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I'm not sure why Pickle is called Pickle, I can't remember when it started but he's been Pickle for as long as I can remember. I'm not sure we can stop but I think we may have to try...
"Mummy, I don't want you to call me Pickle any more"
"Why not darling?"
"I don't want to be called something which is a type of food".
Fair enough. And I'm trying Pickle, I really am (with the exception of this blog). But bear with me because it's quite hard to stop.
It's a busy (and noisy) morning in our house, Pickle wants to tell me something. The radio is on, the kettle is boiling and the dishwasher is being unloaded. I can't hear him for all the noise.
I reach over to turn off the radio, saying "Just a sec, I'm not good with radios and children". Pickle says "Yes, you are Mummy, you are good with children. You're good at looking after us and cuddling us and keeping us alive".
A good observation sweetheart. If only you know how hard I'm trying.
Wishing it could all end well.
Knowing that it won't.
Not for everyone.
Watching the new parents desparate to hold their baby.
Praying that they'll breathe on their own.
And eat on their own.
Suck, swallow, suck, swallow.
Come on, you can do it.
That the brain scan will be fine.
The fits will be under control.
That they can take their baby home.
Show them off.
Start their life together.
Face the challenges ahead.
I am priviliged to have been there and lucky to have brought my baby home.
This post isn't about 'losing Monkey' but 'losing monkey'. We went to the doctors today to sort out Pickle's hayfever medicine and to have booster Hep A injections. To be brave Pickle wanted to wear his medal (which he got when he ran a mile) and Wotsit wanted to take monkey (Wotsit's not attached to any particularly cuddly toy, he just happened to choose monkey).
Lower case 'monkey' was bought at Cape Point by Monkey's Aunt and Uncle when he was 11 months old and we visited them when they were living in South Africa for a year. He has arms that get longer as his legs get shorter and vice versa and velcro so you can attach him to things. So, whilst Monkey may not necessarily have been attached to monkey, monkey was often attached to him. He was always in Monkey's bed and came to hospital when Monkey was poorly. When Monkey died, Sherbet (a purple zebra) and Goodnight Bear were tucked up in his coffin but I couldn't let monkey go.
So, the hayfever appointment was first - all sorted - and we rushed to the post office to post Grandma's birthday card and buy sweets just in case the injections were traumatic. On the way, we realised we'd left monkey with the nurse. 'Not to worry' I said, 'we'll pick him up when we get back'. I wasn't overly worried. However I don't think I appreciated quite how attached I was to monkey.
The surgery was busy when we got back and we didn't get a chance to ask anyone about monkey. And I started to get anxious. I thought we'd left him with the nurse but what if we'd dropped him on the way to the post office? By the time we got to our appointment I think the nurse (a different one) thought I was terrified of injections (I'm not), I was so close to tears. Anyway, she was lovely. We told her about monkey and she promised to look for him when she'd done the injections. I don't think she could have made the link between monkey and the surgery computer system that says 'death of son' - but she really was lovely and I relaxed.
Wotsit went first - he is the bravest. His injection record remains unblemished; he has never cried, in fact never so much as flinched. Pickle was next and he wriggled and squirmed and whined a fraction but, when the needle went in, there were no tears. I was also very brave.
Then the nurse went off to find monkey. I'm ashamed to say that when she returned him, whilst Wotist reached for him, I intercepted him and whilst she went to get bravery stickers, I gave monkey an enormous hug.
To my husband, I think I have reached some conclusions.
I am happy to move but;
I don't want your commute to increase by very much at all
I don't want to sell our lovely house in a nice area on the off chance that we find something else
I do want to live in a village with a nice community feel
School catchment is important
And so is walking to school - preferably to age 11
I don't want to increase our mortgage by very much at all, or our term
I do want to live in a grown up house or a house that has potential to be a grown up house (which isn't completely out of our reach to actually do one day)
I would also be very happy staying where I am
Oh, and if we do leave I will cry more than you can possibly imagine.
Today Wotsit is 2 years, 9 months and 1 day old. He is exactly the same age as Monkey was when he died. He is so like his big brother in looks and cheekiness but not temper. Monkey was content and undemanding and I don't believe that was due to his disability; that was his character. Wotsit is feisty and occassionally stroppy but with a wicked sense of humour. They both love(d) cuddles.
Wotsit talks about Monkey now. He's learnt from Pickle mostly. He'll tell you Monkey died in a swimming pool. It took us a while to realise he thought we'd said Monkey had 'dived'. And he cuddles Monkey's monkey.
So he's caught his biggest brother up in age and is about to overtake. Irrationally, I'll be checking on him later just to make sure.
I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately. We're thinking of moving and I'm very confused. The move would bring us closer to husband's family but stretches us financially and we would need to make reasonably major compromises on the size of the house and garden we have. I know that we can be happy wherever we are but want to do the right thing for us all.
I know that leaving this house will never be easy. Monkey was only here for 9 months before he died but it's the last place he was. My memory is not brilliant but at least here there are lots of triggers. Most of his ashes are buried in the churchyard and I can hear the church bells from my bedroom. I don't think these are reasons to stay but they do make it hard to leave. I've always maintained that Monkey is with me but if we leave here I feel a little like I am leaving him behind. I know I need to look forward but it's tough.
There are lots of other positive reasons to stay too. We are happy here. Pickle's school is lovely and future schools are good. I have friends only 30 minutes away. It's an ok commute for husband. We have a study and a utility room!
So why go? It would be good to be closer to family. They'll help us out, maybe babysit occassionally. When they get a bit older, we'll be on hand to help them too. We'll spend less time on the M25. It's probably a nicer area which also has good schools and, in the right spot, the commute should be ok.
I think it boils down to two things keeping us here; Monkey and money. What to do? Not sure but feeling quite unsettled by the indecision. Although I do at least have a legitamate reason to feed my Rightmove addiction.
