car door, discreetly emptied my mountain of wee under the car on to the bluestones and replaced the potty in the back. Next to Small Z. So it was obvious that it was hers. The second I took my hand off it someone walked past on the other side of the car. OH MY GOD. Half a minute earlier and he would have seen a sight vastly more disquieting than that of a toddler sleeping and a potty on the backseat. Jesus.
From that point onward the day improved. I got a park right out the front of the cafe, whizzed in and got a large hot chocolate and a snack, went back out to the car and read a magazine and felt incredibly revived. I then drove sedately toward the Melbourne Museum. I no longer cared about anything. I was so thankful that I was going to have at least half a day of chilled out culture absorption. I drove in circles until I found a four-wheel-drive leaving a free four hour parking spot on the other side of the park and nabbed it, just as Small Z woke up.
We took the pram with us and had a great time. Small Z rejoiced in the underwater area, where there was a giant squid and various sharks and jellyfish. We loved the bugs and the antfarms and the tarantulas. Doing puzzles in the kids section was pretty good as well. We didn’t leave until closing time and when we did? It took us less than ten minutes to drive, via the back streets, to the house, where we dined on scrambled eggs, tuna and broccoli.
A long deep bath after dinner topped off the day that had begun with me feeling like I was losing my mind. A vast improvement; proving the importance of sleep, DIY urinals, hot chocolate and a belief in serendipity.
Chopped and out and about
I forgot to mention in the previous post of lament what I did (besides attempt to kick back) on the first two nights in Collingwood. On the first night? I found some decent scissors and hacked at my hair until I considered it an improvement. On the second night? I dyed it red. Ha.
I had reached that don’t-care-what-I-do-as-long-as-it’s-SOMETHING point. And yes. I now appear like a cross between Molly Ringwald circa 1988 and Endora. And with any luck, a little bit Claire Skinner. My cutting must not be too bad, as I had trouble convincing M that I’d attacked it myself.
Saturday morning, I took Small Z to Ceres where we wandered the vegetable stalls, checked out the chickens and watched the band play. It was lovely. We hung out for an hour or so and then were joined by M. M! Hooray for co-parenting! Someone to carry the child when it wants to be carried, someone else to help with rushes to the toilet and come up with convincing explanations as to why playing in the washing up bucket of the cafe is not so good…
Someone who took us to Sugardough and didn’t pale at the amount of hot chocolate I put away!! Not only this, but he then went and shopped for dinner AND cooked it for guests who came over at 6pm. Oh god. There were SO many points that he gained. And I realised, belatedly, how much I have come to rely on him in my state of pregnant whaledom…
So I was more malleable than usual on Sunday when we went to the Convent, and the Collingwood Children’s Farm, and the Convent, and the closing of Hamer Hall, and Federation Square. As well as detouring to drive to Yarraville and back to the city to kill time while Small Z did car-slumbering. The children’s farm was a hoot for Small Z, who went on a hayride, held a rat, said “Hello Jemima Puddleduck!” to some of the many white ducks and marvelled at the Silky Bantams.
On our way back to the car from the farm we popped in again to the Convent, where we got M a coffee… And I scored a FANTASTIC pair of Ugg Boots. I don’t use that last phrase lightly. My old ones, which have done me for eight years, make my mother moan in physical pain whenever I wear them, because my toes stick out a hole at the end. These ones? These are seriously excellent. I will post a picture at a later point, but basically, I wasn’t going to get them because they look very un-Ugg and fairly un-slipperlike… But once I stuck my foot in and felt what seemed to be an entire sheep nestle in between me and the sole, I was throwing my $20 at the woman. They were secondhand, but unworn. Woo! (Ooh – I just googled them – they are here, the ‘oatmeal’ colour.)
Hamer Hall is shutting down for re-development for a couple of years and they had a big, kid-friendly send off with some great bands, including the Ottoman Turkish Mehter Band who marched around at the end. Small Z then climbed trees in Fed Square, looked horrified at being taken into the gallery, and seemed to have fun in the play centre on the corner of Russell Street and Flinders Street – part of Fed Square you would never know existed.
Our first tram ride had me shoving M and Small Z out at the first stop, with my ratlike dole-bludging sensibilities still very much intact – I spied ticket inspectors ready to board. We vacated. Rapidly. And found somewhere to buy tickets that didn’t require ‘coin only’ currency. I was interested to realise that Myki is still very much a figment of imagination and that MetCards are still common currency. What can I say? I’ve been out of the public transport loop for a considerable time.
By the time we got back to our temporary house we were all exhausted. That night, Small Z continued her semi-unsettled sleeping, which I put down to her being away from her everyday surrounds. The next morning, she and M met my mum at the Melbourne Aquarium for an adventure while I worked to the tune of the washing machine harmonising with the dishwasher… Small Z is fish obsessed and I would have LOVED to have seen her utter glee at all the sharks, stingrays, moray eels and Moon Wrasse. She had a blast.
They returned at around lunchtime and I took a break. My mum stayed over and froze her butt off in the spare room at the back of the house, M went back to BoatLand and I worked again. Mum then took Small Z and I out for soup and cake at Gluttony, somewhere M and I used to go TWELVE YEARS AGO when we first hooked up and he was living around the corner. It’s still good. Particularly the flourless chocolate and almond cake! Mum then helped us negotiate the cursed supermarket before we put her on a train at Victoria Park Station.
Argh! Back to single-parenthood!!
