A touch of genius

A couple of weeks ago, something strange happened.
I changed Littlest's nappy. You may not think that should be so unusual, but the fact that I had done so at his explicit request seemed a little odd. I mean, he wasn't even 17 months old, and he HATES nappy changes. Surely I had just imagined his communicated request?

Then the next day, he asked again. 'Really, sweetie? You want Mammy to change your nappy?'
Some vehement nodding indicated that I had deciphered his intentions correctly.

Huh. What a clever kid. He'd be potty trained before he could walk!
I mean, clearly I had a genius on my hands here. I tried to get him to fill in a MENSA application, but he insisted on attempting to eat the paper. Ah. No new understanding of the laws of physics from this kid then.

Hmm. Perhaps the new liners in his nappies were causing discomfort? But his skin was as smooth as the proverbial baby's bottom and he was perfectly content in a freshly lined nappy.

That was it. I was out of ideas. Maybe he's just bossy?

It took me another day, and another clue, to work it out. (No, MENSA isn't waiting on my paperwork either!)

He pointed to his nappy, then escorted me to the changing table.
'Is it nappy changing time? Yes?'
A fresh round of nodding, and now, some clicking.
'Oh! Click-click, here doggie! Don't worry, Mammy won't forget to wake up the doggie in the cuckoo clock on the way past'
'Bwuf Bwuf!'
'That's right, the doggie will say "woof woof", you're so clever'.

And it hit me. He is so clever. Clever enough to know that getting his nappy changed means calling the doggie to come out of the cuckoo clock and barking with him. Totally worth the cold breeze and indignity of the changing table.

I love that my kids are smart enough to outsmart me. But couldn't they at least wait till age 2 to do it?!

Shout from the rooftops

All parents are proud when their child enjoys preschool.
It means they're gaining independence. It means that you've chosen a fun learning environment for your precious offspring. Little One has been visibly excited to go to preschool each and every morning so far.

But today, he was audibly excited. Today he skipped over the threshold and shouted a 'Yay!' that was one of the sweetest sounds my ears have ever witnessed. I headed home happy, today is clearly A Good Day.

When I collected him from preschool, his teacher stopped me to have a quick word. When following some directions today, another teacher had said 'Hi' to Little One, and he made a darn good attempt at repeating it back. They were just as surprised and delighted as I was!

Naturally, he was rewarded with lots of play time on the way home. Want to push an immovable old piece of farm machinery? Have at it, genius! Want to hold open the school gates for a double-decker busload of kids? Why the heck not.

We played, we walked, I chatted, we signed. Then he remembered that there was still some honey lurking in the bottom of his lunchbox. As he stopped on the path to lick the container clean, I laughed and said 'Mmmm'. And then he smiled and said 'Mmmm. Om om om. Mmmmmmmm.'

Today is an amazing day. Ours is an amazing boy. Medical technology is an amazing thing.

My least favourite things

With sincere apologies to fans of the Sound of Music...

Car-fulls of vomit
And trousers 'round ankles.
Crashing the buggy,
The fourth time it rankles.
Clothes soaked in urine
All tied up with strings
These are some of my
Least-favourite things!

Muddy, wet jean legs
And hot plastic raincoats.
Cancelled appointments
For one of these wee dotes.
A hole in my handbag
From my wedding rings
These are some of my
Least-favourite things!

When the rain pours,
When the car stinks,
When the baby's sad,
I simply sing some of my favourite swears,
And then I don't feel so bad!

A wee dose of reality for a smug Mammy

One of those mornings. 

All the little jobs seem to take a little longer. Socks need to be turned the right way out before being put on. 

It takes three tries to put three yoghurts in three lunchboxes.

But spirits are high, songs are sung and we're finally only one light jacket away from getting out the door.

'Mammy! He's standing on the chair! He's WEEING ON THE CHAIR!' 

No worries. I've got this. I swing into action, calling out directions like an ER doctor in her element.

'Little One, come with me!

Little Lady, sing songs to Littlest so he doesn't get bored while we sort this out.

Little Man, we need pants, trousers, socks and shoes. Bring them straight to the bathroom please!'

Honestly, I only just stopped myself from shouting out 'Stat!'

And in a flurry of activity we were done. A clean, dry superhero was ready for another day of preschool. 

'Great teamwork,' I told them as we trotted along to school, 'we're not even too late after all that help!'

I wished them luck with spelling tests and dispatched many kisses and hugs. Little One trotted happily in to his friends and Littlest and I headed for home.

