My lovely and brave Nana, at eighty five years young, faces risky open heart surgery in the morning.

The gold key adorning my neck was her 21st present from her husband, a token of love for the new mother of his first child, my father.  These two soulmates have a love that has endured sixty five years of marriage. It breaks my own heart to think that this might be the end of their dance together.

My fingers caress the key, nestled snugly against the gold heart from Tiffany and Co that my own beloved bought for my thirtieth birthday.  I am not a person of faith. I am not a superstitious person.  I simply wish my own simple gesture of wearing a necklace would make it all okay.

Twelve weeks.

To mark this auspicious date I will be having my NT scan done by a specialist and will be informed of the risk of down syndrome and other such chromosomal quirks, having already done the necessary blood tests.

Both A and E will accompany me to the scan along with my Mum.  A is currently fascinated with all things baby, having already tagged along to my first midwife and OB appointment, marvelling at the ten week scan that was done then and totally delighted by the chance to listen to the heartbeat.

She has ensured that I get to the toilet promptly when I’ve been ill, have had chewing gum on hand and even purchased my some chuckies for the train journey to work.

Best of all, she has already gravely informed my mother in law that “Mummy’s baby is going to come out of her vagina, and that Mummy will probably yell when that happens”.

Ahem.

I too share my daughter’s excitement, but also a degree of trepidation.  You may recall that a couple of months ago I referred obliquely in a post about a friend going through a tough time?

I’m here to tell you that that tough time was diagnosis of mosaic down syndrome via an amniocentesis, and her subsequent decision to terminate the pregnancy at around 17 weeks.

I am not here to judge. I am pro choice.  But I also saw the photo of her beautiful little girl, delivered after an induction.  I’ve held the tiny hat that was placed on her head, the miniscule booties that sheathed her feet.  I know how much she weighed, and how long she was from the details on her birth and mortuary cards.

And my dog, I am terrified of having to face the same situation, of having to make the decision of whether to proceed or not with a pregnancy outside of the so called norm.

Tomorrow I want to know the risks.  But I don’t want to consider the possibiiity that everything might not be perfect.  I’m not sure that even makes sense given that I have requested the test.

For now I hold onto hope, that this (to me) miraculous pregnancy will continue to be textbook normal, and that the most I will have to worry about tomorrow afternoon is choosing which picture of bub I will use to share our news with the world.

Doesn’t mean I am going to be able to sleep well tonight.

OK this sounds far too depressing.  Fingers crossed that the next lot posts will be far more shiny happy, with good news tomorrow, a belated E birthday post and the usual sassy comments from the clever clogs A.  Not to mention celebration at the gradual demise of my nemesis nausea.

Positive thoughts…calm blue ocean…and stuff.

Yes dear people inside the computer, that’s exactly what happened yesterday morning in the mad dash pre mother’s group, trying to get cakes out of the oven/drinks and hats ready/ washing on the line/oh god I can’t believe that I have been running around like a madwoman since six and four hours later I am running late.

Seeing as the authorities in this country are killjoys and won’t let me take miss E to the vet to be microchipped so I can use real time tracking software it means we have to-yet again- review our child safety measures around our house and yard.

Did someone say electrified fence?  I wish.

a) she had been putting them in her mouth because it’s so funny to see your mother freak and tell  you that it’s both dangerous and dirty to do that and

b) so that her younger sister doesn’t accidentally swallow them (even though said sister always hands small objects over with a ‘ta’ when she finds them in her horizontal and vertical travels around the house)

then actually climbs up, gets them down, puts one coin  in her mouth and lo and behold, accidentally swallows it?

Yeah it’s been an absolute treat here chez hissychick tonight.

Thankfully I have just received an SMS from mr hissychick, who has been with A in  the emergency department of the nearest hospital for the last three hours, and it has the best punchline ever: “I have just been thrown up on. A has a new lucky coin.”

Now they have to wait to do an xray to double check that said coin was the only one and then they can head home. I’m off to bed because with such a late night tomorrow is going to be a long day.

