A pat to the face, a kiss to the knee
Blustery day. Super tired, but somewhat self-inflicted, so can’t complain. Had a weird dream this morning, during which Chris woke me up and told me to get out of bed because ‘the kids might wake up and I’ve been up all night with them.’
‘But it’s only half five! They’re not even awake yet!’
Dream-me stubbornly refused to get out of bed. Woke up a while later feeling inexplicably annoyed with Chris until I remembered that it was my subconscious and not actually him that tried to kick me out of bed.
Now I feel guilty, because lovely Chris stayed up all night with our son and bought me a mint Aero yesterday, so should actually be firmly in my good books.
Went to Sophie’s for a coffee after the school run and walked home just before lunch. The Boy held my hand tight. ‘Is windy Mummy!’
He looks so cute in his raincoat.
This morning, he bumped his knee on the rocking chair and screwed up his face like he was going to cry. I rushed over (we were the only ones awake and I was not mentally prepared to deal with more than one person yet). Dropped a quick kiss on his knee. He stopped crying and beamed at me, genuinely happy that the problem was solved.
That’s all it took. A kiss on the knee. It’s like magic.
The other day, Jellybean climbed into our bed to tell me she had a bad dream. I gave her a vaguely reassuring pat on the face (I did aim for her head, but missed). I mumbled something along the lines of ‘don worry, s’not real’ and promptly fell asleep. Woke up a while later to find her curled up next to me, peacefully sleeping.
I mean, I do feel pretty inadequate about this. When my kids really need me, sometimes all I can offer them is a half-arsed kiss and a pat to the face. But it seems to be enough somehow.
I’d like to be that easily reassured. I just found out that my TN medication is on the list of medicines that may be difficult to obtain after Brexit. I feel, for obvious reasons, quite anxious about this (and also furious). This medicine stands between me and screaming agony. Not entirely sure what I’ll do if I can’t get it anymore.
This thought sends me into a spiral of fear. What if my meds stop working? What if the pain outgrows the drugs? What then? Down and down the spiral I go.
See, this is why I don’t allow myself to think about these things. Thinking =bad. Thoughts always lead to more thoughts. And then where does it stop?
I guess I’d like a bit of reassurance. Even a vague pat on the face and a mildly patronising pep talk from a self-assured adult who knows what they’re doing. But they seem to be in short supply at the moment. Instead what we have is a bunch of people running around like headless chickens, practically bouncing off the walls of the Houses of Parliament, smacking into each other, shouting ‘WHAT’S HAPPENING’ and ‘I DON’T KNOWWWWW.’
Left for the school run early, feeling rather glum. The Boy spotted a conker on the ground. And then another. And then another. For fifteen minutes we hunted in the mud for their spiny shells, cracking them open with our feet to reveal the treasure hidden inside. (I’m thirty one years old and the act of finding a conker still excites me.) Couldn’t help but smile at the big grin on my sons face as he patted his pockets, now full. ‘I found the pongas, Mummy. I putted them in my pockets!’
Maybe that’s all I need right now. To focus on the small things. And maybe watch the news less.
Or, I could train my children up in the art of foraging for food. You know, just in case.
