The boys had some bug over the weekend which they transmitted to their sister. Daniel was sick regularly, Michael occasionally and the Princess once. Daniel took us by surprise, vomiting for the first time on Saturday at lunch time. We rushed to comfort him and change him and remove our own vomit covered clothes. We returned to find Michael happily splashing about in the pool of vomit on the floor while the Princess looked on in profound disapproval. The washing needed to keep pace with three vomiting children is phenomenal. This was why when I heard a choking sound while holding Daniel in our bed, I spun him round to spare the sheets and managed to get vomit on the mirror, the wardrobe the walls and the door. All wipe clean surfaces you will note. As of Monday morning, the waterfall of vomit seemed to have ended. Although poor Michael, got sick in his sleep on Sunday night and when we got him from his cot on Monday morning, he was cold and clammy which, obviously, will help him recover from his hacking cough. No vomiting all day Monday but on Monday evening Daniel got sick (once) as did Michael (twice) and Mr. Waffle (once). Today only Daniel got sick (twice). Could it be that matters are improving?
Boys
Mama!
I find that one of the hardest things about being a mother is leaving your child in distress.  This morning, poor Michael was sick, tired, spotty (chicken pox, of course, have found myself humming all day “and another one down, another one down, another one bites the dustâ€) and needy. If I put him down, he howled. If anyone else held him, he howled.  He’s normally such a cheerful little boy but this morning he was miserable and he needed his mama.  Daniel was neither sick nor spotty but he also wanted some maternal attention.  Their mother, however, was off to work and they howled in vain, punching the air in indignation with their chubby little fists and crying piteously “Mama, mamaâ€.  On the way to work, I dropped the Princess off at her course.  “Please Mummy, stay just a little while longer†she said plucking my trousers. “Sweetheart, I have to go to workâ€. “Just one last hugâ€. “OK, one last hug, but then I’ve got to goâ€.  I placed herself in the arms of one of the course organisers and she fought furiously while wailing “I want my Mummyâ€.  My last sight of her this morning was of her furiously red face contorted in distress with big fat tears rolling down her cheeks.  I stayed outside the door for a moment listening to see whether she would calm down but she continued to sob “je veux ma mamanâ€.  Alas.
The sound of elastic snapping
It’s 38 degrees today. No air conditioning in our sunny flat. No air conditioning in my sunny office. And I am busy, busy, busy. Mr. Waffle isn’t exactly idle at work either but he’s been picking up a lot of the slack at home, while I hunch over a hot computer post 9.30 when our children finally go to bed. Need I say that both of us are up regularly during the night?
Yesterday the creche rang me to say that they would replace the cover of our car seat which got dirtied in their building works.
Me: Sorry, I didn’t see it, my husband collected the boys.
Them: But later when you saw it at home, how was it?
Me: My husband had put it in the wash. And he hung it out to dry and he dropped the boys to the creche this morning because I left the house at 7.30 for an 8.00 am meeting, so I have no idea what the damage is, but I’d say it washed out alright or he would have mentioned it.
Them: Silence.
Me: See, in our household, my husband looks after that kind of thing.
I feel that I am a cliché, running all day at work and running at home and only just managing to catch some of the balls that are in the air. At work, if I don’t write something down, I have no chance of remembering it and even then, some of my notes from the previous day can be baffling (is that somebody’s name, a new policy initiative, what?). As well as having a lot of the kind of competing deadlines that interviewers love to ask about we have a new trainee who is keen as mustard and entirely ignorant about what we do. This combination is proving a little difficult in the short term.
Yesterday, the boys were the last kiddies in the creche and the Princess was the last one waiting to be picked up from her course, the second last little soul having been picked up by her mother 50 minutes previously. The Princess was sitting on her own in a big room at a little table colouring conscientiously under the, slightly dour, supervision of a middle aged man (I suppose, it was hot and he wanted to go home). It was depressing.
