Rowan Tree and Red Thread

Sam is going into hospital tomorrow for gallbladder surgery. Surgery I'm hoping will go textbook smooth and bring Sam home hale and hearty in short order. I wish this not only because I want her well and healthy, but also selfishly I don't want to have to kiddie-wrangle for an indefinite period.

Oscar still doesn't sleep through the night and is quite accustomed to breastfeeds in the small hours, something I'm just not equipped for. Rowan, not yet 5 years old, is currently treating us to a sample of teenaged unreasonableness, changing personality from minute to minute and generally being a pain in the ass. I hope this is reflected anxiety from the impending surgery she's picked up from us and not a new and unwelcome phase that will go on until she flip-flops again.

It's not all bad of course. My mother has wonderfully taken some time off work and volunteered to come down from Dublin for a few days while Sam is in hospital. My in-laws have offered to come in and lend a hand and our neighbours up the road say they'll get Rowan into school in the mornings next week.

I'm off work all week to man the guns at home and there was no problem taking the time off at relatively short notice.

So it's fingers crossed for swift, professional, and complete care for Sam, and sleeping kids for me.

On my way into work now, after an early start courtesy of the end of Summer Time and Oscar. Awake and active at about 5.00 this morning, he was. He's usually an early riser and coupled with the clocks going back this weekend he's now a ridiculously early riser. Stupid Summer Time.

It's made worse by the expectation that next Sunday my wife is going into hospital for a gall bladder operation. She'll likely be away for at least two nights and Oscar is entirely used to a bedtime routine centred round his mother. I lack a couple of important assets, you see.

Well, he's in for a rude awakening. Unfortunately I will be too, no doubt.

I'm taking all of next week off to man the home front during Sam's hospital stay and subsequent recovery. Thank goodness my job has that sort of flexibility
.

Tonight I fed young Oscar for the first time. Sam expressed some milk earlier in the day, and when the lord of the manor threw a strop, I stepped into the breach and tried him out on milk from the bottle.

This worked a charm. Oscar guzzled for a while and fell fast asleep, thus mimicking his time on the breast almost exactly.

Result!

Hey all. Long time without a post, but there have been extenuating circumstances. sammywol, my wife, is pregnant for the second time and we're expecting our second child sometime in early March of next year.

Unfortunately much as before, sammywol is suffering with morning, noon and night sickness and is feeling nauseous most of the day through. We're hoping that she won't need hospitalisation (for dehydration) this time, though, and she is just about keeping things under control.

Offspring number 1, Rowan, remains blissfully ignorant of the impending change in her sibling status. We're new to the business of explaining the new arrival to our daughter; advice will be gratefully accepted (though possibly ignored if it involves buying Rowan noise-makers or a car).

My daughter Rowan is in hospital. She's been suffering from a viral infection for just over 3 weeks and on Wednesday night started vomiting. The doctor we took her too at midnight was worried and had her admitted to St. Finbarrs' Children's Unit. The consultant there (as well as the registrar and some other specialist who's name or position I failed to catch) all have a faintly annoyed air with us, as it seems they can't pin down what's wrong with Rowan. She's stopped vomiting, which I'm grateful for, but she's still intermittently nausea, suffering from abdominal cramps and generally looking like a ghost. She hasn't got a fever and there's no other signs of a bacterial infection, so we're grateful for that at least. During the days she's up and down a lot, one minute laughing and much like her usual self, the next cranky and listless, only to be followed by clingy and more tummy pains.

I hope we get some idea soon of how long this is going to take to clear, if is a virus, or of what exactly is going on, if it isn't a virus. I hate seeing Rowan like this and I hate being unable to make her better.

We're off to Worldcon tomorrow, so this is my last post for about a week. I'm sure you'll all find something to entertain yourselves with in my absence.

Our big experiment in childrearing by proxy begins tomorrow too, with Rowan spending five nights with her grandparents. Rationally I'm sure she'll do well; she's very close to them both and has spent a night with them before without a hitch. The worried parent in the back of my head is gibbering slightly nonetheless. I'll run up a phone bill and a half while we're away no doubt, checking in.

Other financial burdens are in sight too, in the form of the dealers' room at Worldcon. I believe we've left extra space in our luggage to allow for the major book 'accident' we're planning on having. Anyone in Cork with extra storage space to share should get in touch.

Bye!

This weekend was, as advertised, wet. Nonetheless we took Rowan to the beach on Sunday with her grandparents and picnicked under an umbrella. I felt almost English. Rowan seemed to enjoy it anyway, playing in a 'car' dug from the sand and decorated with shells as headlights.

There was car-related excitement too on Monday as we went through a car wash with Rowan for the first time. She was wide-eyed with excitement and worried at the same time, but took it in her stride with some reassurance from her folks. She sat in her car seat and shouted that it was 'raining'.

Worldcon is approaching rapidly, so Rowan's biggest test so far is coming up. She'll have 6 days 5 nights with her grandparents. I hope she manages to keep her cool and enjoy herself with them. It's terribly exciting for us too; a holiday with just the two of us is an incredible novelty and something that just hasn't really happened in about three years. I really hope it all goes well.

