I feel like I’ve lived about four lives since last I posted.
The Trigger to having Baby No.2 ended up being watching ‘Meet the Fockers’ on the last night of Bunkeroo’s holiday in Normandy with her grandparents before returning to Paris and school….
I went into labour 4 days after my last post and had the most relaxed, lovely, chilled-out birth of a gorgeous child (that here I’ll call VroomVroom) the following midday. VroomVroom was my Easter egg. It all went great. I looked at darling Hubby and he said, ‘You won’t have to do that again’. (Meaning we are happy having two kiddies only). Well done, we congratulated ourselves.
And then it went wrong.
Twelve days of wrong. Incarcerated in Neo-Natal where the sound of babies screaming, alarms shrilling and feed tubes bleeping expletively had me very close to loony. I stayed in the hospital with VroomVroom because at first I was breastfeeding her but when that all went to shit, I was trying to protect her from the benign neglect/rabid focus that medical staff give to babies in Neo-Natal.
Nurses, I learned, are either all over a babe like dogs on poop, or coolly ignoring them for hours as they scream BLUE MURDER.
Most horrible twelve days of my life. I will go into it another day. Possibly on a therapist’s couch.
Anyway, onwards and upwards. Been there, done that, got the carnet de sante, as they say. It’s best not to dwell on the fact that we were stuck in Neo-Natal for longer than reasonable and for something the pediatricians had no clue how to fix anyway. Fine. We are home. We’ve had a further six weeks of crazy-making poorly baby heart-wrenching chase-your-own-tail crap as we gamely tried everything we could think of to get VroomVroom breathing like a NORMAL KID. Finally she’s resolving her issues that were all provoked by over-excited hospital staff to begin with and is having a happier time.
I’ve felt like every shade of rubbish mother that’s out there.
Meanwhile, I’m rewriting my book. Yes. Again. This is turning into the book that never was. Today I’m feeling like I don’t have a book, I have a chopped up mess that couldn’t even be termed a novella. I have a limbless amputee who is blind and drools a lot. I have a neat collection of rubbish sentences conveying nada. Today isn’t going well, at all.
I hope tomorrow will go better, or even better after this post is put up on my blog. I’ve been meaning to post for so long (yes, two months) that perhaps this will be the trigger for GETTING MY BL***Y BOOK OFF THE OPERATING ROOM FLOOR AND BREATHING AGAIN. I sure hope it is.
The month of June has been one long exercise in how to drive myself nuts, trying to do a whole new draft with a newborn. I must be certifiable. The truly terrible thing is that after spending this whole month burning the candle at both ends and in its middle, I don’t feel much closer to a decent manuscript. The beautiful thing is VroomVroom’s huge toothless grins.
It will all work out. On Day 11 inside Neo-Natal I thought we were never going to get home, and we did. So my windless, sticky hot writing doldrum has to pass, too.
Fingers on triggers.