I Would Die For You...

Before I start this, I just want to say that I am not suicidal, nor do I have any intention of killing anyone. I have been told that this subject is probably not something I should write about, because it makes me sound like a crazy person. But once I get a thought in my head, I have to work it all the way through to some semblance of a conclusion, otherwise it just bugs me.



You have been warned. :p



"I would die for you."



This concept seems to be a commonly accepted way to measure love. A romantic notion of leaping in front of trains, and taking a bullet to spare the one we love, and prove our eternal affection.



And while I understand this desire to protect that which we love - with our very lives if necessary - I do not agree with the notion that it is the ultimate act of selflessness, and courage.





Before I had children, I believed that I would give up my life for just about anyone. I did not want to die, and hoped that it wouldn't happen, but I believe all life has similar value, so it didn't make sense to put mine above a strangers when I had no idea what their potential or capabilities were.

Also, I wasn't overly concerned about what went on after I died, because I would be dead. Depending on your belief structure, it wouldn't matter to me what happened after I died, because either I would have no brain function and therefore no conscious thoughts to think with, or I would have transcended to a place of all knowing all seeing blah blah blah, and would be aware that everything was happening exactly as it should.



See? None of this is courageous or romantic, It's just logical.



Fast forward several years, and two children later: Sorry strangers, I will not be dying for you anymore.



Children did not give my life meaning. I have never been adrift or seeking purpose as such, What they did do is connect me to this world in a way that I'm now all tangled up in It. I can't be "apart" from it anymore, I have to actually live here. Most people will say that that is probably a good thing, and I do think it was quite necessary for the raising of sane children, but I don't like it much most days.



So I can't die for strangers anymore, because now I have to care about what goes on here after I die, and the emotional pain that that would inflict on my children is not worth a strangers life to me. Is this logical? No, not really, it's just true.



The bizarre thing I've found out about myself after having children has been that my emotional connection to them has rendered my logic fairly useless in any situation that involves their safety or mental well-being. Do their lives have more value then other lives? Probably not. Does that have any impact on who I would destroy to keep them safe? Not at all.



But would I die for them? The short answer (because I've started flailing around somewhat without actually hitting on any relevant points...) is yes, of course I would. If there were no other options - them or me - there is no choice.



But, it's a selfish choice. It's not even about valuing their lives over mine - I would die because I would not be able to live with myself if they died and there was something I could have done to prevent it - It's easier to die yourself rather than deal with the aftermath of someone you love dying. Selfish.



So, declaring your love for someone by telling them that you would die for them is like saying: "I love you enough to sacrifice my physical body, but not enough to spare you from the emotional trauma and survivors guilt that the one of us left standing will have to cope with, so I'll just leave that part for you. Selfish.



Then how will we measure our love? What is the highest level attainable if we can't measure it against the fact that we would throw ourselves upon a sword to prove our devotion?



How about this - is there anyone you wouldn't kill to save the one you love?



Your Mother?

Your Sister?

Your Son?

Your Best friend?

Your Girlfriend?

Your Husband?



Gun to your head - who do you kill?



This is a much less romantic notion, but for those who insist on having a way to prove their love, it seems a much more accurate way to test it. You would actually be forced to choose, and sacrifice someone else you love and then live, and deal with the ramifications of your choice afterwards - And that would take much courage.







I'd just like to add that people don't need to know if you would die for them, or kill for them.

Love is what it is, and therefore it's completely unnecessary to measure it, or "prove" it with anything, including declarations of self sacrifice or murder.



And really, sitting someone down and listing all the ways you would die for them is a bit crazy-stalker like, and ticking off a list of friends and family that you would slaughter for them might just end you up in jail. Nothing good will come of it. Seriously.







xox

Deck the Halls...

It's Christmas time again, and while I'm still just as in love with Christmas as ever, this year seems different from the others.

First, we are not spending Christmas at home. (And by "home" I mean my parents house, because even getting married and having children and turning 29 has apparently not changed the fact that I still feel like that is my home.)

And lets face it, no one does Christmas "right" except the family you grew up with. Everyone else does it a little funky - not badly, just different.