A quick tower built, a book read, and a load of washing into the machine. And finally, time for a coffee. Content with another good morning, I savoured it. Sitting comfortably, chatting with Littlest who was practicing standing up and sitting down by my feet. 'If I were trendy,' I thought, 'I'd probably consider this a moment of hygge. Still, my cup is empty and there are other things to be getting on with.'

I stood. 

And yes, it was at that moment I realised what had happened.

I sat in the wee.

I'm pretty sure George Clooney never had to deal with this!

Meltdowns and how to deal with them

I'm going to start with the TL; DR here.
Mind your own damn business.

It is that simple. If someone else's child is having a tantrum, or a meltdown, and they are not in imminent danger from, say, an oncoming train or tsunami, then back the hell off.

I promise you that the person dealing with the meltdown has a better idea of what to do about it than you.

With the best of intentions, it is unlikely that you will be able to help.

If your intention is merely to make a funny, funny joke along the lines of 'Uh oh, uh oh! That's not good, ha ha ha!' then perhaps you should take up some sort of hobby, as it would appear you have too much time on your hands.

Forcing a parent who is dealing with an overwhelmed, panicked toddler to actually acknowledge your hilarious remarks is not just rude, but utterly stupid.

The person dealing with a scenario you'd rather not find yourself in does not owe you an explanation.

So to the 'hilarious' man who encountered us at a low point this afternoon:
I could have told you that he'd had an amazing start to preschool today.
I could have told you that just being in a noisy environment is like running a marathon for him.
I could have told you that he desperately needed sleep.
I could have told you that if I let him go, he'd have run into traffic simply because that was the direction he was facing.

But it was none of your business. Instead, your amusing little interruption, a moment's distraction, earned me a rather painful bite on the back of my neck. So thanks for that, funny man.

What's really funny is that people like you are never around to see how his body relaxed instantly after I wrestled him into the sling. You weren't around when a newly calmed little boy inspected my scratches and tooth marks half way home and said sorry. And if you're lucky, you will never truly understand what it is like to be so utterly overwhelmed by your senses that you simply cannot cope.

But understand this - it was none of your damn business.
Next time, back off.

Life after 'switch on'

So we're about a month in with Little One's cochlear implants and we're still trying to balance the swings and roundabouts of it all.

An hour's concentration on listening games might mean no energy left for the travails of wearing trousers for two days. Nine or ten hours of unprecedented auditory input requires 12 hours of deep sleep, without which there will be thrown toys or raised fists or bared teeth. An elated message to Hubby 'He turned his head, he definitely heard something' must be paid for in tears.

Nothing worthwhile is ever easy though and we're slowly settling into a routine for our current version of normal. Sadly, today both the swings and roundabout in our local playground were wet, so we headed for home after the school drop-off and proceeded to play with every toy in the whole house. Upending every storage bin, throwing every ball and knocking down every tower took us almost an entire hour and soon we found ourselves at 10:03 running out of activities.

Aha! Surely it was time for a snack? Little One brought me to the press where one might reasonably expect to find crackers, peanuts or other delicious savoury treats. Alas, there were only marshmallows there so we left the press empty-handed.

Next we spent some happy minutes colouring in the envelope intended to carry Little Man's school tour fee safely to school but our hearts just weren't in it. Suddenly, Little One hit upon an idea. He ran off, and came back with his baby brother's coat and a winning smile. Of course! We should take a walk.

With Littlest and me suitably attired and Little One insistent on his t-shirt, nappy and wellies combo, we departed. What a jolly walk we had. For the first 20 feet. And then, at the side of the road, an impasse. As I tried to continue around the corner on our Going For A Walk route, Little One waited patiently to cross the road for our Going To The Playground/School/Out Of The Estate route. Oh dear.

Little One: *points across road, smiles*

Me: 'No, I'm sorry. We need to go this way now.'

Little One: *points across road, smiles, nods*

Me: 'Later. We'll go there later. Let's go this way now. I'll race you!'

Little One: *shakes head, points across road, smiles, nods*

Me: 'But the playground is all wet! It's yucky. We'll go for a walk now and play later, after school.'

Little One: *points across road, signs 'eat', smiles*

Me: 'What the- ? Oh my goodness, you are bringing me to the shops to buy peanuts, aren't you?!'

Little One: *nods, smiles*

So right now, life can be tough. Each day requires more work and patience and calm and ingenuity than we ever thought possible. Each tiny piece of progress is fought for, and earned. There are days when the battle seems lost. But that cheeky little kid? Well, he's worth fighting for.

Hello. Can you hear me?

Hail slicing down
While under a tree
I wonder how much you can hear with me.