This is the shite they should include in antenatal classes rather than all that birth palaver.

Anyway.

Within three nanoseconds of realising what had occurred I was on the phone to the Poisons Information Centre. After establishing that E’s intake of said product was minimal, the kind and patient voice at the other end of the line advised me to observe E for half an hour or so, give her something to eat or drink and to ring back if there was a dramatic change in E’s behaviour. I was reassured that probably the worst that was going to happen was that E was going to have a tummy ache.

Somewhat relieved, I had a stern chat with E about the dangers of alcohol quite a number of years earlier than I had anticipated. Satisfied that she seemed to be duly chastised yet OK, I breastfed my happy little pixie and popped her into bed where she fell asleep not five minutes later.

An hour later, the fun and games began.

You all know the drill. Lots of crying, a gurgling tummy, multiple waking, feeding (by me), rocking and walking (by mr hissychick) until finally around 3 am little miss went to sleep after a feed and a dose of paracetamol.

Then mr hissy’s alarm went off at 6am.

Then I was joined by two happy awake children by 6:20 am.

And it hasn’t stopped since then. Crappy daysleep for E, A needing constant entertainment due to a rainy day, endless piles of washing, cleaning, cooking, shouting at A because I don’t have any energy or patience to deal with threenage rage* today and stressing about finances for me. The massive pile of crap that has taken over the house because we have just finished painting the spare bedroom in anticipation of a move for E isn’t helping either. I am one of those people who cannot relax when there is clutter about and while I have had to modify this stance thanks to the kids I am certain that I will develop a socially awkward nervous tic or seven if we don’t create some clean lines somewhere, anywhere soon.

Yes I am happy that E is OK now that she has passed her not so tasty snack treat from her system. But I NEED a break. Where is my sick leave? The conditions of employment for this SAHM gig sucks. Immensely.

Meh.

*Whoever said that the twos were terrible forgot to mention that they are nothing compared to three. Am terrified about what I have heard termed the f*cking fours…

Ahh playcentres. Silly me just thought I merely had to endure a 25 minute drive followed by the forking out of an almost unreasonable amount cash for entry and dubious quality food so that my girls could enjoy what is in essence a great big softly padded germ factory.

I’d forgotten about the accident factor as well.

Twin mums (yes I am looking straight at you Simone ) have my utmost respect. Within ten minutes of arrival I had had to call upon the benevolent assistance of strangers to mind E as I extricated A from dizzying heights as she attempted and then baulked at various parts of the play equipment, despite my various exhortations to keep to the area within view of the ball pit which E was excitedly exploring.

And then it happened. Look mummy! A proudly cried, and I looked up a split second before she came tumbling down a large metal slide of death. And then the screaming began. Parents of multiples/more than one child will understand it when I say just how heartbreaking it is to not be able to react immediately to your child’s distress, as I had to place E safely with yet another kind stranger and go and assess A’s injuries.

My poor baby. I could see a bloodied friction burn above one of her eyes and a massive bruise blooming on her cheek. I held her tight as she howled,unable to move as her whole body was quaking in shock. I tried to ignore the eyes of everyone around us (I could almost hear the “What was that child doing unsupervised, tsk tsk” coming from the very Mums who until then had been ignoring their own kids over lattes with their friends, secure in the knowledge that one of their group was on watch) as I murmured soothing words of comfort and checked for signs of concussion and other injury. Thankfully there were none.

I decided to sit A and E down and give them their lunch and assess what to do from there. After a hasty call to mr hissychick-who calmly reminded me that this would be the first of many preschooler scrapes and that A would still be upset if the injuries were more serious- A had a sandwich and a drink as I explained some new ground rules, ie while Mummy finished giving E her lunch that A was restricted to the jumping castle, 0-3 play area and the ball pit. After carefully repeating what I had said she was off.

And then she disappeared again. Figuring that lunch was done I quickly scooped E up and headed to the contraband area, calling for A as she was nowhere in sight.

And then I heard the howls of terror from the top of the tallest slide, this time an enclosed one, and the soothing words of yet another kind mother encouraging A to go down to the bottom. Because she had no choice, she was already at the first bend.

