I am writing this in the splendour that is Lucas new bedroom. It's awesome. Even if I do have to deal with smelly 7 year old foot in my face, and mario kart at full volume. It smells (foot aside) like fresh paint and new carpet, and is not yet completely demolished like every other room in the house. Well. There has been one incident, whereby the shelf that was home to his tv and dvd remote has been ripped from the wall, but we won't talk about that. It's been a real labour of love, this room. there is a Peppa Pig/Mr Men mural on the wall, hand painted by The Husband, the rest of it is sunny yellow and bright and airy, and Luca seems to love it, he slept very well in here last night, other than the shelf ripping incident which we have already agreed not to talk about.
This, coupled with the previous move of Jack in to his new room, means that we now have the opportunity to switch around upstairs, put Bella in the big room, and decorate the small room for Roman. I know this is an inevitable part of the expansion of my house and family, and is a necessary step toward becoming a real boy for my tiny baby, but am I really ready? The answer is a resounding NO! I'm not ready to admit that he's no longer a teeny baby, I'm not ready to give up those early morning snuggles and the sound of his breathing right next to me in the dead of night, I'm not ready to give up being able to roll over and kiss his sweaty little head whenever I feel like it, and most of all, I'm not ready to drag myself out of bed every 63 minutes to traipse down the hallway and in to another room to settle him back to sleep when right now all I have to do is allow him access to my boob without even having to open both eyes. At the same time, I am SO ready to be able to have pillows, starfish, do away with the godforsaken bed guard that I always end up falling in to because there is just no room in the bed, and maybe, just maybe, not waking up to every little sigh, snuffle and whimper. "Alone time" with The Husband doesn't really figure in my pros and cons list, we've got 4 kids, we'll never be alone again. I think knowing Roman is my last baby is a large part of my reluctance to see him grow up, as I know once he's gone there will never be another baby sharing my bed, and that chapter of our family life will be over, so I want to prolong and savour it all as much as possible. Plus, as I say, I don't fancy having to keep getting out of bed to see to him through the night!! I suppose it will have to happen again eventually, ask me again after his 1st birthday and maybe I'll be feeling a little better about the whole thing.
So today, for me, is all about bravery. When some people think about bravery, they think of jumping out of aeroplanes for charity, rushing in to burning buildings, standing up to a robber or a mugger, etc. But that's not the only type of bravery, sometimes something mundane and ordinary to one person can be an extremely brave act for another. It all depends on how scared you are, and how much courage you've had to pluck up to do whatever it is you're doing. So my brave act today was taking Jack and Luca out for lunch, all by myself!! Not really that big a deal, but since Lucas diagnosis I have always been afraid to do things like that. Afraid he'll run in to the road, afraid i'll turn my back for a second and lose him, afraid he'll have the mother of all meltdowns and people will stare and I'll end up turning in to a raging violent fishwife and confirm what everyone is thinking...that my child is an arsehole because i'm a shitty common mother who has never disciplined him or taught him how to behave. Thing is, all these things have now happened and I have survived them. He ran in to the road once, I immediately ran after him, caught him, apologised to the rather shaken up driver who had performed an emergency stop to avoid hitting the mother who had run out in to the road after her child who was already safely on the other side. He escaped the house once when me and his dad weren't looking and we had to get the police out, who found him within 15 minutes (the longest 15 minutes of my life) completely oblivious to the fact that he was lost, and a little annoyed at being made to come home. He had a meltdown in tesco recently, and an old lady looked at him like he was scum, so I told her to stop staring or I'd smack her in the mouth, and actually? I didn't feel common or fish wife-y at all, I felt pretty good about it! So there we have it, I thought to myself, all those things have happened, we survived, we overcame, and actually there is no need to remain a prisoner in our home for fear of these things happening when actually I have already proved to myself that if they do happen, we will deal with it and move on. So off we went to Ramos, Luca decided he was too old to hold my hand (sob) and walked next to me with only a few re-directions (this way, stop, keep up, etc) we had our lunch, we walked to the sweet shop to buy ice cream for afters, and we walked home again. His behaviour was pretty impeccable, and I now feel brave enough to do things like that more often. I may have to build up slowly to taking all 4 out on my own without having a nervous breakdown, but it's a good start!!
Lastly, I happen to be dog sitting for my parents while they have a holiday. I've had dogs before and always found them to be hard work but manageable. Not so with this spawn of satan. So far, he's pissed on the front room floor, pissed on the kitchen floor, crapped on the hallway floor, howled all night, barked at everything and anything that dares to come in to our garden, from unsuspecting cats to falling leaves. Just this morning, The Husband let him in to the garden. 3 minutes later, he came in from the garden and left a pile of poo on the front room floor, before going back out to the garden. Then, after i'd spent an hour hoovering, sweeping and mopping , I let him in from the garden to find he's been out there rolling around in the dirt, and he then proceeded to leave little piles of dirt all over my nice clean floors! He is inches away from being taken to the nearest pound, and has reminded me that I do not want to own a dog for at least the next 15 years. Perhaps when all my children have moved out i'll get one, instead of one of those creepy dolls we discussed last time.
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