I want to report that Rowan, my daughter, is a star. She spent Wednesday with her grandparents and bravely faced her first night without either of her parents. Apparently we're not that important after all.

I was delighted though, because I know her grandparents enjoyed it, it's good to know that she's getting more independent, and selfishly, it makes our upcoming holiday at Worldcon in Glasgow without her seem less of a wrench.

I dropped Sam down on Thursday morning, and on Friday I went down to the in-laws to rejoin Sam and Rowan. We spent a good chunk of Saturday on the beach, where I foolishly applied insufficient quantities of sun block and now have what is called locally a "farmer's tan". Ouch, my sore neck.

Complaining about sunny weather is the high of ingratitude in Ireland, however, so I'll say we've had a lovely few days, and it's a delight to see Rowan running about in hat and sun dress reveling in the sunshine[1].

The best moment of the weekend? Arriving on Friday evening to be welcomed by Rowan with smiles and spending a half hour down the end of the garden chatting about the exciting events of the last three days. Her mime of the crab she met on the beach on Friday afternoon was priceless.


[1] Suitably thick layers of sun block have been applied. I'm dumb but not criminal.

I was at our neighbours place on Monday for their son's 4th birthday party. There was a gang of kids there, and Rowan got rather lost in the crowd a couple of times. She enjoys having other kids about but she's not really at the stage where she'll throw herself into a group and start playing with them. Parallel play seems safer to her, I think.

She did seem to enjoy it all, though perhaps not as much as I did. Towards the end of our stay Sam and I got out into the garden where we were caught up with some of the older kids (5 and 6 years old, I'd guess) who dragged us immediately into their bizarre pirates fantasy. I was promptly cut into pieces as the kids, mostly girls, chopped me up with rubber swords, plastic toy cutlasses and, oddly, a foam-rubber pistol.

Despite my lack of limbs I managed to bound free and was happily pursued about the garden by short, screaming people. My ruse of flying to Bermuda at one point gave them pause, as I told them they couldn't bring weapons through immigration and customs. I was foiled however, by one clever girl who told me she'd "already been to Mermuda (sic), and killed everybody there, so there was no customs officers." Well that told me. I dutifully submitted to a second dismemberment.

After that the tickling started and I had my revenge. Bwa-hahaha!

We were sharing the apartment Noora's father, Ilpo, and his second wife, Aila. Ilpo and Rowan got on famously. He's a primary school teacher and seemed at ease with her, as well as being absolutely delighted with the attention she lavished on him. She in turn was happy to have someone new to perform for. Today she's also invented a new train game, standing at the end of a long rug and getting me (or someone else) to stand behind her, hands on her hips. She then makes her train noise and we shuffle off together, engine and carriage, as a little train to do the circuit of the rug. If there was someone else to hand they'd have to join in too, adding carriages at the back. Choo-choo!

Sally also revived an old game that Eoin played with Lily, Tim's aunt, years ago. Pulling at the elastic at the back of Rowan's trousers you say "I'll start you off!" and release the elastic with a gentle snap. Rowan then speeds away like she's been shot from a sling. Brilliant!

Some photos up at Photobucket.

( Pictures behind the cut. )

My daughter Rowan has had trouble sleeping the last few nights and woke just before 4am this morning. I sat with her for a while, holding her hand as she tried to get back to sleep. It was about 4.30 when she dozed off. At about 5.30 she was awake again, and Sam took her into the spare room to sleep with her propped up on some pillows. I think Rowan slept, but I know that Sam only dozed fitfully. This morning we were both shattered, moving slowly about the morning routines, pausing repeatedly to try and pull our fogged heads into shape.

I don't know what's been disturbing Rowan's sleep for the last few nights. I suspect it's her molars, as one of her gums feels like the tooth is near the surface, but it might be something else. She's waking suddenly, upset and more than a little bewildered. I hope it's not nightmares, as my brother suffered from them regularly as a child, and it's a terrifying thing for anyone, let alone a small person unable to understand the origin of the images.

The human brain is kind. Memories fade and the pains of yesterday are dulled. We suffered along with Rowan when she was younger and had many disturbed nights. Broken nights quickly build up, and left us ineffectual husks during the day. Until this recent bout of disturbed sleep Rowan had been sleeping well. I had more or less forgotten the dreadful half-awake hours in the middle of the night. The human brain is kind.

I can now dimly see the horror of that particular form of torture that robs someone of their sleep. Sleep deprivation is a terrible thing.

