Tuesday, 7 July 2009

Retrospection is for Pussies

The usual thing you do after you have a baby, is look back, and marvel at the milestones but also at how tiny the baby was. The tricky thing about that for me is ..... the time when Rocco was born was so terrible, I don't like to look back. When I do look back, I always always inwardly shudder. Makes me want to gag.

Something Nancy wrote in a comment to me last week has stuck with me:
"... the fact you had a baby by yourself and then took yourself to see your cancer-ridden husband - that's a fucking war wound."

A fucking war wound. Now there's a turn of phrase.

I've been kind of keeping my feelings around Rocco's babyhood to myself, but the terrible truth is .... I can't wait for him to not be a baby anymore. The oddest feeling, especially since I pined for him for years, and did IVF to have him.

The day I left hospital with Rocco, all I wanted to do was visit Dave. He was down in his big hospital. I had an argument with the hospital staff about Roccos jaundice, they kept wanting to heel prick him but I knew he was fine. They also wanted to do a deafness test on him, but I knew he wasn't deaf. This one lady got a bee in her bonnet about my refusal to re-try the test (they tried in hospital but after 40 minutes the machine still wouldn't work so I ordered them out of my room). She kept calling me for weeks afterwards, trying to get me to come in so Rocco could do his hearing test. Finally I cracked the shits. "Look, you know what? No, I'm not bringing him in for a test. He's not deaf."

She couldn't believe it. "But how do you KNOW he's not deaf?"

"Because his dad is in hospital with cancer. He can't have a sick dad AND be deaf."

Funnily enough, she had no comeback for my warped reasoning.

My sister came to pick Rocco and I up from hospital, to take us straight down to daddys cancer ward. Wooot! What a fucking day that was! On the way we had to stop at a chemist to get some painkillers for me, for my c-section scar. (There is nothing more blissful than legitimate painkillers). I had Rocco in the sling, walked into the chemist, and his teeny foot kicked the photo frame display. It went crashing to the ground, after every single mirrored glass panel fell on top of each other, folding into itself like one of the twin towers collapsing. It cause the biggest ruckus, and these ladies all came running over. I stood there, honestly not giving a shit. "Oh, sorry. My husband has cancer." (Because that made SO much sense!)

I took Rocco to his dad. It was such a relief to see Dave. He still looked ok, but had been in immense pain from his surgery.

I was starving, in that manic/breastfeeding way. Linda took our photo outside in the cafeteria - it's a wonder you can see us through all the cigarette smoke.

Driving off and leaving Dave in hospital while I took our new baby home was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

Things sucked bad..... but I was still managing. Then, Rocco started having these crying jags in the night - that grew longer and longer. So many times I would cast my eyes up and just shout-think to God ..... "Seriously, I can handle this, but please make him stop crying. Don't give me a screaming baby."

But I had a screaming baby. I had a screaming baby for a loooong time. He screamed so much I had to walk away, so many times. His cry made me want to hurt myself. Or hurt him. Sometimes I didn't even want to pick him up, or look at him. Looking back on it, I was too stubborn to ask for help from any professionals, but I'm pretty sure I had some kind of PND.

"Argh, me hearties ... there be some cryin' in this house tonight!"

I have posts brewing about IVF, getting the baby I wanted to much, about Dave's subsequent remission and how I swear to God I will never, ever be taken by surprise in life again. Every day is indeed a blessing, because it's another day that I didn't think we would all have together. Even today - today I feel angry, fucked up, listless and sad, BUT .... Dave is alive and we are planning shit together. The kids are healthy. It's even the middle of winter, but nothing was as bitter and as cold as the winter of last year.

This does not mean I'm all Pollyanna - why, just then, Dave pissed me off so badly that I yelled him out of the house. He's possibly too scared to come back today. (He really needs to stop making fun of me and laughing. What part of "over-sensitive due to a fucked-up childhood does he NOT understand?")

Rocco is my wonderboy. He has slept through every night this week. This makes me want to run naked on the back deck. He loves his family - even me, the Angry One. The One who almost wished him away. I love him with a ferocity now ... I'll never forgive myself for not loving him like this since Day 1, but it's better late than never.

"Anyway, my MUM crys more than me. She is a big fat crybaby. Now pass me that cake."
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