Finding my way

The kind words my doctor said when I brought my blue eyed smiling boy in for a check up.

I am not sure how much she realised those words meant.

I've been thinking about them all day.

I am very much finding my way in new territory.

He had been throwing himself around in a complete tantrum like way- totally out of character I might add- a result of an ear infection it happens rather than my poor mothering.

I am not one of those Mums who says her child is a saint. He's not, he's a mischievous wee terrorist. Who seems hell bent on spending his time with me looking for new and inventive ways of killing himself. I am trying not to take this one personally, but I spend huge amounts of my time taking stuff out of his mouth, hands or general person in order that he makes it through another day.

He'll think nothing of crawling at top speed off the end of the bed. Well, that ended in disaster this week when neither his Dad or I were near enough to stop him. And down he went with a thump. And I am sure it wont be the last time either.

Why are there no toys on the market that look like charger cables? It has been suggested to us that we sacrifice one for him but despite the fact we need all the ones we own and have no going spare we've also already tried this tactic on the remote controls for the TV. He shows zero interest in his, seemingly to understand it does nothing while he lusts, lunges and goes absolutely crazy when it is taken away from him.

The taller he gets the more he can reach for and the more he seems intent on pulling down on his head, so far its just been our washing but I am sure heavier objects are not far behind. I find myself wondering will I be stunting the growth of his head by making him wear his helmet 24hrs a day??

It is the loudness of his silence I still cannot get over. Yesterday it was being caused by his fascination with his Dad's work phone which was well and truly shoved in his mouth for a good old chew/dribble.

As I type this I am listening to the loud rustling as he plays with plastic bags. Horrific isn't it. The very thing I remember being warned about as a child my own son seems incapable of staying away from.

The voice of my own mother, now a few years gone, came out of me to my own fright and Nate's sheer delight as I shouted and leapt with the speed of Usain Bolt and the grace of Darcy Bussell over to stop him pulling over a vase of flowers. My warning rather than being met with shock and awe was met with a very satisfied giggle.

Oh yes I am very much finding my way.

A tiny angel

"I'm so sorry Catherine."

"At 12 weeks I'd expect it to be larger [but thats ok, I'm quite small and Husband isn't tall either]

I'd also expect to see a strong heartbeat [oh]"

Everything sounds muffled. Like I am under water.

Aware of small arms reaching out to hug me.

A new face.

"Would you like me to switch off the monitor?"

"I dont care, leave it, its fine [it's not fine. Nothing is fine. I just don't care.]"

"Would you like me to take you through what I am seeing here?"

"Sure [I don't care. I am not really hearing you any more. ]"

More muffled sounds.

In a new room.

Waiting.

Tears.

Sore throat.

Small arms hug me and big warm reassuring hands reach out.

"It'll be ok. We'll be ok. I love you."

I need to be anchored incase I float away, I grip his hand. I am numb. This is not real. Not again.

"We will be ok. It will be ok. I love you too."