Does that pitter patter escape you still?
The running children's shrieks, so shrill.

Your hair still smells of sand and sun,
Warmed by an hour's playground fun,
While ice falls from a sky so clear -
It bounced on your hood then, did you hear?

I know right now it seems too much,
To hear and see and smell and touch.

Your shoes hurled furiously to the floor
When you simply cannot take anymore.

Your favourite hoodie rejected with rage
Its confines now feel like a cage.

Unfamiliar anger on that beautiful face
Relearning your sling is a safe, calm place.

Of course, fun times are still ours
Building high and destroying towers

Developmental listening games,
Learning to hear your very own name.

But this won't be the last day with tears
Because of your lovely, imperfect ears.
So for now we'll stay here, under this tree,
Where I can protect you, perfectly.

Sudden silence

Eerie calm where hordes of shoppers once hustled.
Silence as a thousand telephones do not ring.

Front doors left ajar reveal unswept floors.
Dishes are piled in sinks, or still on tables
With their half-eaten meals long forgotten.

A child's picture stays forever half-coloured
While an uncapped marker dessicates alongside.

A lone tap drips, unnoticed.
Something more important is happening now.

The stairs are unstomped
A child's tambourine unshaken
A book suffers damage to its spine as it lingers face down on a side table.

It's clear that something has happened here.
Something profoundly odd has disturbed an ordinary day
And changed it forever.

It's Ireland
And the sun is shining.
Quick!
Drop everything!
Go outside.

Unlocking a memory

I have found myself in possession of Marian Keyes' new book. Apparently that sometimes happens when you make a trip to the local bookshop and offer them money. Who knew?

Now, anyone who has read Marian's work will know the nod-and-laugh combo guaranteed to punctuate any sitting with the book. The feeling that this exact scenario has happened to you, but she has explained it so much better than you ever could, and what was once a mortifying moment is now a gleeful giggle of recognition.

I was reading with Littlest asleep in my arms, and was making every effort to keep my chortles in check so as not to wake him. And then, mid-nod, while reading about the horrors of hairy, 5 O'Clock shadow legs, I stopped. Oh. Oh my. A vague inkling of embarrassment, and then I remembered all in a rush. How could I have forgotten?

It was just about a year ago, and I found myself with 3 hours all to myself. Yes, 180 minutes with nary a child (bar the one I was gestating at the time) to be looked after. What would I do with such a luxury? I had a long shower, then breakfast with a book in the local café. After retiling the roof and solving World Hunger I became a bit bored. And I still had over two hours left. So I rang the local beautician to see if I could sort a last-minute leg wax. I explained that I knew I was totally chancing my arm, but I didn't have anywhere to be until 1.30 and could she squeeze me in?

'You need to leave here at half past one? Oh I can sort you out, absolutely! Pop in at ten past one, ok?'

'Oh thanks so much!!'

'No problem at all. Sorry, what's the name now till I write you in?'

'Aisling. Aisling Cahill. Thanks again'

'Oh. Aisling. Right.
...
Eh, lookit you better come in at one o'clock in that case. I'll see you at one, ok?'

And there you have it. It's not my imagination. I'm not simply being unkind to myself. I am, verifiably, FIFTY PERCENT HAIRIER than the other women in the village.
Have I been brave enough to go for another appointment? Not Yeti!

A few home truths

7am

'Quick Mammy, get up and bake a cake!'

'Mmmf what??!'

'For if Daddy and Little One come home from hospital today, we need to have a party. We need a lemon cake and some crisps! Crisps are Little One's favourites.'

Now, I love dawn baking as much as the next person, but I politely declined the request. There's dishes to be washed, floors to be swept and lunches to be made. And if I'm honest, I also don't want to jinx Little One's chances of getting home.

I told two disappointed faces not to worry. After I brought 'the boys' home, I would simply pop to the shops while they rested, under the pretence of getting bread and milk. While there, I would get some crisps and perhaps even buy a cake if I didn't have time to bake one. Then I waited for the smiles, cheers and possibly even hugs.

Silence.

The conspirators looked at each other. They communicated silently for a moment, then looked back at me. Little Man went first.

'Well, you'll have to be REALLY careful to keep it a surprise Mammy.'

Little Lady chimed in.

'Yes. You see, sometimes you say "Oh goodness, I don't know why the kitchen smells like chocolate chip cookies, there certainly aren't any in your lunchboxes!" and we actually realise that there ARE cookies in our lunchbox.'

Little Man wanted to clarify.

'Sometimes your voice is how we know, and sometimes it's because you're smiling. You need to practice tricking without smiling I think.'

