It Doesn’t Have to be a Nightmare

So I thought that first fall was my worst nightmare come true. I never counted on feeling worse than that, even though I know it was unavoidable that it would happen again.

On Thursday night, Kev went for a run whilst I agreed to bath Squidge alone. I wrapped her in her towel and lifted her into my arms, doing well so far. I tried to pick my steps back into the lounge carefully, she is precious cargo after all. But I kicked one of her boots that I’d stupidly left on the floor and we keeled over together. I wanted to throw her away from me, but the only direction she could land in the split second that we fell together was towards our glass coffee table and I just couldn’t make myself let her go. So in that instant decision, I had no choice but to land on her. I moved off as quickly as I could, but understandably she cried.

The guilt coursed through me and I cried too, checking her over again and again, even when she’d stopped crying as soon as I’d adminstered ‘magic kisses’ to where she said her arm hurt. But oh, I felt like a monster, a careless monster. After all, I should have known to pack her shoes away before undertaking bath time by myself. I called Kev in an instinctive panic and he came home as quickly as he could. The rest of the evening passed just as normal, though I’ll admit I did have a glass of wine for medicinal purposes!

The next day, playing on the floor with Squidge, she playfully pushed me back on the rug, wanting to climb and lie on me and play. That’s usually a good way for us to play together, because there’s nowhere else to go if you’re already on the floor, it’s pretty safe. But this time, I fell back on her big toy drum with quite some force and I cried out in pain when it dug into the tense muscles of my shoulder.

Squidge stopped dead, frowning in concern and confusion as Kev moved to help me get up.

“Mummy ow.” I explained when I was sat down safely.

“Mummy ow the drum.” she replied.

About half an hour later, she threw herself down on the floor, striking her back on the drum in the same fashion I did, looking over at me as she shouted: “Immy ow!”

In that second, I was heartbroken, realising she was imitating my fall, repeating my pain as if it was a normal aspect of the life we live together. In the next second, I was impressed that she had understood the whole incident. After all, imitative play is how children develop an understanding of their world and whether I’m comfortable with it or not, falls and pain are a regular and undeniable part of our life.

I got down on the floor and said gently: “Oh darlin’, Immy doesn’t have to ow. Mummy ow cos Mummy fell over.”

“Immy and Mummy fell over.”

Then I realised she was connecting the two incidents, as if it was she thought she had to fall because I did, because we’d fallen together the previous night. Again, heartbreaking. After all, I am her mum. I am alive to be her greatest protector and yet from my arms, she had felt pain, however fleetingly. I felt so guilty, although given how much I worried about this exact incident when she was a tiny wriggly newborn, I suppose there was a need to be proud that it had taken me over 2 years to get to the dreaded moment.

But still, it showed how clued in she is. That made me very proud too. She shows such a great level of understanding and empathy.

“We did fall over darlin’, but only because Mummy has tired legs. Immy has clever legs, you don’t need to fall.”

I showed her where on my body I had hurt myself on the drum, let her feel the tight tenderness in my shoulder.

“I don’t want you to ow like Mummy, when you have clever legs!”

“Clever legs!”

“And what does Mummy have?”

“Tired legs.”

I think this is the start of explaining Mummy’s differences. In the simplest terms I can. And so far, my beautiful Squidge’s head and heart are keeping up. I really hope this won’t be so bad after all.

“Mummy, I’m alright!”

This is Freddie. Freddie is the most loved Fox there ever was.

Freddie came into Squidge’s life when she was just a few weeks old, my own best friend introducing my baby girl to her own best friend. I love that. I love that Squidge loves someone else so much.

He comes with her everywhere at the moment. He came with us to the playground opposite our house. She pushed him lovingly back and forth on the swing until, inevitably “Freddie glide!” (Slide, of course!)

Squidge has always been so confident physically, very rarely is she willing to accept help. And I love that confidence, I want her to have it always.

But because she was so determined that beloved Freddie should enjoy the experience too and she would not let him go, she lost her previously confident footing on the suspended stepping stones.

I know every parent experiences the horror of slow motion. I saw her fall before she did and cursed my body for not reacting in time as she sobbed in shock.

I bundled her into my arms and checked her over, horror and tears coarsing through me. I had never seen her actually hurt herself before. I called Kev instinctively as I soothed her, convinced we’d be going to A&E.

As it rang, I asked Squidge where she hurt. She’d fallen forwards about three feet and I was terrified she’d say “head” or worse, nothing at all because I’d allowed her to be so damaged she couldn’t remember.

“Chiiiiin!” She wailed. I personally have split my own chin open twice so was terrified to look where she pointed. But there wasn’t so much as a graze. The sobbing subsided (from Squidge at least!) and Kev, thank God, was calm.

“I can’t even hear her crying.”

“She is!” I insisted as she wriggled out of my arms.

“What’s she doing right now?”

As I remained a tearful, guilty wreck on the floor, I dared to look up. And not only had our beautiful, brave, confident girl climbed back up onto the slide; when she saw me looking, she called out reassuringly “Mummy, I’m alright.”

