Invaders in my home!

Miss surely wondered what on earth was going on; it was well after bedtime and there were five adults in Mama and Papa's bedroom. And a little person laying in her Mama's arms. Here are a few things I have learnt about bring a new baby into the house...

Firstly, with SPD-related reduced mobility for most of her life, my toddler Miss was well within reason to be a bit cross. I was not able to lift, play physically or get out the house much with Miss. And then she is woken in the middle of the night (literally, it was midnight) with a expectation of midwives and a persistence of parents, all fawning over a new Master. You could say I had extra motivation to ensure the welcome of Miss' brotherly intruder was a happy one for all the family.

Feel the love Babies want for little in the early weeks (mind-numbingly numerous feeds, burping, changing, settling to sleep (perhaps); repeat). Toddlers, however, require a great deal of engaged attention. I talked with Miss about anything (literally, housework, garden birds...) and made sure to engage her in 'looking after Master' activities that gave her importance and a focus. My favourite, given my SPD, was for Miss to help me gather nappy change necessities because I always forgot one thing or another.

Share the love ...of a good book. Two facts: Babies need regular feeding (see above); toddlers love a good book reading. To capitalise on these I combined them. With Master latched and Miss sitting in front of me I read stories over Miss' shoulder while she turned the pages. Master was happy (read: eating). Miss was happy (read: multitudes of books readings). Mama was happy (read: our home was calm).

Love me, love my brother Having to step away from the toddler at a moments notice (because I never was good a keeping an infant schedule) can make a first-born quite displeased with their fortune. Every time this happened I asked Miss' 'permission' to help Master so that Master would be happy and we could continue a particular activity (I rotated a list of her favourites). Perhaps cheeky, even bribery, but when one wants the right answer one must ask the right question...

If you love something (or someone), set it free It stabbed at my heart to hear my suspicions confirmed, but I pointedly asked Miss (then 5) and Master (then 3) to freely express what they liked and did not like about the impending arrival of a new Master or Miss invader to our home. A similar conversation was had after little Master arrived and we have since enjoyed Papa-Miss/big Master and Mama-Miss/big Master dates to help balance the attention books. Today, Miss and big Master quite freely air their complaints and compliments - I count this as one of a handful of success stories from my Mama-journey thus far!

Love is patient Substitute "Mama", when Miss is fed up with playing second fiddle and imitates Master by crying for attention. Alas, patience is a virtue and I missed that queue when I was born. To use another quote: Love always wins. As Mama love Miss, and Miss loves Mama, surely did patience win the day.

Love is kind but does not always arrive at an optimum outcome...

This Mama certainly does not have all the answers and (naturally) suffers Mama guilt for putting big Master through 38 weeks of morning sickness and a little Master invader, and for putting Miss through these twice. What Miss and big Master have learnt, I think, is that love does not always result in the optimum outcome, but the intent is good towards those we love. And that is the most important ingredient: Love.


* although some quotes are altered for purpose, credit to St. Bernard of Clairvaux, Corinthians 13:4-7 and the unknown authors of the remaining quotes

Busted

With my back flattened onto the compacted snow, half-way down the easier part of the run with my snowboard still strapped on, I knew I had done myself a mischief. What sort of mischief was not immediately clear. Here are a few things I have learnt about being busted...

My M.O. for big falls is to visibly move body parts so my riding buddies know I am a) alive, and b) conscious. I could feel & move my legs & toes, arms & fingers which told me no broken limbs. Both arms worked, albeit one more painfully than the other, so no shoulder dislocation. After a handful of arm waves I zeroed in on the nature of my mischief. I did not know the French for 'clavicle' (it's "la clavicule") so between gloves, movement-induced pain and zero (useful) language skills I could not specify my mischief spot. So I lay still while I was packaged up, dragged down the mountain and ferried off to hospital.

It is hard to imagine, pre-fracture, just how and to what extent a fracture impedes the most simple and/or essential of tasks. Each fracture has its own, very special blessings. Boy does a busted clavicle have some blessings.

To operate or not to operate? That is the question. While my fractures were the non-displaced type I was left with the impression that avoiding surgery was both feasible and acceptable. Yay, (I thought), because surely surgery would hurt more and take longer to heal, right? Who knows, I don't. Because two days after my snowy demise I took a hit from a falling metal object - smack-bang to my busted clavicle. I swore (loudly). Muscles vigorously objected and spasmed. The previously non-displaced fracture became displaced. If I knew then what I know now, I'd have admitted myself for surgery the second I took that hit. Alas, I waited until I was stable enough to fly, brave enough to drive to the GP, and clever enough to see a consultant. Minutes after exiting recovery and for the first time since the mischief making, I moved my arm independently!

Clothes I don't do fashion. I AM busted-clavicle fashion. I have a limited wardrobe (I detest shopping, I cannot keep up with what's 'in' and what's 'out' and have trouble finding clothes that look or feel right for my size and shape). Much like with pregnancy, my range of able-to-wear clothes was slim. The only tolerable clothes were those that went 'up', could be worn off the shoulder (think: vest tops) or were light-weight enough to hook over my busted side (think: trusty cardy). 

The Armpit Where there is injury, let me sow pardon for my Armpit Of Doom. I stole that name from a fellow fracture patient but since it perfectly describes the matter why reinvent the wheel? Every parent knows that baby wipes clean anything; as a Mama, I carry them everyday, everywhere. So it was with a little smugness that, thanks to baby wipes, my Armpit Of Doom was less 'doom' and more 'decent'. That and I developed a dangling arm technique for showering. Delightful!

Sleeping arrangements Sleep is the best meditation when different sleeping positions are not restricted to different leg positions. Much like when made this mischief, flat on my back was my only sleeping position. I mixed this up with straight legs, one bent, both bent, that sort of thing. Post surgery it was possible to turn to the unbusted side and soon I could rest the busted side on a pillow. I (day)dreamed of one day being able to sleep on my favoured side again - the busted side. (Pleased to report that at almost one month post surgery I can do this!) 

Food/drink Eating words has never given me indigestion; neither has eating with an immobilisation sling. Parents know how to eat one-handed and how to cut up food into bite-sized chunks; but we usually do the latter with two hands and the former every-so-often. Eating and drinking with a busted clavicle, I found, is a series of impossible equations: I could toast bread but not butter it; I could cut pasta but not cook it; I could brew tea but not boil water; I could serve and eat cereal but not open milk. You may have noticed that I like to share solutions, things I have learnt, so here it is: I could press the espresso button on my coffee machine and I could drink it. So I did.

This is not the only bone I have busted. Ironically, while it has been the most painful and difficult to negotiate every day tasks, the post-surgery recovery has been the quickest! Still, I may consider a switch to skiing.

*credit to William Shakespeare, Coco Chanel, St Francis of Assisi, Dalai Lama, Winston Churchill (in this order) for their words of wisdom, which I have debased.

** for the record (and I know I have said this before)... I am not medically trained. At all. Please do not think this as a medically-informed recommendation!