And secondly, I now have a four year old, and a two year old, who also love Christmas. . Last year they were too young to really be overly involved. Now, they want to be involved in everything Christmas. Even if The Attacks desire to be included stems purely from wanting to do whatever it is that Connah is doing.

This keeps me very busy. because as we all know, doing anything with children takes at least 18 times longer than doing it by yourself We have shopping, and wrapping, and baking (Yeah, I still can't cook... I just really like baking with the boys.... We hardly ever produce anything edible. but it's still fun.) We have attempted to visit Santa several times, but he's still far too scary to talk to, so we just have to look at him. From a distance. We have paper lanterns and snowflakes taped to every surface of our home. We have Christmas lists miles long which get added to daily. homemade cards covered in glitter are scattered everywhere, and gaudy tinsel and Christmas balls are hanging from random objects.

It looks like Santa vomited partially digested Christmas inside our house.

The Christmas tree is our saving grace. We took the boys to pick out our tree, and of course they needed the biggest tree that would fit inside our house. And it fits. Just. Ok, it's kinda bent over at the top from smushing into the roof, but it fit through the door, and that means it's not too big.

Connah decorated the hell out of that tree. Every bough within his reach had a decoration or six balancing precariously on the end of it's needles.

The Attack was totally getting in the spirit in his own way. Just stand back and hiff the decorations at the tree, and dance around like a nutter when one sticks. It's decorating and a game all in one. It's multitasking.


Yes, preparing for Christmas with two small children is hectic. Things are messy, and the decorations don't match, and the Christmas tree has way more decorations on the bottom 4 feet than the top, but it's also epically fun. They more than make up for the extra work they create just by amusing me with the crazy stuff they say:



Connah: "It's lucky Ashden didn't fall out of bed and break his neck last night, else he'd get no presents on Christmas."


Me: "Ash, do you like Santa?"
The Attack: "No."
Me: "Do you like the Christmas tree?"
The Attack: "No! I not!"
Me: "Well, do you like the twinkly lights?"
The Attack: *Stamps foot* "No! No! No!"
Me: "What do you like then?"
The Attack: "Me is like ASHDEN!"


Me: "Connah, do you want to go and see Santa and tell him what you want for Christmas?"
Connah: "Nah, I'll just e-mail him later."


Me: *Upon watching The Attack stare at the Christmas tree for an extended time* "What are you doing Ash?"
The Attack: *Pointing to a shiny Christmas ball* "Lookin at all da Ashden's peekin at me!"


Connah: "Ashden's looking at me and he's not allowed."
The Attack: "I is not! I is lookin at da pwetty Kwissmas twee!"
Me: *glance at The Attack who is staring very obviously and intently at Connah for the sole purpose of irritating him* "Ash can look at you if he wants, just like you can look at whatever you want."
Connah: "No, he's not allowed! He'll use up all the air around my head!"



Those two boys embody Christmas. They are joy, and excitement, and hope. And I will be taking them with me when I leave on Thursday to spend Christmas with a family that I did not grow up with.

I get to take Christmas with me, and that is all sorts of awesome.

Merry Christmas.



xox

In The Beginning, Part Two...

So, pregnancy sucked, but now (after a 17 hour labour which finished off the pregnancy nicely... in a blood-bath horror movie kind of way,) all your dreams are about to come true as you are presented with your slimy, bloody bundle of joy.



Does the love explode out of your every pore like a rainbow on crack?



No. No it does not.



For the first three days I was a bit bewildered. I think this is what people are talking about when they say the "Three day high" after you give birth. It's not a "high" it just doofty confusion from having just had your whole world turned on it's ass. You have a retarded grin on your face because you have no idea what's going on, not because you are blissfully happy... some adjustment time is required.



Adjustment time which has to take place in a hospital room with 8 other people who have also just given birth.



You are literally confined to your tiny little hospital bed, with a spit-through curtain that you can pull around for "privacy". And nurses that stop by every few hours to poke more needles into you, and give you charming information such as: "You can't go home until you have a bowel movement you know." Whilst looking at their watch and tapping their foot so that you are sure to know that you better do so right smartly, as you are taking up a precious 12 x 6 inch space that could be used much more effectively by someone else.