And so Squidge and Freddie played on until she could be tempted away with an offer of tea and an episode of “Money” (aka Tipping Point) and I was amazed and humbled by the utter resilience in someone so small.

The guilt made my stomach wrench as my baby cried but that baby, she consoled me. Never have I been so reassured of the good job I am doing as a parent.

Mummy sees you’re alright Squidge. I think you’ve got this, baby one.

My Worst Nightmare

Yesterday, I lived my worst nightmare.

I fell over in the road holding onto my little girl’s hand.

I always have this moment where I know I’m about to fall, so try and prepare my body for the impact. I remember clinging to Squidge’s little hand and praying to God she didn’t fall too. I hit the road with a thump – it still really hurts to sit down – and heard this panicked shriek of “Mummy!”

I immediately folded my body around my little girl, guiding her to the kerb. She’d fallen with me too. I’d struggled too much to keep up with her eager little step and pulled her down. But even in that confusion, she didn’t cry. We’d be walking round the corner to playgroup and were literally one kerb away from the door.

Another of the mums saw me fall and came running over to make sure we were OK. I’d barely even registered that it was me that had fallen, or how much pain I was in. I just folded myself round Squidge, told her we were OK. Because that was what she needed to know. She wasn’t crying from her own pain. The very first thing she did was look back for me – she didn’t even let go of my hand on impact.

My little girl is a star. This was out first fall. I felt so guilty, have always dreaded the first day that this would happen and wondered how she would cope with the realisation that Mummy cannot always keep her safe. But I’m proud to say my instinct was to do just that – and that it seems Squidge’s was the exact same.

Still so full of pride

I am currently full of a lot of mum guilt.

I feel like I am not giving the Squidgelet any time at the moment. I’ve spent my days off either working on my uni essay (submitted 3 weeks ahead of time to compensate for our holiday in 2 weeks) or ill and therefore avoiding her.

And germs. Let’s not forget the germs.

Week before last I had norovirus, so the in-laws came and rescued Squidgelet before I could infect her. I woke the poor love up with my vomiting in the bathroom next to her bedroom at 6am. It’s hard to console the concerned calls of “Mumma? Mummy?!” between retching. I was better in time for my big sister’s wedding and Squidge had a blast, running around, dancing to Baby Shark and eating her bodyweight in cake,

But last week, I had physio, which is miles away, very expensive and therefore cannot be missed. It takes nearly a whole day. I recently changed my days at work with good intentions and then realised my physiotherapist is only available on a day I’ve agreed to work. Now, I only go every 8 weeks (see, expensive!) so my boss is not bothered by an infrequent swap but it does mean a day less with my girl every 8 weeks.

And now, just in time for my very first Friday off with Squidge, I’ve caught someone’s cold. I am an absolute germophobe and am enraged by ill people coming into the office. Work from home you selfish [insert favourite swear word here]. So instead, we’re £45 out of pocket sending Squidge to nursery for the day so I can concentrate on sweating out the lurgy in time for the weekend.

Mum guilt sucks.

I feel terrible about going on holiday even. We’re finally going to Cuba – the honeymoon destination Kev picked out for us 3 years ago that was scuppered by Squidge’s very presence in my belly and the threat of the Zika virus. I am really looking forward to it, as it is to be our last “grown up” holiday before we give in to ten years of Butlins and theme parks. Yes, I’m a terrible mother who’s leaving my baby behind. But I’m being very measured about that of course. Not. I’ve reiterated to another of my big sisters that I want her and her partner to raise Squidge alongside their daughter if the plane crashes out of the sky.

Happy holiday everyone!


Mummy madness aside, today, Facebook memories threw up this perfect little gem from one whole year ago.

I never knew pride like it. She’d been cruising and holding our hands from about 8 or 9 months old, but we were just playing on the bedroom floor and she got up and she just did it, like she was made for it. Her confidence (unlike my immune system it seems) has gone from strength to strength.

Squidge really is flourishing. We have a playground on the opposite side of our road and I’ve been bundling my gorgeous girl up in the big warm, winter coat from last year that she’s grown in to and we’ve been kicking and crunching the autumn leaves, I’ve been listening to her shriek with delight as she runs around shouting “Ready! Steady! Go!” at the top of her little lungs. She is so “‘appy!” (That’s our current favourite Squidge-ism!)

She’s been really getting to grips with her alphabet, throwing her alphabet bricks around the lounge when the mood takes her, or calming handing them to you one by one and more often than not, correctly declaring the letter on it. (My favourite is “Ah-oh-woo!” – W!) She did the whole thing flawlessly the other day – Kev was staggered.

And so, while I sit in a million layers, sniffling in front of the fire and feeling sorry for myself, I can take absolute pride in how my little Squidgelet is coming on in the world. And maybe the guilt can lessen a bit because this one is her own person and she is doing just fine. So it’s OK to take care of me too – I’ll be back crunching leaves in no time!