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March 2007
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May 2007

Sickness central

(Shouting at the sky)


On Saturday, for approximately 40 minutes, I was seriously thinking that Jamie might have meningitis. Remember, this is the non-panic version of Cait. The one that doesn't go off the deep end at the slightest thing. He has a cold, the poor wee monkey, and after having a pathetic lunch on Saturday,  Jamie was shaking, and absolutely freezing cold in his limbs but not his fever ridden body.

In the back of my mind, a memory started to form of the "Beware meningitis" poster I read at every visit to the Doc's. "Cold hands and feet"... cold hands and feet... Ok...oh. FUCK.

Luckily, we waited (a very short time) while he had his afternoon sleep and he calmed down, warmed up and... phew. Just snot, and coughing. I was trying to remain relaxed, but reminding myself that if he did have it, evry minute was crucial. So it was a difficult wait, to see if he would warm up.

There is still snot and coughing, mind you but you know what? We can put up with it.

I just want to say

Somewhat late to the party, but in the last 6 months I've discovered Ben Folds properly. I always thought that "Ben Folds Five" were a bit twee and big headed somehow (look at my amazing piano skills!), but he has matured in to a quite astonishingly word and songsmith.

I would advise either the last album or "Rocking The Suburbs". Both exceptionally good.

That is all.

Look for the...

Nora is well nigh obsessed with "The Jungle Book". No, not quite up to Rudyard Kipling as yet, but she had a Disney / Ladybird book of the basic story, with redrawn Disney characters, and we happened to have an old VHS of the film so after a while, I started to show her it.

I think Baloo is her favourite 'being' on the planet right now. She bursts in to tears if you turn it off because it's time for bed, therefore we have determined, she can watch it in large bursts, maybe on Sunday when James is asleep but NOT, definitely not just before sleep. If you find the bit when Mowgli flumps down next to a rock, and Baloo walks by, she'll spend the next 20 minutes, not staring almost blankly (even 'Bob The Builder' has that effect) but watching, intently, with fleeting changes - sudden joy, laughter, and sheer love of watching 'The bear necessities' and then that leading in to 'The King of the swingers" or whatever you call it.

It really does kick ass. It's a fantastic film. Maybe i'll try and get to the Disney store and see if they have anything Baloo'esque that's cheap. Oh no, hang on.... Ebay, of course!


I'll be frank: it's impossible to mourn when you have two young children. I'm not saying that happily. Not unhappily exactly, more a simple statement of fact. from the moment you are woken by James at 6.30 until you've just about stopped putting out the laundry, making the milk up for the morning, preparing breakfast / lunch / snacks (at what - 9.30 at night?) there is zero time for introspection.

I feel numb about it. The disbelief doesn't reduce. I mean it just doesn't reduce at all. It makes so little sense. memories of doing stuff with John are so stupidly, perversely close to 'Now' that taking in the truth of the matter - I will not see him again; he will not be sitting in our garden smoking and raising his eyebrows to me werriting because the smoke is going in the house... he won't give any more great books to Nor.. I won't be ableto share book and film conversations with him anymore. All of those facts are as nought compared to.. I almost snort with the ludicroousness of it - the gut feeling that if I pick up the phone, he'll be there.

FUCK John, you... damnit. what it comes down to is that I don't understand that he's not onthe end ofthe phone. Believe me - you can explain it to me until I'm blue in the face. I can say it back to you, nod earnestly and look thoughtfully sad but it makes no difference. It might as well be some kind of story for all I believe it.

I was going to say that it might as well be some kind of alternate universe type scenarios then, and it reminded me of the various realisations I've made recently, which bear a lot of resenblance to the rational, articulation of critique for the same of argument that one makes, generally, over a glass of wine of a cup of tea but now the truisms behind the thoughts make them seem more obviously, practically true. Please feel free, regardless of the circs here, to take me to task if this doesn't necessarily hold water.