I kept my face VERY straight as I expressed my shock and disappointment at having spoiled so many surprises in the past. They had me practice a couple of times.

'I'm just popping to the shops for milk.
We need milk, I'm just popping to the shops.
I'm off to get milk now, back in a minute.'

I nailed it.
Operation Surprise Party is a go.
Sssshhhh ;)

The good days

The good days. Ah, the good days. When we marvel at your ability to use your whole body, your face and surely some kind of magic to communicate with us.

You are full of mischief, but of such a cheery mischief that it's impossible to scold you. On those good days, the ones filled with engagement, I imagine the cheekiness of your inner monologue.

'Hello mother. Oh you've seen that I am wearing my coat and wellies? Perhaps we should take advantage of this fortuitous turn of events and go Outside together?'

'Walk with me, won't you? Oh look! We have happened upon the front door. Did you know that it leads to the aforementioned Outside?'

'I'd like to have something to eat please. I really don't mind what it is, so long as it comes from the press we keep the Fish Crackers in'

'Mammy, come quick! Something Terrible has happened! Look!! Someone - and there's really no way of knowing who - has spilled my Shreddies all over the floor. Who could do such a thing, on this, the day of my sister's play date?'

'Look Mammy, we've had fun together. It's been great. But, Daddy's here now and, well, this is awkward...'

'I've taken the liberty of bringing you the baby's coat. Perhaps a walk Outside is in order? You may notice that it's the coat he only wears in the stroller. Because I won't be needing the stroller, I shall be extremely busy picking up sticks and posting pebbles through railings'

'Here's the remote control. If you'd like to point it over there please, until Curious George comes on? Not this one. Not this one. Oh I like this one! You shall have a round of applause for a job well done'

'What's that you have there? ANOTHER hot coffee? Hold on, let me put down this toy so I can blow it cool for you. Honestly, I don't know why you make it so hot every morning...'

Your charming face, your disarming smile, your sometimes alarming can-do attitude would be assets for any child but for you, my darling Little One, they are invaluable. You know what? I think you'll be just fine.

The tough days

I knew what you wanted.
Of course I did. I knew even before you did that you'd want to go with Daddy. I don't blame you, he's kinda cool! But you didn't know that I knew. How could you, when you hadn't been able to tell me what you wanted? When I was stopping you from going out the door with him?
You were so upset. You held my hands, gently tried to squeeze your thoughts into them. I was trying to tell you something, but you were too sad to pay attention. Frustrated, you started to hit my outstretched arms, but gently so that it wouldn't hurt. Those soft, tiny fists striking out with less than half your strength.

I asked you to choose a coat. Aha! We WERE going outside! You calmed, wiped the tears decisively from your face. The blue one, because it's fluffy. Excited, you carried your toy car to the door and climbed on.
'No' I signed, 'I'm sorry'
I showed you the stroller.
'No' you signed, deflated. I could see you thinking about getting angry, wondering if those little fists could make me understand. I smiled and nodded, pointing to the front door and you climbed in my arms. You held on tight for a few moments, with your still-damp cheek pressed to mine. Satisfied somehow, you climbed down and got into the stroller.

I'd love to know what went through your head. Were you remembering Wednesday? I'm still so sorry about Wednesday. I wanted you to get into the stroller at the wrong time of day. Despite what your body clock was telling you, it was time to collect Little Man.
'No' you signed. Ran away.
I followed. Picked you up. Put you in the stroller.
'No' you signed, arching your back so I couldn't strap you in.
'Yes' I signed, while my elbow prevented your escape. 'Get brother at school'
'NONONONONO' you shouted, signed and squirmed simultaneously. I was so damn proud! You were doing exactly what we've worked so hard at. Communicating clearly, orally. But I would have to ignore your wishes, without being able to tell you why. I grabbed you and ran to the kitchen press, your tears and mine mixing. A treat. Part-bribe, part-celebration of your achievement. You got into the stroller willingly then. It was only when your brother came over in the schoolyard and high-fived you that you realised I had been planning this all along. Mammy knew best.

Some days are hard. But Daddy and I have a plan. There will be more hard days, but I promise you sweetie that we are working hard on making things easier. We may not always be able to make ourselves understood, but just trust us. Together, with our arms around you, we will figure it out.

