threescore

Since dad’s heart attack I have been quietly concerned about health in general. I do not believe in giving up chocolate for Lent, but often observe dad’s tradition of no pancakes after Shrove Tuesday. It’s fair. I am also doing a lot more exercise than I ever believed I could, but not in a lycra or gym-pass kind of way. Babies in slings are much happier and stranger-friendly than carrying extra weight by other methods.

So the local NCT group are holding a couple of sessions on baby first aid and emergency life support. Sounds like a good idea. I have run out of stamps and envelopes so I meant to apply later today. At £25 a time it meant that I wouldn’t be able to go to as many local courses on other baby-enhancing activities, but it was a sacrifice I was prepared to make. I don’t really need the biscuits.

Today I discovered three free sessions of baby first aid running in my area. Maybe I should do those instead. Then maybe we should apply to do Baby Astronomy with all the other little stars, even though it is way past Lily’s bedtime. (She has no other free time left on her social calendar.)

And in any case, I am signing up for the Race with a Baby in a Sling for Life very soon. Just need to collect more data from the girls in my NCT ante-natal group before we can apply.

If you are reading this Lily, your mummy is quite surprised. You are behaving so much better today, thank you. Too bad we’re not in public. That nasty cold must have gone away again. It’s a shame about the nappy smell, but we’ll deal with that imminently.

I don’t think the biometric detailing on your new passport measures smell (yet). Let’s leave that to the animals. 

Maybe we should get a cat… I would like to personally thank Charlie for his services at mum and dad’s (see today’s BBC article about health).

But I know even less about bringing up a cat than I do about bringing up a baby. And I’m pretty sure they don’t have passports in the UK (yet).

What’s that? Yawning while mummy types with one hand? Litter tray time.

Odd socks do work - if you are a physiotherapist. If you are a baby it makes your mum look incompetent or foolish.

But if you are a baby with two socks on at this moment I applaud you.

And if you are a baby with two socks on and you are reading this I think your mum should stop lying.

I got a nice letter through the post today from my headmaster, which was rather quick considering I only resigned yesterday. Nice to feel the school cares. I noticed that the letterhead had changed. That was quick too.

Here are some other true observations I made today.

1. At the post office, waiting for Lily’s passport to be ‘check-and-send’ed and a parcel for Germany to be just weighed, I saw DVDs for learning foreign languages. Not a surprise: mum pointed them out to me the other week. One is for learning English. Every word on it, including complicated blurb and instructions for how to get the DVD were in English. I think you had to swear allegiance to the Beckhams and Gladiators and soggy chips in triplicate with valid ID before you were allowed to buy it.

2. Looking for a new buggy (or stroller, as I have to call it at Mothercare), I have found ones that suit from age 0 to age 5, and are guaranteed for 12 months. I do not intend to have children of the accelerated variety, so we may just have to take the chance on the remaining years.

3. Lily has something snuffly and is grizzling a lot and losing sleep, so I bought her a baby vaporub, which smells of a comfortable night’s sleep and says on the side that it must not be used if the baby is allergic to any of the ingredients or is under 3 months old. Neither must the parents use it if any of the above applies to them. Thankfully I too am over 3 months old. That was a close one.

It seems to me that the days before your first child is born are filled with excitement and anticipation. And food, TV, reading, lying down a lot and re-washing things for the baby. You never know, they may not yet be absorbent enough.

You take new pleasure in noting the weather and which trees still have leaves and wondering what your child’s date of birth might be. Well, we missed 1/11/07, but there are some other lovely ones coming up.

You occasionally remember that others are going to work, but that it is your duty to rest and eat and drink, and eventually you stop feeling guilty about this and indulge.

I feel rather like Mole in Wind in the Willows, discovering a whole new pace to life. I do everything. Extremely. Slowly. The days scull past.

(Mole, I feel, should probably have featured in an earlier post about literary sidekicks, but I’ll leave that thought there).

I do like to keep in touch with the world around me, and this is very possible with broadband and televisual technology available to me. For example, I have been learning why Papworth hospital (where dad was given stents) is suspending all heart transplant operations for the next couple of weeks. It sounds drastic, but it may not affect many, if any, of these highly specialised operations. The statistics sound worse on TV because the numbers are so small. Maybe the press coverage will give much needed attention to the need for more organ donors.

Let it be known here that I intend any and all of my organs to be used for medical purposes on my death. I cannot see why it should be any other way.

So much can change in twelve months. It was this weekend, one year ago, that dad had his heart attack and we worried that we might lose him.

Go to jail. Do not pass Go. Do not collect £200.