The whole death / religion thing does , obviously come up over and over  and it struck me that, my usual, non-educated (by events) stance was to perhaps subconsciously see a split between the religion, holding power over people by spreading bullshit messages about heaven, and the people themselves, who are so grief stricken they'll listen to anything that makes then feel better. Whereas now it seems clear to me that trying to deal with the death of someone extremely close is one of the main reasons religion actually exists in the first place. It's such a cataclysmic event, for many reasons, quite apart from the obvious. The earth cracking horror of it comes not only from the fact that a person who you have unconditional, ballistic levels of love for is no longer there, on a purely practical level, but... well look it's the very core of metaphysics, isn't it? the person who helped to bring you in to the world; who has been one of the few constants throughout your life, is now no longer alive. How the hell are you supposed to cope with that, and with it, the tsunami of realisations: everyone dies; all over the word at every moment, another Father is dying. Another group of people plunged in to darkness by a natural, inevitable event. I now strongly believe that religion was created as a result of this happening. Religions are the way that many have chosen to articulate and explain grief. Because... I don't think any of us *on our own* are capable of dealing with this level of horror. It makes no sense, it's pain on a level so deep, for example, that I can't cry, I merely sit, winded, with a screeing, keening sound coming out. Anything, anything that would explain that John is somehow still extant, on a level that my rationality would accept - I'd grab on to it and squeeze every ounce of explanation out of it. The rationale of heaven, or any other equivalents, must surely have been boiled down from prehistoric man's initial desperate desire to cling on to any rumour, any supposed truism that might make their loved ones appear safe, secure and happy to them. As those concepts grew to be more established, so must a growing orthodoxy around the original ideas.  From there comes the inevitability of "keepers" of the idea; power; evilness. etc.

I was going to talk about Nora's way of coming to terms with John's death, which is interesting. I will do, but not now. Too tired. I was also going to mentino the bible's attitude toward children, and hjow in fact it is merely a mirror ofd our own feelings toward children ie: the innocence and delight in their company. But I won't. Goodnight!

Back to hospital, then

Oh bleedin' hell.

James got Gastroenteritis and we spent the weekend in hospital, with fears of meningitis and septicemia both coming to nothing, thank goodness. He's ok-ish now. desperate for more food but stuck on clear liquids and dry carbohydrates.

I would tell you the astonishing work related incident but there again, maybe not.

Shattered. Totally shattered.

Bums and wheat

Sooooo.... perhaps I've been a little hasty with the suggestion that there was no reaction to James eating wheat. My own guess right now is that the reaction built up over days, as he ended up with more of it in his system. He has the worst nappy rash I have EVER seen. He is crying huge, panicked gobbets of tears whenever you go near cleaning his bum, and the minute he goes to the loo he's in pain. It's not just welts, it's open sores.

It's absolutely horrible. Poor lovely. Needless to say, he has not eaten wheat for a couple of days now. No reduction so far. He's practically swathed in Sudocrem in the bum department. It's all really nasty.

McK has this idea that we have to "double blind" the test, and once everything has calmed down again, and a suitable distance is reached, we give him wheat again, just in case tis time around thee was some other variable present that we didn't know about. Well, yes. All very scientific, but we're supposed to actively inflict this misery on our baby? Jesus. Surely, we must now be able to go to the Doc and get a test done, given that we've had such a nasty reaction?

I will phone her and discuss, I think.

Shock news link post

I can barely believe it myself, but indeed, I am posting a link - and to something relatively popular, too.

A friend, Meg, posted a youtube link to an Alanis Morrissette parody of "My Humps". I have many problems with the original, given my seventies feminist broughtens up. Primarily, the overall American music suggestion currently that women should celebrate the manipulation of men by the use of their tits and asses (or indeed, manipulation of men by fucking them). that in the mentioned video (as with many others, not necessarily featuring Fergie), Fergie dresses as if she's a whore and I suppose secondarily, sadly, the song is just so damned bad.

So Morristte's version is a bit kneejerk but amusing in that she repeats the same piano phrase with very little variation over, and over again for 5 minutes making the cover fairly boring also - but deliberately so. I like the video too - although the sentiments in the cover are a little too blatantly "Look here! confused and negative role modeling for young women!", the video doesn't go too far, and Morrissette herself gamely prances about jutting her ass out.