This did however, give me a fair bit of time to attempt to find the rainbows-on-crack love that I was sure to feel as I gazed upon the face of my sleeping newborn.



But I couldn't find it. It wasn't there. All I felt was an immediate sense of obsession. I was not staring at his sleeping little squished up alien face out of love and adoration, I was staring at him because if I didn't, an eagle would surely swoop through the window and steal him away. Or possibly the hospital would cave in on him.



When I finally got to go home, (yes, I lied to the mean nurse, but seriously, if I was going to explode from not going to the bathroom, I could bloody well do it at home.) It was much the same. I was obsessed, and still a bit confused as to what the hell I was supposed to do now.



This was not the way it was supposed to be. There was no great maternal instinct leading the way. There was just my obsessive need to make sure that everything was done exactly right. I had no real clue as to how to achieve this, only that it needed to be done. My activities narrowed down to a rotating schedule of feed time, cleaning up projectile vomit time, (seriously, this happened every feed - sometimes twice - for six months. That is a lot of vomit.) bath time, and settling to sleep time. Oh, and when he finally went to sleep, I'd worry about everything that could be done better. And the roof caving in.



Have you ever had a conversation with a new parent? The baby is finally sleeping, and you have just launched into a hilarious tale about your new kitten and how cute she is when she's trying to catch her tail, only to discover that although the new parent is nodding along to your riveting story, you sense that they aren't really listening.



Want to know a secret?



They are not listening. At all. Their ears are straining as hard as possible to hear any peep from the baby monitor to indicate distress, and their mind is frantically running through all the things they need to get done before the baby wakes up. Your story is just a slightly distracting buzz in the background. They kinda wish you would just shut up and do the dishes so that they can take a nap.



Other people seemed to inherit the maternal instinct thing. I'd see them at the grocery store while I was still pregnant, carrying their newborn sleeping babies in slings while they calmly went about their shopping in a cloud of serenity.



My first shopping trip went like this:



* Get to grocery store, take baby out of car seat and place into sling.



* Baby does not fit in sling properly. Try putting baby in sling a different way. Try 16 more ways. Conclude that sling is not made for babies, the baby store obviously sold me the one for ferrets with 6 legs, and throw it on the ground in a huff.



* Put now screaming baby back in car seat and drive around until he falls back to sleep.



* Return to grocery store. Carefully remove car seat from car and place into trolley.



* Manically zoom around grocery store throwing anything that looks remotely edible into trolley before baby wakes up.



* Finish shopping and pay for goods.



* Put still sleeping baby back in car.



* Feel proud for accomplishing simple task.



* Realize five minutes down the road that groceries are still in trolley in parking lot.



* Weigh up the amount of money spent against the effort of going back to collect the groceries, and just continue driving home.



* Remember that there was formula and baby wipes in groceries that will be needed in the next 20 - 45 minutes, and turn around to go back and collect them.



That was the day when I realized that nothing would ever be the same again. People can waffle on all they like about how you can still do all the things you did before you had children, but they forget to mention that it will now take an average of 18 times longer to do those things, so sometimes it's just not worth it. I started thinking about what would happen if I had two tasks to do in one day, and marveled at the ridiculousness of that thought.



I was lost. I was uncertain, and confused. My whole world had drastically changed, and I did not cope well with that change. For weeks, I zipped about just getting stuff done. Because that was logical and necessary, and I could do it. By the time I stopped to catch my breath, I realized I was already in love with my son. Epically in love. Rainbows on crack even.



Everything got a lot easier after that. Because it's easy to give up things that never really mattered anyway for someone you love. And it's fun to spend 3 hours at the grocery store marveling with your child at all the bright colours, instead of rushing home to clean the house. And it's rewarding to watch your son sleep, and know that he is happy, and safe, (and the roof is probably not going to cave in on him,) because you have provided him with everything he needs.



Yes, my whole world had changed - nothing would ever be the same again.



And that is awesome.





xox

In The Beginning...

"I knew I loved you before I met you."

I have heard many variations of the above quote, referring to unborn children.

Ah pregnancy, that blessed state of tranquility that comes from knowing you are nurturing a living creature inside you. You walk on clouds of peace and serenity, and glow with the light of a thousand twinkling fairies...

Or not.