I was scared. We were all scared. The days dripped past. Dad got to Papworth and had stents inserted in an artery. He changed his diet: radically and religiously. He started walking daily and cycling often. His fitness improved week by week. He observed the world around him and learnt the details of the fields and changing seasons around his home. His cholesterol levels improved and his girth receded.

Advance to Mayfair.

There was the joy of becoming a grandad in May. There was the excitement of welcoming my sister back from New Zealand in August. There is the prospect of a second grandchild any day now. Some things ended and new things began.

Pay School fees of £150. 

Some things surprised us. Dad was not sure about travelling at first, but took journeys around the country, including a refreshing holiday we all took to Herefordshire in May. Emotionally he was a different person. Reflective in a new way. Grateful for new details. For a time we thought that the encouraging, positive dad we had always relied on had gone for good. He came back.

You have won a crossword competition. Collect £100.

Relationships have strengthened. I am still learning more about my dad. This week I learnt how to cook pot roasts and Hungarian goulash from him. I always assumed he cooked in the same way I do: look at the ingredients you’ve got and throw in extra things if they might go out of date. No. My dad is remarkably similar to my husband (the theories must be right, or maybe it is a Cambridge thing). Dad makes sure he puts the right ingredients into his cooking. And he knows what works and what doesn’t: why you would put two onions into goulash rather than an onion and a leek; why you wouldn’t put mushrooms in. Less is more. The right ingredients matter. How to get the right amount of liquid, or when to add things. I learn to cook by trial and error. I am amazed at how much my dad (like my husband) will refer to reliable cookbooks for advice and to work out the principles behind cooking. Of course, dad is now much more aware of the implications of what he eats.

You have won second prize in a Beauty Contest. Collect £10. 

This weekend marks another event - his younger brother turns 60 and all four brothers and wives are meeting to celebrate. Two lots of threescore. It will do dad good and will be a positive time. 

It is your birthday. Collect £10 from each player.  

I don’t believe any of this is down to chance. I believe God has graciously given us this year, and I for one am incredibly grateful for it. We’ve been around the board a few times, but we know that each day is precious.

‘I haven’t spent much on buying things for the baby yet’, I said to mum and dad yesterday.

‘You will!’ dad replied.

He’s right. Does he have the monopoly on being right?

Even when I needed to moan at their cat and offload a number of trivial hormonal matters to him, he could see the positive, educational side. If something goes wrong, according to dad’s philosophy, it is a useful learning experience.

This is what I missed in the months following his heart attack. I am so grateful to have that cheerful, ‘let’s see the bright side’ dad back. It is hard to believe that it is almost a year ago. Dad has mentioned that it happened last October, but I didn’t need reminding. The first week of October is my favourite week of the year. It reminds me of summer and winter all at once. Of the cornflake frenzy of leaves and the milk-bottle chill that wakes you up as you step outside. Of what it means to be cosy.

Yesterday mum and I intended to visit a quilting exhibition at Sutton Hoo. However, it was closed, so we went to Woodbridge instead. We had a lovely time and I bought a taggie, which was an exciting purchase and makes me feel slightly more posh than I am prepared to admit.

Today, a friend who is off work long-term ill and I went to buy the necessary maternal kit needed for The Hospital Bag. Very exciting, in a disposable knicker and breast pad kind of way, making me feel slightly more normal than others may be prepared to admit.

On Saturday my husband and I bought the car seat. This was exciting, as it is not often that a shop assistant has to help you fit something outside of the shop. She did not make it look easy, which was reassuring. It wasn’t, which was also reassuring.

Earlier I visited my midwife, who I hadn’t actually seen for 8 weeks. She told me she was retiring on 12th October, after 40 years. This was not reassuring.

However, the baby is the right way round now and facing correctly, which is.

I felt like spending more on the baby, to celebrate.

Dad was right.

Dad goes on a lot of walks these days. This is great for his heart and fitness, but while I am pregnant I am reminded of those days when I could never keep up with him, when my legs were too short and my curiosity had not been awakened enough.

He says that he often sees dogs with their owners out on walks, and they often give him funny looks. The dogs, I mean.

‘Why,’ they quiz him, ‘would you go out on a nice walk without a dog? What is the point of that?’

Maybe there is no dog etiquette for meeting lone walkers. Are you allowed to smell? Should you stare? Is it wrong to bark?

We got talking about dogs on a walk on Sunday afternoon. Maybe he should get one, so that the dogs he meets don’t stare. Dad is very aware of nature and changes in the wildlife on his walks, so it is no surprise that he can read a dog’s face. For example, the birds have gone past the season of singing, now that pairing off and rearing young have happened for the year. Now they are just putting on weight for winter. But other senses are awakened in those daily walks: the exploding colours of berries and hanging webs.

