Remember when your perfect tiny baby had to be dragged into the freezing cold (in my case, it was March and it was snowing like crazy) to be marched over to the doctors to get their first injections and check up. Stripped down to their wee bare skin and placed on that hard scale to be weighed, poked and prodded and measured.
All the time tiny Joel cried and cried that new baby cry. I knew if I just picked him up and held him close he would settle but all these very important checks had to be done to be written on the special red book. I resisted the urge to shove those meddling nurses and doctors aside, knock them to the floor and scream, "just flippin leave him alone!!!! He's just a wee baby!!!! " but I resisted the urge as I knew it was all for a good purpose, to check that Joel was developing as expected and meeting his milestones.
Then they sat me in a chair and stabbed him with a needle (gave him his injections).
The whole experience was very stressful and traumatic. I was aware of what would happen before the appointment and I thought I was prepared for it but couldn't help getting a bit flustered and stressed out. There was a part of me that wanted to leap out of my clear and slap that doctor with a big open hand and leave her cheek red and stinging, leave him alone, leave my baby alone!!
If that's how I feel in a controlled situation that I have time to fully prepare for you can imagine I am bloody brilliant in an emergency.
A few weeks ago my mum and I decided to take a trip to Rowallane Yuletide Fayre. It was held in a National Trust property. I think this is the last 'fayre' I will be fooled into going to. You know the type - pay an expensive fee to gain entry to what effectively is a field with a selection of over priced jams/chutneys to buy? Well this fayre was particularly woeful in my eyes.
There was a sorry looking donkey parked up in a grass area. They were charging £3 for a donkey ride - that is a lap of the grass area that could not have lasted more than 30 seconds. Shameful!
Anyways, thoroughly disillusioned with our yuletide experience we decided to take a walk around the gardens and grounds of the national trust property we had paid to be ripped off in. My inquisitive 11 month old, newly on his feet was itching the stretch his legs and explore. We didn't get very far.
We moved away from the hustle and bustle through an archway which lead to a landscaped garden. There were a variety of beds arranged with various foliage and flowers and rectangles of pristine grass, all separated by a gravel walk way. Expecting hoards of yuletide enthusiasts the organisers has cordoned off the pristine grass with red and white ribbon. The ribbon was flickering in the winter wind and Joel was fascinated. We stood at the ribbon while he grabbed for it and played with it - who needs toys eh?
Then before we knew it he had ducked under the ribbon and was waddling across the grass making a dive for the ribbon on the other side of the grass. His enthusiasm for ribbon seem to grow with each step and he was soon half running across the grass. My mum made a dash for it round one side of the grass area in an attempt to meet him at the other side. I faffed about, considering crawling under the ribbon, considering following mum and then just watching in horror. As I faffed and mum ran Joel made a grab for the ribbon on the other side. The pathetic ribbon gave way under his weight and he lost his balance falling face first and banging his face off the gravel.
Oh he cried. And so he should have, he had split his wee lip and there was blood everywhere and there seemed to be an large bruised egg rapidly appearing on the centre of his forehead.
A few passers by tried to be helpful offering first aid kits and sympathy but they only served to spook Joel and made him more upset, and made me panic listening to their comments 'oh, there's quite a lot of blood, isn't there?' One member of staff suggested I take Joel to the St Johns Ambulance who were on site at the entrance to the gardens. Yes that seemed like a good idea. I would feel much better if he was given the once over, so off we went.
I found the St. Johns Ambulance van. A man sat in the front seat, engrossed in his phone.
I tried to get his attention by waking in front of the van and looking in.
I tried to get his attention by standing looking in his window beside him.
I knocked the window.
He looked out the window, questioningly.
I pointed at Joel.
He half opened the door of the van, phone still in hand, eyes flickering between me and his phone.
'Hi, he's just fallen and split his wee lip open, would you have ice or and ice pop/lolly to take the swelling away and soothe his mouth'
'Nooo...we wouldn't have anything like that...' He moves to close the door, barely casting an eye on Joel.
In my head I grab the door handle and pull it open, kick his stupid phone out of his stupid hand and shout "DO SOMETHING!!!!"
In reality I say quickly before he closes the door, 'it's just there is quite a lot of blood here, you wouldn't have anything?'
'No, I mean we have ice packs but that wouldn't be much use to you'
Dumbfounded I muttered 'ok?'.
In my head I punched him in the face and stole all his stupid ice packs. Not unreasonable.
Can you believe him? I know it is a volunteer organisation, but if you don't want to help people don't volunteer! I know it wasn't exactly an emergency, Joel was as good as new after a slice of wheaten bread in the on site cafe, but they are there to provide a service and he didn't so much as cast an eye over Joel.
Although Joel looked a bit beat up and bruised for a few days I think the experience scarred me more than it scarred him. He was well looked after and doted upon in the cafe by the staff and they even sneaked him a wee ice cream with his wheaten to try to reduce the swelling. This incident just served as a cruel reminder that Joel is not longer a baby, rather a tearaway on the cusp of toddlerhood, this incident probably the tip of the iceberg in terms of accidents and injuries ahead. He can no longer be wrapped in cotton wool, its terrifying.
Go on, reassure me, tell me that your mind goes into panic mode and you have to restrain your inner crazy lady?
No?
Anyone...?