Last night Michael woke up with a temperature and was up for a couple of hours. Being Michael, he was cheerful but he was hot. Since it was 30 degrees in the boys’ room anyway, I suspect that didn’t help. The Princess woke up with a temperature. Mr. Waffle took the morning off to tend to her but poor old Michael recovered so well that he was escorted to the creche along with our only healthy child and a message to them to call me, if he seemed unhappy (I called them, he was described as being as happy as someone could be with a temperature of 39 when it’s 39 degrees outside – I will have to rescue him when the Princess wakes from her nap). During the morning Mr. Waffle called to say that the Princess was very cheerful but he had taken her to the pharmacy to get something for her heat rash and they said “that’s no heat rash, that’s chicken poxâ€. What do you think might be wrong with Michael, people?
Survival of the fittest
R in the creche tells me that yesterday she heard a faint cry and turned around to see Daniel whacking another child on the head while, simultaneously, Michael slapped the misfortunate mite merrily on the bottom. It’s a jungle out there.
Negligence
Michael can now clap hands and puts his arms up in the air when he wants to be carried.  He twists his hair around his fingers. He doubtless does this because he wants to endear himself still further although he knows he is my favourite child. How does he know this? Because yesterday he saw me at different times let both of the others fall off the bed.  Alas. Poor bruised little mites.
9 months yesterday – review
Daniel is big and heavy but surprisingly mobile and on the verge of crawling. He’s still bald, but he does have four teeth. Despite looking a bit like one of the Mitchell brothers, he is a big softy and cries sadly if you speak harshly to him or indeed anyone else in the room. He is also inclined to cry, if he wants a toy and does not get it. This is not generally a problem as he is big enough and mobile enough to grab everything within range and Michael doesn’t usually put up much of a fight. He is immensely strong, when things are not going his way, he bucks in your arms and it is quite difficult to hold him.
He was delighted with the effect clapping hands has on those around him initially. Alas, he’s been doing it for a while now and it doesn’t have the effect it once had. He claps his hands and says “bwaw, bwaw” looking around anxiously to check whether people have noticed his cleverness. When we come home from work, he bawls until he has reached the safety of a parental embrace. While this can be tiresome, the affectionate drooly kisses he then doles out are very gratifying.
Michael is a fascinating child to me. He has hair. Not a feature of my other children. He is almost uniformly sunny. Physically Daniel is very like the Princess and, I suspect, in personality also although, as you will appreciate, personalities are at a fledgling stage. I think that, if we treated Daniel as we treated the Princess, he would be every bit as clingy as she was at that age but we just don’t have the time or the energy for that, so he’s not. Michael, on the other hand, is hugely independent. Although he prefers to be held, he is usually quite happy sitting on the ground or in his highchair watching what’s happening around him. He is fond of his parents, but will go to pretty much anyone and bond happily. He loves to be tossed up in the air. He adores when his sister pushes and pulls him and tickles him. Daniel loves that too but he is more inclined to be wary (smart boy) whereas Michael is indifferent to the danger. He is also indifferent to tone of voice. “No Michael” said in a stern voice elicits gales of laughter while his brother collapses in sobs at the brutality and ghastliness of it all.
When instructed to do so Michael will open and close his hand. This is his party piece but, unlike Daniel with his hand clapping, he doesn’t seem to care very much about its effect on other people, there is just so much fun and entertainment out there, who cares about hand opening?
On the whole, they are extraordinarily easy babies and very easy to love, lucky us. I am amazed that in such a short space of time they have become such very different little people and I feel that perhaps they may need to have their own separate categories in this blog shortly. The excitement out there is palpable.
In other news, we had our first ever parent-teacher meeting today and we sat on tiny chairs and heard Madame Marie say that our child is a genius, we know, we know. A very chatty and bossy genius, we know that also. Apparently when Madame Marie leaves the class for a moment, the assistant says it is as though she hadn’t left because the Princess takes over instructing, reprimanding, organising. What I find entirely astonishing is that, it appears, her class mates are generally willing to bow to her will. The fools, the fools – no wonder she is so imperious though.
