Monday, April 25, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
House of Women ...
and one of them, is a monster at the moment. Veering wildly between adult and child, she manages to spend most of it displaying a personality just a smidgen less possessed than Regan MacNeil's. Since Christmas we've had a vitriolic spew of mother hatred on Facebook, two all night parties that saw no return for three days, orange hair, pink hair, green hair and now black hair that hangs like a curtain over her sullen features, a scaffold that was executed so badly she ended up in A & E on Boxing Day, and now the same ropey back street piercer has struck again (thanks to her dad RETURNING her to same piercer) skewering her lobes with some dodgy teeny tiny silver studs, one of which vanished inside its own hole the other night. I was working on a monumentally foul piece of academic nonsense when she tentatively pushed open my bedroom door and whispered "I can't find my earring". She came closer for inspection, and it looked as though the ball of the stud had fallen off, though I couldn't pull it through from the back. Big fat tears welled up in the dip between her eye and the bridge of her nose as I gently tried to get the back of the earring off. Horrified, her wee sister stood there and allowed Regan MacNeil to squeeze her hand to distract from the pain. I couldn't get any movement so went to fetch ice and a syringe from my work bag to a background of wails from the bedroom. Hopefully I could try and proggle the back off, or make the hole bigger to pull it through. Once the lobe was numbed, I was able to push it hard enough to pop the earring which incredibly was still in situ, out of the front of her earlobe again. Bloody thing had shrunk back inside and the skin was forming over it. I will be popping the piercers head back inside her neck if she touches my child again.
After the deed was done, I saw a flash of my gorgeous, funny, sparky girl as she stood in my doorway and thanked me, asking would I like a cup of tea. I was agape. A request for as much as a walk of the dog or a brush of her teeth has resulted in a snarling ball of fury for weeks... I said yes, I'd love one. Five minutes later she came back in my room and handed it over. "I love you" she said.
And yes Wibs, I love you too. It's hard work sometimes, but dammit I love you. You and your rainbow head.
and one of them, is a monster at the moment. Veering wildly between adult and child, she manages to spend most of it displaying a personality just a smidgen less possessed than Regan MacNeil's. Since Christmas we've had a vitriolic spew of mother hatred on Facebook, two all night parties that saw no return for three days, orange hair, pink hair, green hair and now black hair that hangs like a curtain over her sullen features, a scaffold that was executed so badly she ended up in A & E on Boxing Day, and now the same ropey back street piercer has struck again (thanks to her dad RETURNING her to same piercer) skewering her lobes with some dodgy teeny tiny silver studs, one of which vanished inside its own hole the other night. I was working on a monumentally foul piece of academic nonsense when she tentatively pushed open my bedroom door and whispered "I can't find my earring". She came closer for inspection, and it looked as though the ball of the stud had fallen off, though I couldn't pull it through from the back. Big fat tears welled up in the dip between her eye and the bridge of her nose as I gently tried to get the back of the earring off. Horrified, her wee sister stood there and allowed Regan MacNeil to squeeze her hand to distract from the pain. I couldn't get any movement so went to fetch ice and a syringe from my work bag to a background of wails from the bedroom. Hopefully I could try and proggle the back off, or make the hole bigger to pull it through. Once the lobe was numbed, I was able to push it hard enough to pop the earring which incredibly was still in situ, out of the front of her earlobe again. Bloody thing had shrunk back inside and the skin was forming over it. I will be popping the piercers head back inside her neck if she touches my child again.
After the deed was done, I saw a flash of my gorgeous, funny, sparky girl as she stood in my doorway and thanked me, asking would I like a cup of tea. I was agape. A request for as much as a walk of the dog or a brush of her teeth has resulted in a snarling ball of fury for weeks... I said yes, I'd love one. Five minutes later she came back in my room and handed it over. "I love you" she said.
And yes Wibs, I love you too. It's hard work sometimes, but dammit I love you. You and your rainbow head.
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