Monthly Archives: September 2013

First fibs

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You threw a ball into my office yesterday and I told you never to do it again because it might break my computer. You said, “But your computer didn’t get broken.”

I told you it could have.

You said, “But I didn’t throw the ball in your office, Mummy.”

I became exasperated at this point and said, “I SAW you do it, Ella!”

You mumbled something and your lip started trembling. I knelt down and asked you to repeat what you’d said because I didn’t hear.

You burst into tears and cried, “When you get mad, I get SAAAAAD!”

Luckily you were on your way out the door with Daddy to go swimming, so you couldn’t see that I was crying too. I hate it when you cry – it breaks my heart every time. But mummies have to be firm.

Australia

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We were sitting at the table talking about my grandma, and you asked if you could visit her. I said no, because my grandma lives in Australia.

You said, “My grandma lives in Australia too!”

The conversation turned to Australian snack foods, and I said to Daddy, “It’s a good thing we don’t live in Australia, or I would be really, really fat.”

You looked up from your plate and said, “I want to go to Australia, and then I can visit with my grandma, and your grandma, and I can be really, really fat like people in Australia.”

Aside

We were walking home from barnehage today, and the wind was blowing so hard it almost blew the hood of your rainsuit off your head. Convinced the wind doesn’t blow the trees, but that the trees actually make the wind, you shouted:

“Trees! Stop winding me!” You stamped your foot in frustration, and pointed at the nearest birch. “No, trees! Stop it! You’re going to blow my hat off!”

Dreams

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Last night you slept 12 and a half hours straight. This is almost unheard of when you’re at home with us – it usually only happens when you stay with Farmor. But you have had a massive 24 hours, and you obviously needed it. However, since you’ve had trouble breathing and so on, when I woke up at 7.30am and hadn’t heard a peep from you, I can’t say I wasn’t a little concerned. I crept out of bed, just with the idea of poking my head into your room to make sure you were okay. You must have heard the floor creak, because you started stirring the moment I crossed the den.

“Mummy?” Your voice was vague, and I think you were still half-asleep.

I tip-toed in and sat on your bed. You smiled, stretched and rubbed your eyes, asking me if it was morning. I told you it was. You sat bolt upright.

“Hooray!”

We hugged.

“I sleep-imagined I was washing my new red car! And then I sleep-imagined that I was playing with the stars, and the fire-spitting dragon put everything on fire, but then the brannbil dragon came and spit water on the fire and put it out.”

“Did you dream all that? Wow.”

“Yeah, I sleep-dreamed I played with my horses and the stars and my dragon.”

“Your dreams sound fantastic.”

“Yeah. Can we go wake up Daddy now?”

Scary

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Last night you had your second major asthma attack, and we had to drive you to emergency at 1.30 in the morning. You were so excited to go to the hospital, and were in high spirits all the way into the examination room, after which you – understandably – clammed up and clamped onto me like a baby koala. They gave you two doses of adrenaline with a nebuliser, which made you scream like a banshee, and after your lungs didn’t respond to that, they packed us off to Drammen to the paediatric centre. There they gave you two doses of ventoline with a nebuliser (which you hated, but were happily enough distracted by watching funny cat videos on YouTube) and did a few tests, one of which required you to wear anaesthetic patches on your inner elbows in preparation for drawing blood an hour later. Despite us all being extremely tired, and you being freaked out by the patches on your arms, you were cheery and so well-behaved we were amazed at your patience. Each time a doctor or nurse would come in to do a test or check you over, or talk to us, you’d ask if you could go home now, and we had to keep telling you, “Not yet. We hope we can go home soon, but not yet.” You weren’t happy to hear it, but accepted the news with only a few little pouts and pleas.

When two nurses came to take your blood, you fought and screamed like a little wild cat. You’re a lot stronger than we ever knew! But when you realised you couldn’t fight off four adults, you just sat on my lap and screamed. My heart tore at every cry, but we had to let them take your blood so they could see if you had any infections. I hated having to hold you in place like that, but I had to. They told you it wouldn’t take long, but you were terrified and began to make low, guttural roaring sounds that had your dad and me looking at each other in real fear. I thought you were so terrified that you had regressed in some way—that you had reverted to a sort of feral state. Seconds later, it was all over and they rushed your blood away for testing.

After the nurses left, you told us what had happened:

“Mummy, I was a robot dinosaur. I was so scared, but I roared and roared and scared the mean doctors away!”

Daddy and I both had to hide our tears of pain and pride from you so you wouldn’t get more upset. You’re amazing. Even under all that fear and panic, you found a way to save yourself from your bad situation, and showed us the very definition of bravery. I will never forget this night.