There are so many instances, daily where mysogyny is visibly pissing on women from a great height. I'm sure there is no hard evidence to link the sexualisation of the way women are portrayed in the media with eg: attack or harrassment claims, but even if there has been no rise (I doubt that) it's about time the feminist movement got it's bloody shit together and started not protesting, but presenting the right kind of material to counteract this bullshit, in the form of education for young people. and older people, too I guess.

Which of course, Mrs Ironic has done, I guess! So. Jolly well done, that woman!

Bed. Knackered. Goodnight.


I'm not sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing - probably a good thing, but anyway, James was given his BCG last weekend. That is the one with the blistered, for TB, that usually happens when you're 13 or 12 or something. Not in Lambeth! Oh no. We have a high turnover immigrant population plus many homeless is our delightful borough. luckily, the homeless people are onthe other side of Lambeth nearer town but we're surrounded by those damned immigrants!

Well. The local health authority are basically working through the entire infant population, so they should get to nora in a year or so. At which point, hope for the best! James, meanwhile had a small shout but then put up with the slow injection whilst I sang a lovely "Twinkle Twinkle" to him. Nora meanwhile got herself a little baby chair to sit down on, then when we'd finished announced she was clearing up, and took the chair carefully back to where it came from. Then said "Thank you!" and "Goodbye". Heh heh.

She's lovely, often, that girly girl. Particularly lovely standing on the buggyboard for the hour and twenty pushchair hike across south London. We talked and talked, and my back got worse and worse. I bought her strawberry smelling infant shampoo as a thank you present. Of course.

Ah, well that's nice. Thanks for that.

A somewhat portly, genuinely not good looking, irritating and super camp man shouted at me for (ok, I admit) a slight incursion in to space beyond a red light (I tend to wait close to the junction, in the safe zone. Not getting in anyone's way, like). Screaming "It's a fucking red light!" Rather stupidly, I told him to shut up.
"You fat bitch!".

Hmm. Nice. Casual mysogyny happens all over, dunnit.

On the cycle home I was thinking I should put a notice in Time Out. To the man who called me a "Fat Bitch" on Vauxhall Bridge Road: perhaps I might expect something more from a gay man, who I assume may have been subjected to verbal hate attacks at some point . But maybe I should expect anything from a fat, ugly cocksucker!


The end of feeding

The end of feeding. the end of pumping out for breakfast milk - I stopped feeding James, but carried on exuding once a day for a week or so, to ease the pressure of stopping altogether. I stopped when it went down to 3oz.

I feel really sad, but it's daft to, because James didn't even really like doing it any way. But that's (in all likelihood) the last time I'll ever breastfeed, and from my perspective - ok, excluding the biting, blood and gnawing - I really enjoyed it. Yes, well I know all the technical hormonal reasons why but hell, that's the point isn't it. Your body *wants* you to enjoy it, so you carry on.

And now I have stopped :(

Still, James is still growing daily. He drinks, get this, when he feels like it, anything up to 11oz of milk in the morning, before breakfast! Now, I cannot think what the hell circumstances would enduce my body to create 11oz of milk! Drink 2 complans before bedtime, and go straight to bed?

James and Nora were bouncing on our bed yesterday, with James making really game attempts to stay upright. I never really talk about what pure, unadulterated joy it is to hold him, have him laugh and snug in to my neck when I give him a lovely hug. How he brightens up when I walk in the door from work and now comes walking, drunkenly toward me making lovely surprised and happy noises. Loving a baby is a source of such pure delight and happiness. They are incapable of hiding their feelings for you, and James is a charming, happy little boy. It's a very different expression of love than that which happens with Noo. I'm sure as he gets older, and his capacity for  inner life, and  independence increases, the expression of our love, and  the love between  Mackay and he, will adapt and change. Meanwhile I will take advantage of snugging in to that soft, lovely skin and blowing rasapberries whenever possible.