Once A had reached the bottom, scream of fear notwithstanding I thanked said Mum, and sweating profusely with directed A to the jumping castle. I know I should have left immediately, but truth be told I felt the all too familiar palpitation and shallow breath beginnings of an anxiety attack and knew that I had to calm myself down too.

Thankfully we were then able to enjoy the next half hour together on the bouncing castle and in the baby area as the place was now deserted in the rush to take little ones home for their naps. I watched on proudly as E learned how to crawl up stairs (we don’t have any at home) and cruise the wall of the ball pit with consummate ease. A amazed me too with her jumping ability. I think we may have a future long jumper on our hands.

Once the adrenaline had subsided it was time to go. Following a toilet pit stop, in which A nearly gave me my seventeenth heart attack for the day by climbing onto the front of E’s stroller while I was performing my own ablutions (something she never does, and proving that said stroller could apparently take almost double its weight limit) we were on our way.

I have never been so glad to reach the four walls of home, and I don’t think I’ll be undertaking solo trips with the girls to any of the places you take for granted with one child anytime soon.

After all of that, upon arrival at home A declared that she had a very, very good time today Mummy, can we go next Thursday too (I don’t think so sweetheart) and promptly crashed out on the living room floor during Playschool. Yes, the same daughter who hasn’t taken a nap at home since her sister arrived on the scene.

So here I sit, cup of tea in hand while both of my children rest. An unheard of pleasure chez hissychick So why can’t I get rid of the massive tension headache that has engulfed my head and neck, leaving my shoulders up around my earlobes?

Why are there hot angry tears falling down my cheeks?

Having to calmly explain to A within earshot of the other highly amused Mums at mother’s group yesterday that no she couldn’t wee standing up like her mate N because she doesn’t have a penis.  Only to catch her a few hours later at home as she was about to STAND on the toilet and give this I want to stand up and do a wee with my penis just like the boys, can you help please Mum?  gig a red hot go.

The not so funny:

Trying and failing yet again to get E to take her post lunch boob feed somewhere other than our bedroom. Today it was a quiet cafe with a friend, and a poor old octogenarian on a walking frame nearly had a heart attack when my boob was bared to the world while my pixie child shrieked mmmmmmumMUMMUMMUM with excitement as she tried to get his full attention.  As if  the nipple barely a metre from his face wasn’t distracting him enough.

The not in the least bit funny:

It was witching hour last night.   A was whining, toys were scattered from one end of the house to the other and I was trying to cook dinner. I look down to see E at my feet chewing on something. I pick her up and she swallows before I can fish the foreign object out with my finger.

And then she started choking. So silently, so very swiftly.

My blood ran cold in that nanosecond between realisation at what was happening, wondering what she had consumed (a small toy? a hairband? good christ what the hell is lying around i am such a bad mother why didn’t i clean up?) and springing into action. Heart in mouth, I laid her across my arm with her head below her shoulders and gave her a sharp whack between her shoulder blades.

Nothing. Her eyes watering, her look imploring.

Blood singing in my ears, I did a second whack whilst frantically fishing around in her mouth for something, anything to dislodge from her airways.

Still nothing. E’s face turned a horrid shade of red. The one that comes before purple. The one that comes before the blue you never ever want to see.

Heart in mouth I did a third whack and search.  And with a vomit and a cry E brought it up a small sharp dried up piece of eucalyptus leaf.

After the sheer relief came the fear, my entire body convulsing with fear at what might have been. And then came the hissyfit.  I want to remove every last gum tree within a two kilometre radius of my house.  And seeing as I live in the Blue Mountains, that’s no mean feat.

Now that the adrenaline rush has subsided I am off to book in for a first aid refresher course.  In the meantime, and on a very serious note, I would like to direct you all to an excellent series of clips outlining first aid basics for babies and children.  I had only recently watched these, and thank your choice of deity that I had.

Have a great weekend internets. The normal and rather silly hissychick that you all know and politely humor will be back shortly.