Mr Postman came to call this morning with a mixed bag of post. A big fat puffy envelope which landed on the floor with a satisfying THUD and open to reveal this.My Fall Y'all giveaway prize. Thank you Heather for picking me, and thank you to all 41 contributors to such a great book. I have been dipping in and out all day.
That was the exciting post. It also brought me (if you're interested) bills, a time-sheet letting me know which carers are visiting and when next week, and three identical letters. One to me, one to the mother of Mog, and one addressed to Goldy. Inside, an unmissable invitation to the next Big Thing, the selling point being if you Miss This you must be dead. Well yes, she is, and that's exactly why she'll be missing it. Thank you so much for pointing that out. I realise it's not the fault of the advertisers but I'm having a hard time not blaming them anyway. Oh, and the bills? One of them is a demand for repayment for money which was overpayed to me because Goldy doesn't live here any more. That company didn't seem to care much that she was dead either.
In other news, Little Fish had an appointment with the paed this morning. Who took one look at her and decided she is fat and that we need dietetic advice. He told me off for not having sorted out 'flu vaccines yet, tutted over the delay in getting her gastrostomy placed (but didn't blame me for the idiocies of beaurocracy which have dealyed it, and expressed concern over the neurosurgeon's decision not to operate. I left the office feeling a complete failure. However, this means no more chocolate for Little Fish - or at least no more than one chocolate button per meal. I am therefore going to have to sacrifice myself and consume all the chocolate remaining in the house in order to prevent it from reaching her. It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it.
Mog also needs to meet the dietician urgently. Which is a problem, since we don't have one. It's going to be interesting now. Two tube fed children. One on an extremely specialist formula who needs to eat as much as she can orally (think two teaspoons per meal) as she is losing weight and has none to spare. One on a full mixed diet with water only through the tube who needs to limit her oral intake dramatically if she isn't going to explode, have heart problems, and lose the ability to wheel herself around. And yours truly, who isn't on the slimmer end of the spectrum. So now I somehow need to create meals which are healthy for me (really must stop buying crisps again), filling and satisfying the nutritional requirements of a toddler but low calorie, whilst at the same time somehow cramming as much energy as possible into two teaspoons of the same food for Mog. Fun times.
Phonecalls today. Far too many about Goldy; I have spent the morning sorting out her order of service. It's beginning to get real again at the moment; not so much the fact that she has died since that bit's a little hard to overlook, but the fact that we have to put ourselves through this polished performance of a funeral, this service which ordinarily would happen just days after her death, but which has been delayed for months; that we have had far too much time to plan and prepare for this, and that there is a reason why these things usually happen sooner rather than later.
As a spot of light relief, a phonecall about about Little Fish, informing me that there is another delay in her adoption procedure.
And as I type this, a message from my babysitter cancelling due to ill-health!
At least I have a nice shiny new book to read and a moral obligation to save Little Fish from all that chocolate. I think there are more crisps at the back of the pantry too.