Anybody that knows me can tell you that pregnancy was not my favorite thing.
I was not peaceful and serene, I did not fall asleep every night on a bed made of clouds and wishes, and most disappointingly, I was not aglow with the light of a million fairies.

Instead, for the first trimester, I was sick. Constantly. Morning sickness is like being perpetually hungover. .I found it ironic that I was living the healthiest lifestyle I ever had, and yet felt like I was dying of some tropical disease that gradually sapped away my energy and will to live. It was awesome.

The second trimester highlights included headaches, insomnia, dizzy spells, heartburn, (I didn't even know what heartburn was before pregnancy, I seriously thought my stomach acid was trying to drown me the first time it happened.) and of course, random and untimely bouts of crying, usually about something vitally important like the cat sitting in my seat, or the cookies not having enough chocolate chips in them....
Also, this was about the time that the novelty of pregnancy wore off and I discovered that I did not like sharing my body.

And the third trimester. It is disturbing enough being eight times your original body mass, without having complete strangers feel that since you are pregnant, they have every right to publicly grope your huge stomach.
Sleeping is a joke, as there is no possible way to lie comfortably when you are the size of a small planet, and if you do happen to catch a few minutes sleep, it's only to wake up for the eleventy-billionth time to go to the bathroom, because your bladder has been squished down to virtually nonexistent. And if I hear one more person say: "It's to help prepare you for when the baby comes, and you have to get up during the night" I will poke them in the eye. It prepares you in the same way getting nipped by a crab prepares you to be eaten by a shark - not at all. It's just annoying.

Speaking of which - have you ever noticed how annoying other people are when you're pregnant? They say stupid things, and think stupid things, and do stupid things. It's like they've been hiding their idiotic ways for all the years that you've known them, waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable, and then POW! They spew forth their annoyingness in a great sea of irritation that you slowly drown in every day.

And they wonder why you're so moody. "It's the pregnancy hormones." you see them whisper knowingly behind their hands, after you justifiably made the idiot who just ate the last cookie cry.
And you have to respond, because for some reason people believe that now that you are pregnant, you can't hear them when they are sitting two meters away gossiping about you, and you need to let them know that it's just not true. So you open your mouth to kindly tell them that deafness is not one of your symptoms, and what falls out instead is:

"No actually, it's not the pregnancy hormones, it's because I'm not a fan of drowning slowly in an endless supply of your stupidness,"

Hmmm, maybe just a teny bit of pregnancy hormones....

It did not help that all the other pregnant people I saw seemed completely in love with their pregnancies and unborn children, while I was still waiting to feel 'at one' with my miraculous miracle, and failing miserably.

I didn't bond "properly" during my pregnancies. I wanted a baby, I was hopeful, I was excited, but I didn't feel the great and powerful love that seemed to smack everyone else in the face as soon as they conceived. This worried me for a while - I was obviously going to be a pretty sucky parent if I couldn't even love my fetus - until I actually sat down and considered my beliefs regarding love. Then it made perfect sense:

First, I believe that all love is the same. We play various roles within love; romantic, friendship, family ect, but it is the relationships that we attach to love that are different. Love in essence is all the same.
Secondly, I believe that you have to know someone to love them. You don't have to meet them, in fact, it's probably better if you don't - that takes out all the compatibility, and 'how they make you feel about yourself' junk, and lets you just see the person. (Yes, stalking is completely acceptable in this scenario.) If you love someone, it should be for who they are, and since a persons core self very rarely changes, it should also be forever, regardless of what they do, or whether or not you are still in their life.

And now back to my original point:

I didn't know my pre-natal children. The fact that they were a part of me at the time was irrelevant - I didn't know them any better than I knew my kidneys or my liver. I couldn't fall in love with the idea of who they were, when who they actually were would probably be completely different.

While figuring this out was a relief (maybe I wasn't going to suck at parenting, yay!) It also meant that I had to wait until I met my baby before I could experience any awesomeness.

Hmmm, waiting. I don't like waiting.

And pregnancy is looooooooooooooooooong. By the time you have hit 30 weeks, you feel like you've been pregnant forever. Seriously, you start saying things like "Remember back when...." and "There was this one time, back in the day...." like you're a nostalgic old man reminiscing about his childhood.

