… since the last post … I thought things had ‘gone back to normal’ … I spoke too soon!
Since then, Hope’s turned 19 months, we’ve been to Ireland to visit relations, she and I have spent 5 days in hospital (her with a drip in and very poorly and me sleeping on a mat on the floor beside her hospital cot), we got out of hospital and went the hour and half back to where my family were staying, we were attacked by a dog which bit me when it couldn’t get to Hope (“he’s never done anything like that before” “he wouldn’t hurt a fly” “he’s so good with children” “he’s such a sweetie” “I called out to you to hide the food”), we’ve flown home, she’s started not just to walk but to jog (not quite running yet) and I have a mountain of catching up to do; life, car, paperwork, work, meetings, voluntary work, washing, writing, sleeping, cleaning, sorting, uploading, sleeping, thank you letters, sleeping …
she’s fine now … follow up blood tests (aaaggghhhhhh) on Monday and then we’ll know if she’s really utterly fine, but she’s eating properly again, drinking gallons of breast milk with huge relish and loving her independence and her new shoes.
“Someday we’ll look back on this and it will all seem funny” … not quite yet though.
Expanded version to follow… I now need to go to sleep and sleep a deep deep dreamless sleep and maybe, just maybe, she’ll sleep through in the dark in her little cot beside me. If she does wake up I’ll drag myself through treacle (or that is what it will feel like) and I’ll feed her, holding her close and relishing the intimacy before we both drift off again.
Night then!
