Friday, 1 January 2010
Start as you mean to go on.
A slowish morning, not slow enough considering the lateness of the night before, but no tantrums over the toast, always a good start. Just time for one viewing of just one of the High School Movies before all of us off and out to lunch with our holiday friends. 37 of us, 8 in wheelchairs as well as a handful of ambulant oddities, and we disappeared into a sideroom in the pub with nary a stare. Apart from the inevitable old woman who positioned herself at her table so as to get the best possible view of us all, and discontented herself by counting us all repeatedly with pursed lips. I think there's some kind of law about every pub having one old woman placed to do this. Still, a fair few of us outstared her, and a good meal was had by all.
Home, where a puddingless Little Fish begged for a bowl of custard, made it last until teatime and then settled for two slices of ham before pleading for an early night. Early night duly granted; three hours on she's still awake and complaining alternately that she's tired and that she wants to wake up. That bit's definitely not the greatest start to the new year, but hopefully just a hiccup after last night. Lying in bed, her Nippy taking over the hard work of breathing, she has the energy to wear the rest of herself out registering a subdued but prolonged protest. Having pleaded to sleep elsewhere as Mog's hypothetical noises would keep her awake, she then moved to protesting she couldn't possibly sleep alone. Mog installed in her bed, she then grumbled about the fact Mog might keep her awake, before needing to turn over, swap sleeves (to suck), have a sip of water, tweak her mask, move her legs, check if I was in my pyjamas yet, double check it really wasn't morning, before finally, I hope, settling into some kind of a sleep. Sometimes I think the wrong child gets the sedative.
Still, somewhat later than planned, the girls do seem to be settled. Another gathering next door; I may show my face just to be sociable, but I think I need to take LF's advice, swap my jeans for pjs and snuggle down into what may not be the soft cosy comfort of my own blissful bed, but something which is at least clean, horizontal, and warm.
I could lose the hour long screaming session we had over the necessity for intermittent catheterisation earlier today, and I could lose the rattle Mog seems to be growing in the back of her throat again. But the rest of the day, I could live with this being the pattern for the year ahead.