A rhyme for morning time

I do not like thee, 8am
'I do not like thee!' shouts this femme.
I did not like 2, 4 or 6
Nor 1am, thrown in the mix.
I do not like your dull grey light,
I'd much prefer the dark of night.
Under my feet, the tiles are cold
My aching back makes me feel old.
Last night's 'sleep' has left me weary
My eyes make all the world seem bleary.
The house is still, and quiet too
But soon it will resemble a zoo,
The older kids will start to stir
The heating will begin to whirr,
The sound of breakfast cereal's pour,
The crunch of it upon my floor.
The smiled requests for one more drink
While dishes pile up in my sink.
Yes, this is just a simple day,
I would not have another way,
But couldn't its beginning wait?
At least 'till maybe half past eight?

Another step on Little One's journey

Little One is a toddler. He is cheeky and cuddly, handsome and helpful. He is also deaf.

He won't always be a toddler, I hope he'll always be helpful, but he will always be deaf.

Having had hearing aids since he was three months old, our clever boy was doing great up until last Spring. Then we noticed he wasn't talking anymore. Or responding to his name.  Further hearing tests were inconclusive, but we had a good idea what was going on.

To help ease frustration, we all learned a couple of signs while we waited for conclusive testing. He still couldn't hear us, but he could ask for food or a drink. He figured out that we could be led to the things he wanted; the press where we keep crackers, the stairs when he wanted to take a nap. He started smiling again. A lot.

More hearing tests, more questions. We asked for a referral to the cochlear implant team and our audiologist worked late that night to get the letter out straight away.

We worked for weeks to get a vocal 'no' and celebrated like it was a Nobel. We learned more and more signs and Little One figured out how to use these with gestures and facial expressions to 'talk' to us.

The cochlear implant team told us what we already knew. He is now profoundly deaf. As profoundly deaf as can be. Hope that we hadn't realised we still held was extinguished, but mostly the news was a relief. We're not crazy, he's not stupid. And he's a candidate for cochlear implantation.

There is no cure for deafness. But cochlear implants, if successful, can give our gorgeous boy access to sound.* When he takes off his processors at night, when he needs a rest after a particularly hard day of listening, he will be deaf. When he has his processors on, he will be a deaf boy who is listening carefully to digital sounds.

It's an exciting time in our house. We're all learning more and more sign language, which is essential for his developing brain as well as providing a foundation for communication and speech. We're playing important games and reading books and making plans.

And yesterday, we got the call. The Call.

Little One will receive his implants in a matter of weeks. A few weeks after that the processors will be switched on and then the real work will begin. Tuning and adjusting the 22 electrode arrays to provide sound without discomfort, learning how to listen again, building listening stamina and, hopefully, using all of that to develop speech.

It's been a tough few months for our little guy. And he's got a long journey ahead. But he's happy and engaged and just a little bit of a show-off, and that will serve him well. He is, as we have always known, simply perfect.


*For anyone wondering what the difference is between 'hearing' and 'access to sound', this video gives a good approximation
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=SpKKYBkJ9Hw

Bored? Not this mother.

I was asked recently if I was 'very bored staying at home all day?'
It was (I think) meant in the true spirit of curiosity. Having been in full-time employment since the age of 18, how could I possibly stand to do nothing? If I'm completely honest with myself, I have to acknowledge the days when I feel 'wasted', or underemployed. But there simply is no space for boredom, and goodness knows I've had paid jobs where my value was wilfully under-utilised.

I think that for many, the value of work done by a parent at home isn't recognised. What can there REALLY be to do all day? Well, quite a bit actually. The early years of a child's life are of huge importance and lay the foundations for later life from academia to social skills and self-esteem. An average day in my boring little house includes the following activities and lessons.

Object permanence: The ball was under the blanket the whole time!

Cause and effect: Your voice can turn on the lights.

Physical therapy: Blowing out candles.

Building neural pathways and secure emotional bonds: Cuddling for all ages.

Independent play: The importance of self-discovery, risk-taking and letting Mammy have her coffee.

Gross motor skills: Mammy Tiger's going to catch you!

Vocabulary and memory work: Object matching/Songs with actions/Constant chatter while walking around Lidl.

All of this is to say nothing of three daily trips to 'big school', homework supervision, the constant influx and egress of bodily fluids, meal preparation, laundry and the Sisyphean task of sweeping floors.

So yes, it's worlds away from high heels, deadlines and meetings but preparing four children for life in the great wide world is certainly no less important and is never boring.

It can be difficult to do work that never seems to get finished and can't be submitted for award or promotion, but despite the first lesson of the day, nothing is permanent. One day, as I try to motivate an office full of people to take pride in their work I'll think fondly of the days of reading Roald Dahl down by the river, and accepting heaping praise for making beans on toast as a treat.

Life as a modern woman means that I can have it all, just not all at once. That, and I'll never be bored.