Ch-ch-changes

So, things have changed around here while I've been away.

Felix turned 2, we sent him to local child care to help him socialise with other kids and he was very quickly identified as "kid most likely to be gifted." The Terrible Twos started at 18 months and made me think that he would be identified as "Kid Most Likely To Be Homicidal Maniac."

Evil Felix

Impish Felix












Then there was a little thing called an Anniversary, followed two weeks later by much in the way of "How the bloody hell did THIS happen?"

Such musings were shortly followed by crippling pain thanks to a prolapsed disc at L4/L5 for the whole of the pregnancy, with pain so bad that I couldnt walk and at various times:

a) wanted to die,
b) wanted them to take the baby out at 28 weeks and GIVE ME SOME DAMN GOOD DRUGS,
c) was crying and swearing at the Senior Consultant at the hospital until I got me some damn good drugs but then had to deal with the perpetual worry of what said drugs would do to the baby.

At the end, even with the damn good drugs, the pain was so bad that they decided to induce 2 weeks early.

For those of you that have stuck around from tales of The Spud, cast your mind back to 2 years and 4 months previously. There was a little drama going on about the induction of the Spud. That 3-day event was a mere picnic when compared to the 5-day horror show that ended with this:



A gorgeous little girl, Ella Grace, who weighed in at 8.8lbs and was born via emergency c-section under a general anaesthetic and had the cord wrapped twice around her neck. I lost 1.2 litres of blood and had the delivery converted to a general anaesthetic when I could feel them cutting.me.open.

Yes, you read that right.

Thanks to the drugs I had taken during the pregnancy, Ella was kept in the neonetal intensive care unit for the duration of my post-5 day labour and c-section bloodbath hospital stay.



It was over 24 hours before I could even go to see her and hold her properly.


5 days later, these 3 shattered people were allowed to go home to a toddler and no help.



For all sorts of reasons, some of which I may elaborate on and some of which I probably still cant, this was a Very.Bad.Idea.

We all survived, but certainly not unscathed. It wasnt until Ella was about 8 weeks old that I realised that she did not actually hate me.



She made cute little noises and when she looked directly into my eyes at about 8 weeks and gave me a very obvious and beautiful smile, I finally felt like I could mother this child.




The crippling back pain that I was told would go away once I delivered did not, in fact, change in the slightest. Two MRI's and a second opinion later we have the pronouncement that more than likely this will be a permanent condition.

Mummy and daddy couldnt cope with everything that life was dishing out, so Ella was off to child care with her Big Brother, where she was instantly at home and deemed Happiest Baby Ever.




She has reached all her milestones early, as does her brother and at 11 months is so close to walking and talking it hurts.



Felix turned 3 and is so intelligent it floors me every day. He knows all the colours, knows his shapes, can actually count objects up to 12, can do simple arithmetic and shows a remarkable understanding of abstract ideas. He remains a whirlwind, will no doubt be psych-tested and deemed "gifted." He keeps us permanently exhausted, frustrated, amazed and amused.

This life, these challenges, these moments of agony and of perfection, are not what I imagined when I began the difficult journey to have a family. I didnt see past the goal of ending up with real live baby at the end of a normal 9-month gestation.

"Ooooh, its all worth it in the end" I hear so often I want to stab people with a teething rusk or whatever object happens to hand.

Lets leave that for the next session, shall we?