I actually started hunting for information on the longest known pregnancy, and found a woman who had been pregnant for three years. Now that I am sane again, I realise that that was most likely uber-crap, but at the time it seemed completely plausible.

All people that say things like "No one is pregnant forever you know." And "As soon as it's born you'll be dying to be pregnant again." Should be kept out of arms reach of the pregnant person they are speaking to. Do you know why heavily pregnant woman are not famous for murder? It is because they can't run fast enough to catch and slaughter stupid people. That is the only reason.

During my last month of pregnancy with Connah, a friend asked how I was feeling, and I told her. A woman who overheard us felt that it was her responsibility to inform me that some people can't even have babies, so I should just be grateful and not complain about a little discomfort. (Yes, she did walk away from this encounter with all her limbs still attached. Just.)

I know some people can't have children. I know some people lose their babies during pregnancy. I know some babies die. I know.
But me smiling and telling people I feel great when I don't, does not change any of that.

I was miserable while I was pregnant. But I wasn't miserable about being pregnant, I was ecstatic to be pregnant, I just wished I didn't feel like crap the whole time.

I get a lot of people saying: "It can't have been that bad, because you decided to have a second child."

Yes. Yes it was that bad. Worse probably, because it was four years ago and now I have brand new sparkling memories to fill up my brain, so have trouble remembering the horror.

But yes, I did purposely put myself through that horror again, because the child you get out of the deal is totally worth it. Worth it a thousand times over. Worth being pregnant for the rest of my life for - though I'm sincerely grateful that that is not necessary. Because I would go crazy.



xox

You make the whole world smile...

Back in the later months of my pregnancy with Connah, my midwife mentioned something to me about a Dr Sprott mattress cover. I obediently wrote down the name in the back of my pregnancy book, promising to look into it. (Although, I was most likely just thinking about baby names and pixie dust...)
Then she mentioned that it could reduce the risk of cot death.

Cot death.

There is not much that will strike icy fear into the heart of a happily pregnant person dreaming about baby names and pixie dust, but SIDS is made up entirely of icy fear.

I brought the cover, put it on the bassinet mattress, and had a baby.

Now I was a mother, and while before Connah was born the thought of SIDS struck me with icy fear, after he was born, the thought made me physically sick.

My fear quickly turned into an obsessive need for information, so I researched, and what did I find?:

A 100% successful crib death prevention campaign has been going on in New Zealand for the past 11 years. During this time, there has not been a single SIDS death reported among the over 100,000 New Zealand babies who have been using this method.

And just what is this magical method? Wrapping the mattress your baby sleeps on in a specially formulated polyethylene cover - a Dr Sprott mattress cover.

I won't get into the specifics of what causes cot death, and how this cover prevents it, because that will take far too long. Google it. Here is a good place to start:

http://www.cotlife2000.co.nz/

This "theory" has been repeatedly challenged over the past 11 years, but no one has been able to discredit any part of it.
It's very compelling and it makes complete sense. It logically explains every factor already known about cot death.

So why isn’t this profound and critically important information making the headlines of major newspapers? Why aren’t cot death researchers and the authorities advising parents to wrap their babies’ mattresses? Why are the manufacturers still adding fire retardants and other chemicals to mattresses?

One possible reason is that mattress manufacturers are required to use fire retardants through government regulations. Admitting that these chemicals are causing deaths would mean admitting to major liability. Also, SIDS charities, and fundraising for a cure for cot death, has been a significant source of funding for medical researchers. Unfortunately, the ongoing and expensive research (which only ever seems to come up with more “risk factors”) has pushed aside the simple and inexpensive solution of mattress-wrapping; a solution that actually works.


The reality of waking up to find your previously happy, healthy baby dead, is an especially brutal little corner of Hell that my mind has trouble fathoming.

I once had a dream that Connah drowned, I was taken to identify his body, which I did, and then everybody filed out of the room to let me say goodbye to him.
And I stood there, waiting.
I knew he was dead, and still I waited. I waited until he sat up on that cold metal table, and I took his hand and led him home.

My brain refused to accept that he was gone forever, even in a dream, so I can only dimly comprehend the bewildering agony that parents who lose their children are forced to endure.