It got me thinking - would it be such a bad thing if mum and dad did get a dog? It would be a companion, a walking buddy, a thing to mother and a special treat for grandchildren to visit. They already have a 12-year old cat, Charlie. Charlie would cope.

I love it when dad tells me the story of Smudge and Rex, the cat and dog they had as teenagers. Smudge was around first, so as well as being top-cat was also top-dog in the pecking order. Apparently Rex would allow Smudge to eat the best bits of his dinner (the meat), before he got the biscuits. Dogs are great like that. I wonder what kind of dog would suit mum and dad? Something loyal and not too yappy, I imagine.

Dad went to the doctor and had a check up this week, and was told he won’t need to go back again for another three months. He is making great progress and has completed one course of pills entirely. They hadn’t asked him to fast to prepare for the latest cholesterol check, but it was only slightly above the previous one, which is a relief. Technically, he is not obese but could do with losing some more weight, so there is still the incentive to keep up the healthy lifestyle.

Mum has come out in a rash which may or may not be due to eating strawberries. It turns out you can get too much of a good thing - even if you picked several kilos yourself! I have to be careful not to visit her, even on her birthday, as the doctor had thought it was a virus and warned her to stay away from older people. I assumed this also meant pregnant people.

It’s a shame, as she is due to visit her uncle and parents at the weekend for a special 80th birthday, but she may still be able to go, even if she travels a day later.

I am not in great health, however. I had a panic attack at school and have been signed off for a week. Too many things coincided at school, all of which had added to my stress levels, meaning that I could not cope in a meeting and would not be able to teach. My husband looked after me very well and took the day off to sort out a good doctor for me and speak to the midwife. She saw me today and has referred me for counselling and a pregnancy massage. I am feeling emotionally strained and physically weakened, but much happier for a chance to recover before I go back. There are reports to write and lessons to plan, but the department are rallying round me and I feel looked after. I even read a verse in the Bible which helped me see the behavioural issues at school in perspective:

“Those who are wayward in spirit will gain understanding;
       those who complain will accept instruction.”

(Isaiah 29.24)

There is a lot on at the moment, but there is also a lot of good happening, and the children at school are learning, whether or not I feel I am at my best professionally.

I am pleased that dad is doing so well at the moment; even though my mind is not all it should be, he is able to speak truth and tell me what I need to hear. Thank God for families.

Today I had to go to the shop and get:

Hot Cross Buns (6),

Yogurt (Rhubarb).

Previously, Peanut has shown a liking for:

Cheese (the pasteurised, hard kind I’m still allowed),

Yogurt (any, especially gooseberry or similar),

Milk (on cereal),

Salad (in abnormal quantities),

and I’m going crazy about vegetables.

I am rather queasy around coffee, tea and chocolate (despite giving in to habit and regretting it often). I am more queasy than usual around bananas.

On a different note, I just finished reading Jane Eyre, and decided she needs to get out more. And never trust a lunatic in your attic, while I think of it.

Nineteenth century literature brings home to me how odd it is for me to be able to publish a picture of a child that will not be born for 6 months to an audience comprising family, friends, a sister as far away as can reasonably be imagined and several googlers per week wondering what threescore means. All this was beyond any fantasy Jane Eyre dreamt up as a child. Madness!

…I am not running the London Marathon.

Although a week of walking through beautiful Herefordshire has made me fit enough perhaps to walk it. Dad goes at quite a pace - faster than when I was short, I’m sure. Not sure if he’s even up to running it, but he could probably cycle it in a decent time, I think.

Why isn’t Herefordshire on the map? Even the Mappa Mundi added it as an afterthought, and yet it is the most English county I’ve been to, and utterly inspiring. There should be an Arts College there and an ancient university.

And, in the week we were there, I discovered that sheep have Character. What an amazing animal they are. Drive a truck of food in to their field and once word is out they gallop in lines to it. Only to follow the truck at speed as it tries to leave the field. Mad. I met one sheep, to be known only as Number 9, who reminded me of a Parent With Attitude. Not like Parents’ Evenings; more evocative of when I worked in prison and mums would come in. Even Number 9’s twin lambs looked like they were hiding hoodies, ASBOs and a tattoo or two.

Mum told me that she and dad were once on a farm where the lambs were taken from the ewes, overnight. The noise was awful. There are two lessons to be learnt from this: time your visits when you stay on a sheep farm, and watch where you put the kids.

I think we built up our stamina and fitness, and we had a lovely time away. However, I know better than to risk putting myself through Flora’s polyunsaturated Rather Long Run. Even for the Society for Delinquent Lambs.