We had a good day out in Cork today. The Cork European City of Culture for 2005 began today with a bang, as fireworks are de rigeur for the wrap up of any such event. Before nightfall and the explosion, however, we took Rowan down into town for a stroll about in the crowd to sample the various entertainments that were to be had. We saw many white balloons released into the sky, to float away (symbolically no doubt) on the breeze. Rowan liked that. We watched a unicyclist juggle fire and pretend he was about to fall into the audience. Rowan liked that too. Best of all, however, were the half dozen or so stilt walkers dressed as bizarre bird-riding bedouins ambling down Oliver Plunkett Street. Rowan loved them. Sam had Rowan on her shoulders at that point and Rowan was better able to see these strange apparitions as they drew closer through the crowds. She was surprised, but delighted when one of them came over and made the bird nuzzle her with its beak. After that there was no stopping her. Sam had to chase and intercept about five birds in all, with Rowan staring in rapt attention as each one passed by.

I can only imagine what it was like for her open and non-judgmental mind. I don't suppose she could possibly know that they were anything other than what they appeared to be: 9ft tall birds with cloaked riders, in bright colours, parading down one of the busiest shopping streets in Cork. And why wouldn't there be such a thing, in her exciting world?

We got down to a percussion band afterward, but I can't help but think that Rowan might have found it a bit tame after her marvelous birds.

Back in Cork after an eventful Christmas down with Sam's parents. Christmas Day was great; lots of cool presents, Rowan having a ball with her new toys, particularly the play-tent we got from the Early Learning Centre (thanks Eoin and Noora for bringing it down from Dublin) and the Fisher-Price garage that Sally got for Rowan. Together they've received the lion's share of Rowan's attention.

Unfortunately after Christmas things went downhill a bit. Rowan fell sick with some ear infection and tummy bug. We spent an early morning vigil with her before getting her down to Clonakilty to see the on-call doctor. He prescribed Augmentin, an anti-biotic that Rowan has had before, and paracetamol to deal with her fever (which peaked at 39.5 Cent/103 Fahrenheit). This seemed to work, but about an hour and half after her first dose of Augmentin she vomited and had pains in her abdomen. We didn't associate this with the antibiotic at first, and completed our packing and got ourselves back into Cork for about 6 o'clock. Rowan's second dose of Augmentin at about 7 o'clock left us in no doubt, however. By bedtime at 8.30 she was doubled up, crouching on her hands and knees to try and relieve the pain in her gut, and in absolutely miserable condition. The on-call doctor (thank you SouthDoc) phoned in a new antibiotic prescription to the late-night pharmacy, and we just had to huddle together, all three of us in the one bed, until Rowan got comfortable enough to go to sleep. Throughout the night she woke and Sam (bless her!) cuddled her back to sleep, so we managed to go from about 12.30 'til 6.30 before Rowan woke up properly.

She's in much better form this morning. I've never been so pleased to hear her laugh as I was this morning. It's not over yet as we've got to get her through the rest of the course of the new anti-biotic, and deal with her diarrhoea (aggravated by the anti-biotic no doubt), but she's made such an improvement over last night that I'm greatly relieved.

Poor, brave, little bug.

Okay, part of Rowan's bedtime routine that hasn't changed with the recent weaning is the ritual of asking her which toy she'd like to take with her. Every night we say "Rowan, it's bedtime, do you want to pick a toy to take to bed?" And every time she rushes over to the nappy bin by her changing table and grabs it, a big smile on her face. She knows we're never going to cart that huge thing upstairs, let alone pop it in the bed next to her for the morning, but she tries it every time. It's part of the ritual.

Last night, as many times before, we said "Rowan, it's bedtime, do you want to pick a toy to take to bed?" She quickly grabbed the nappy bin, and Sam and I did our usual "No, you can't have that! It's too big/smelly/whatever." Quick as a flash, she ran from the bin to the Christmas tree and grabbed that. Her grin was enormous. I could see her thinking "this will get a laugh" as she hugged the branches of the tree.

Unfortunately we weren't able to get the tree up the stairs and into the bedroom. She probably deserved it.

Last night I put Rowan to bed. This is a big thing. Until now, Rowan has had the twin delights (er, um.) of Sam's full attention and breast milk with every bedtime. Weaning her is the challenge we all now face and I have to do my part in getting Rowan used to going to bed without her mummy.

Sam had explained to Rowan earlier in the day that Dada would be putting her to bed, that Mummy's milk was all gone, and that Dada would read her a story, whatever story she wanted. Rowan understands "all gone" all too well and looked anxious at this, apparently, but took in the information anyway.

I felt some trepidation handling the bedtime alone, but Rowan was a star. She cried a little after her wash when she realised that Sam was not going to accompany us into the bedroom, and fussed a bit when I changed her nappy and dressed her for bed. Once we snuggled down in the duvet on our bed to read her chosen book ("Time for Bed") she relaxed. When we reached the bit where the little girl in the book had her bedtime drink, Rowan had her drink. When we reached the end (on the second time through) with the little girl tucked up safe and warm in her bed, I asked Rowan if she wanted to snuggle down in her bed. She agreed (fierce nods of head) so I placed her gently in her bed with favourite teddy gripped in her hand. Tucked under a couple of blankets she looked up at me a little apprehensively, but accepted my goodnight kiss and quiet reassurances. I slipped out and she was asleep a short time later. What a good kid.

Sam has her own take on this. It's a big thing for both of us, even if a small one on a less personal scale.