All the time tiny Joel cried and cried that new baby cry. I knew if I just picked him up and held him close he would settle but all these very important checks had to be done to be written on the special red book. I resisted the urge to shove those meddling nurses and doctors aside, knock them to the floor and scream, "just flippin leave him alone!!!! He's just a wee baby!!!! " but I resisted the urge as I knew it was all for a good purpose, to check that Joel was developing as expected and meeting his milestones.
Then they sat me in a chair and stabbed him with a needle (gave him his injections).
The whole experience was very stressful and traumatic. I was aware of what would happen before the appointment and I thought I was prepared for it but couldn't help getting a bit flustered and stressed out. There was a part of me that wanted to leap out of my clear and slap that doctor with a big open hand and leave her cheek red and stinging, leave him alone, leave my baby alone!!
If that's how I feel in a controlled situation that I have time to fully prepare for you can imagine I am bloody brilliant in an emergency.
A few weeks ago my mum and I decided to take a trip to Rowallane Yuletide Fayre. It was held in a National Trust property. I think this is the last 'fayre' I will be fooled into going to. You know the type - pay an expensive fee to gain entry to what effectively is a field with a selection of over priced jams/chutneys to buy? Well this fayre was particularly woeful in my eyes.
We were greeted by a lacklustre Santa. Even Joel wasn't convinced.
The stalls were all squashed in spaces without enough room to browse. I spent my day getting in peoples way with the pram and apologising and finding myself trapped in awkward corners with a grabby baby in my arms determined to knock anything over within his grabby range. I traipsed round after my mother who examined the knitted offerings. A crocheted flower broach was selling for £6. Now I am far from claiming any crocheting skills but my mum is pretty nifty with the crochet needle and is convinced she could whip one of those brooches up in half and hour!There was a sorry looking donkey parked up in a grass area. They were charging £3 for a donkey ride - that is a lap of the grass area that could not have lasted more than 30 seconds. Shameful!
Anyways, thoroughly disillusioned with our yuletide experience we decided to take a walk around the gardens and grounds of the national trust property we had paid to be ripped off in. My inquisitive 11 month old, newly on his feet was itching the stretch his legs and explore. We didn't get very far.
We moved away from the hustle and bustle through an archway which lead to a landscaped garden. There were a variety of beds arranged with various foliage and flowers and rectangles of pristine grass, all separated by a gravel walk way. Expecting hoards of yuletide enthusiasts the organisers has cordoned off the pristine grass with red and white ribbon. The ribbon was flickering in the winter wind and Joel was fascinated. We stood at the ribbon while he grabbed for it and played with it - who needs toys eh?
Then before we knew it he had ducked under the ribbon and was waddling across the grass making a dive for the ribbon on the other side of the grass. His enthusiasm for ribbon seem to grow with each step and he was soon half running across the grass. My mum made a dash for it round one side of the grass area in an attempt to meet him at the other side. I faffed about, considering crawling under the ribbon, considering following mum and then just watching in horror. As I faffed and mum ran Joel made a grab for the ribbon on the other side. The pathetic ribbon gave way under his weight and he lost his balance falling face first and banging his face off the gravel.
Oh he cried. And so he should have, he had split his wee lip and there was blood everywhere and there seemed to be an large bruised egg rapidly appearing on the centre of his forehead.
A few passers by tried to be helpful offering first aid kits and sympathy but they only served to spook Joel and made him more upset, and made me panic listening to their comments 'oh, there's quite a lot of blood, isn't there?' One member of staff suggested I take Joel to the St Johns Ambulance who were on site at the entrance to the gardens. Yes that seemed like a good idea. I would feel much better if he was given the once over, so off we went.
I found the St. Johns Ambulance van. A man sat in the front seat, engrossed in his phone.
I tried to get his attention by waking in front of the van and looking in.
I tried to get his attention by standing looking in his window beside him.
I knocked the window.
He looked out the window, questioningly.
I pointed at Joel.
He half opened the door of the van, phone still in hand, eyes flickering between me and his phone.
'Hi, he's just fallen and split his wee lip open, would you have ice or and ice pop/lolly to take the swelling away and soothe his mouth'
'Nooo...we wouldn't have anything like that...' He moves to close the door, barely casting an eye on Joel.
In my head I grab the door handle and pull it open, kick his stupid phone out of his stupid hand and shout "DO SOMETHING!!!!"
In reality I say quickly before he closes the door, 'it's just there is quite a lot of blood here, you wouldn't have anything?'
'No, I mean we have ice packs but that wouldn't be much use to you'
Dumbfounded I muttered 'ok?'.
In my head I punched him in the face and stole all his stupid ice packs. Not unreasonable.
Can you believe him? I know it is a volunteer organisation, but if you don't want to help people don't volunteer! I know it wasn't exactly an emergency, Joel was as good as new after a slice of wheaten bread in the on site cafe, but they are there to provide a service and he didn't so much as cast an eye over Joel.
Although Joel looked a bit beat up and bruised for a few days I think the experience scarred me more than it scarred him. He was well looked after and doted upon in the cafe by the staff and they even sneaked him a wee ice cream with his wheaten to try to reduce the swelling. This incident just served as a cruel reminder that Joel is not longer a baby, rather a tearaway on the cusp of toddlerhood, this incident probably the tip of the iceberg in terms of accidents and injuries ahead. He can no longer be wrapped in cotton wool, its terrifying.
Go on, reassure me, tell me that your mind goes into panic mode and you have to restrain your inner crazy lady?
No?
Anyone...?
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