Do your own research. Come to your own conclusions. But while you're doing that, for the chance of saving yourself that agony, buy a $20 piece of plastic, and follow the instructions.



xox

Violent Tendencies...

To Spank or not to spank?

Most people have a pretty good idea of whether or not they plan to use physical means to discipline their children before they are born.

I, of course, had to do much research on the matter, and found that generally people fall into one of two groups. And those groups don't like each other much.

These are the war cries of the two different groups:

# 1: If you don't spank your child, it means you don't love them enough to discipline them.
We are mammals. If we look at any other mammal, we see them bite and swipe at their young, not to cause them unnecessary pain, but to teach them. Immediate reaction to solve unwanted behavior. ( - Go spanking! It solves all problems, possibly even world hunger - Yay!)


# 2: Hitting is completely unnecessary, and emotionally destructive - It should not be included in discipline.
We are human, and have managed to master many complicated skills and evolved thought processes during our time on earth. We are able to rise above our primitive beginnings and provide a more complete corrective method. ( - Hitting is barbaric. Don't do it or you'll turn back into a monkey!)

So, after taking in both very convincing arguments, realizing that I don't really fit in either category, and forming my own idea's and theories on the matter, I decided that I would not be using physical discipline on my children.

I am not disputing the fact that physical discipline works. Of course it works! You are threatening a small person with (mild) physical violence. That's gotta be pretty scary when you're small - and fear is a great motivator...

But there are much better ways. And I'm not saying this in the flowery PC "We mustn't ever blow too hard in the general direction of a small child least we knock it from it's feet and cause it slight mental anguish, and possibly a brain hemorrhage." way.

I'm saying, that if you lead out of fear, the child rarely gets the opportunity to test it's own moral compass, instilling at a young age, that the only reason you don't lie / steal / kick your brother / spit on the cat, is because if you do, you will be punished.

There are so many adults out there that fully admit that the only reason they don't steal / kill ect, is because they fear the consequences if they get caught. (Call me crazy, but I kinda want my boys to not kill people because they have assessed all the relevant information, and decided that it is not the right thing to do.) These are usually the same adults that spout the famous "My parents used to hit me, and it didn't do me any harm." line.

I suppose it depends on how you define "harm."
(I mean, for a start these people seem to want to kill other humans.... that seems a bit harmful to me...)

Even when done in a corrective manner hitting can cause pain, resentment, anger, frustration, fear, embarrassment... the list goes on...And all this coming directly from a child's main source of nurturing and information - their parents.
What a devastating cocktail for developing self esteem and trust

.
It is a very personal choice, and one that I believe should remain with the parents. They are the only ones who know what their own capability's are, and therefore how they are best able to teach and correct their children.

By saying this, I am not advocating the statements that "It's the only way some kids learn." Or "I've tried everything else, and this is the only thing that works."

*Cough* Whatever. *Cough*

I am saying that it depends on your desired outcome. If what you are trying to do is stop behavior from happening, quickly and (relatively) effectively, without worrying too much about (possible) long term effects, this is a good way to go. And you may get a pretty well behaved child out of it, so if that is your desired outcome - congratulations, you win :)

My desired outcomes have always revolved more around the adults my boys will become, so I'm not prepared to have good kids at the (possible) risk of sacrificing self-aware adults.

What about danger? Surely if your child is about to run onto the road / touch the fire / drink the toilet cleaner, you need to give it a quick slap on the hand so that it knows immediately to stop what it's doing?...
Yeah, I can't really answer that. I've never had to. Is that the product of good preparation, or are my children just naturally not inclined to do those things? (Since I've put in a LOT of work in this department, I like to think it's good preparation, but in reality, it could be either :)

And while it's something I have chosen not to do, I really don't have a problem with other people using physical discipline on their children, as long as it is a conscious choice that they have made.

It's the hitting in anger that I disagree with. Any physical action combined with anger changes it's intended meaning. If a child does something wrong, and is corrected by spanking out of anger or frustration, I believe the lesson is lost. Maybe not always for the child, but for the parent. It ceases to be a moment where we can teach our child, and becomes all about punishing.

