Third Sunday

So the observant among you will see that there has been a fair few days since my last post. Two weeks in fact (and the one earlier today was also about the first Sunday). Turns out that as I said parenting is Tough. That first Friday evening was glorious, with my son asleep on my legs we ate fish and chips and felt so content. I tweeted proudly that we were doing well at parenting and it wasn&apso;t as hard as we were expecting. A tweet too soon. That evening was hard work with crying and Dr K feeling pretty work out with feeding the Milk Monster.
This same story has repeated itself on and off with surprising regularity. One day feeling frankly on top of the world (not in a Sound of Music way, but rather a quiet peacefulness), then that night a nightmare of broken sleep, screaming child and explosive poo. Bit of an exaggeration, we&apso;ve not experienced the explosive poo, and any poo that arrives during a change I count as a bonus - one less nappy wasted (a noisy squirt minutes into a new nappy is a tragedy).
The effect has almost reached a creepy point where within seconds of me feeling that I&apso;ve finally got him to sleep, or soothed his fear he kicks off. Or he will have been asleep in the sling for 30 minutes, but just as I decide to sit and read the newspaper he wakes with a gargling cry. He also has this exceedingly annoying habit of looking utterly charming in front of other people so all we hear is how adorable he is and what a calm quiet baby we have and how lucky we should count ourselves. Advice to people: never assume that the contented baby you spot out and about is not an utter nightmare when home at night just after the shops shut and there is no possibility of escape until morning.
Today was another case in point with Mr Sir enjoying (read seeping through) his third Histon service. Three of three - 100% track record of looking sweet at church. Well done him. Yet again he was cooed over and cuddled by a few of the ladies (churches are fantastic), before a quick feed and home. This comes after yesterday which was the toughest yet. The night had been bad with multiple hour bouts of screaming which the continued all morning, afternoon and evening. I had got myself into a panic that he had cerebral palsy, the only explanation for his repeated arm movements and face grabbing. Then his breathing was sounding ropey - a chest infection? We had rung the out-of-hours number at night given that non of the midwives or health visitors are available on call, but they didn&apso;t seem too concerned. In the morning I walked him to the local GP for advice, but got little help. The Health Visitors apparently don&apso;t work weekends either. I was in a tiz, seeing every flinch as a bad sign of our impending life as full time carers. Would we? Could we? By the evening I was destroyed and I&apso;d taken a toll on Dr K&apso;s morale. It concluded with a long and tearful peSky call to Nana in Devon who comforted and reassured. A little later, with a fresh set of eyes and new air in our lungs we sat down to finish watching Collateral, me with my son in arm, asleep hands clasped together at peace. I often need a good cry, to release the mix of emotional confusion on my inside and breath in a new hope, like the dawn of a new day.
I am truly thankful for the love that we have been shown. So many people have sent cards and gifts, their love and best wishes. We&apso;ve had a beautiful shawl and cellular blanket knitted for us as well as tops and socks. We&apso;ve also been so blessed to have enjoyed some most fabulous and uplifting weather these past few weeks.