Disclaimer:

I realize that this is a pretty touchy subject for many people - most people in my life have chosen to physically discipline their children, so I know that they believe - just as emphatically that I do - that they are doing the right thing by their own children.
I don't need to prove to them that I am right, and they are wrong. I have no interest in trying to "convince" people that my way is best, but if I can make even one person think about why they are doing something that they previously hadn't really though about - even if it's only to think that I am completely full of crap, therefore re-confirming their opposing view - well, that just explodes with all sorts of awesome :)




xox

The Sky is falling...

The Attack is now two. No longer a baby, but a little boy. How the hell did that happen?

He has managed to get through his babyhood without allowing anybody other than me, occasionally Mark, and my mother, to pick him up. Others still do sometimes of course, but they usually set him down again pretty quick - it's not worth going deaf over.

He still loves animals. He is still reckless. He is still stubborn. He is still honest....Mostly.

He is the child that will always tell me what happened if I didn't witness it firsthand. ("Connah donked my head!" "Me poked Connah's eye." "My did it! MWAHAHAHAHA"... He never refers to himself as "I" or "Ashden", in fact, I think I've only heard him say his name three times in his whole life...)

I have observed with fascinated horror, his first epic two and a half hour meltdown... over a Youtube video that he didn't want to watch again, and Connah hit "replay" anyway.

I have fished him out from under the water when we have gone swimming, six times in one hour. He is never more than half a meter away from me, so gets yanked out pretty damn quick, but he just gets so excited that he forgets that his head has to stay above the water. Repeatedly.

He has developed a friendship with a pigeon, who was sick for a short time. It was kept in a cage for a week, and The Attack spent that week having "holds". It is a homing pigeon, so once it got well it was released back outside. He catches the thing every day, and carts it in the house. He will carry that pigeon around for hours. And it lets him.

Raising Ashden is like raising a completely different breed of human to Connah.

With Connah, I have always been very focused on his emotional and mental development. It feels like if I let my guard down for a minute - answer one question wrong, or fail to notice when something has disturbed him and he needs an explanation from me - I'm somehow dooming him to a lifetime of emotional repression and/or ignorance.
I'm very careful with his physical safety as well, but I don't really feel as though I'm fighting a constant battle with that. I just don't take unnecessary risks.

With The Attack, it's flipped. He usually responds to emotional or intellectual stuff just as I'd expect him to, and while he still questions pretty much everything in the world, I don't feel that he is bewildered by it. He just wants information.

His physical well being is a different matter.

Every morning when he wakes up, I'm a little bit surprised, and very, very grateful.

I still check on him several times every night.
I still get that thrill of fear in the pit of my stomach when he sleeps slightly longer than I expect him to.
I still call to see how he's doing when he's with my mother during the mornings, and panic if I can't get through on the phone.
I'm always so happy to see him after a few hours of separation.

This is my battle for Ashden - feeling like it's not his emotional stability, but his life that is under constant threat if my vigilance should falter.
It's not even accidents that I fear for him, it's feeling like he will disintegrate, that his very substance will slip through my fingers and evaporate while I'm not looking.

I'm pretty sure it's all in my head, and I think it stems from subconsciously remembering that there was a time when he wasn't going to exist. I just can't quite believe that he is really here for good.

After Connah was born, I very quickly re-assessed my desire to have three children, and decided that I was happy just having the one. Not because giving birth was so hideous and traumatising. (Although it kind of was.) And not because he was a difficult baby (Although, he kind of was...) But because I felt that if I had another child, I would be taking time, energy and attention away from Connah. What possible reason is there for that? Crazy talk!

I don't know what it was that changed my mind. I do know that all those reasons for only wanting one child are still logical, and valid to me. I do have less time, less energy, and less attention. Because, much as I like to think otherwise, I am not a superhero. (Only at night when no one is looking...)

And I do know that while those reasons are still valid, I can not feel anything but gratitude for whatever overrode them, because now that I know Ashden, to think of living in a reality that doesn't include him seems ludicrous - there would be huge Ashden-shaped hole in my world, and I would probably never even realize why it seemed so incomplete...

This also makes me very aware of that once-thought-of third child, and what I may be missing out on by shutting that door forever...

But that is a story for another day :)


xox