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Daphne

seriously somewhat serious

Skipping to the good parts

I’m somewhat of a drama addict and not just any ordinary addict, I’m one of those compulsive fast-forwarder types. Especially when I know something bad is about to happen (hello, foreshadowing!), my heart can’t take the suspense and I’ll zip right through to the end where the good parts are.

Like I’m halfway through a scene and out of nowhere, the characters start wrestling with a large knife(??!) and I’m like “oh no oh no oh no PUT IT DOWN, someone is going to get stabbed in the gut” and I’ll fast-forward the scene just to make sure everyone is still alive and unstabbed before I start breathing again. (Breaking Bad, you know I’m talking about you. What ever will I do with my life after the series finale next week?)

I’m a skip-to-the-good-parts kind of girl.

In fact, if my life was nothing more than a compilation of good parts, I’d be ok with that. More than ok, I think!

Some days, I like to imagine that I have a fast-forward button for real. Like when I’m in a bit of a slump that I can’t unslump myself from, zap, fast-forwarded. Having a crummy day filled with crummy, crummy news, zap, gone. Rough day at home with the kids, zap. Can’t wait for something good to happen, zap. Any number of awful things happening that I wish wouldn’t happen, zap, zap, zap. 

And then I’d be left with only the good parts, right? Sometimes, I do so wish I had a big fat fast-forward button.

The other day, just for the fun of it, I made a list of all the moments I wish I could have fast-forwarded in my life.

1. The months after I decided to leave my job to stay home with Tru and everything was so difficult for so long. Gosh, that was a rough time.

2. Days with the kids where all I’m doing all day is break up fights, cook meals to have it spat out and spilled on the floor, do like a million pieces of laundry and clean up messes that just magically reappear right after it’s cleaned.

3. The post-natal depression bits.

4. The worrying about bills bits.

5. The stressing that I’m not doing a good enough job with the kids bits.

Plus a whole lot more. I’m telling you, I’ve got quite a list there.

I looked at my list and I started remembering the oddly fun moments during those awful days. Like that one time I was so mad at Tru for spitting out the delicious porridge that I’d spent an hour slaving over the stove to whip up and the whole time while I was going on like “Tru, come on, this is good for you, just eat it already”, he was making faces trying to dig out a piece of stray spinach from his mouth. It was really stuck and he was digging furiously like dig, dig dig but it just wouldn’t come out and he was trying so hard and I just couldn’t stay mad at this kid. It was so hilarious and cute and gross and messy all at the same time.

One by one, I went down the list and I could remember how crummy it felt when it was going on but then I could also remember all these weirdly amazing good parts all mixed in with the bad ones. If I had skipped it, I would have missed it all. And in there are some of the parts worth having the most. 

Besides, I look at all these crummy days and I like to think that I’m better for it. On bad days, I learnt to be content with what I have even though it’s not much. On bad days, I leant to discover great big beautiful moments in the little ones. Most of all, bad days make the good ones so. much. better. After a bad day, I have an average day and I’m like “wow, that was actually quite good. Yay for a good day!!” If all I had were good days, the average ones would be “meh, next…”

I’d round this up with some deep, contemplative thoughts on life but since this is me talking myself out of having an imaginary fast-forward button that doesn’t even exist, here are a bunch of retro pictures coming at you instead.

Kirsten

Tru baby

guitar man

monkey bar

making up

brothers

3 musketeers

Finn

Finger in the nose

Baby Finn gave us all a bit of a scare over the weekend. It all started with a mild case of the flu so I handled it like I usually do – with a tried and tested formula of fluids, rest and extra doses of tender loving care. Good ol’ TLC, that always works.

Then late Friday evening, he woke up for his night feed and as I picked him up from the cot, I saw a spot of blood coming out from his tiny baby nose. It was totally a slow-mo, cue ominous score in the background kind of moment. Ever so slowly, the trail of blood made its way down towards his tiny baby lips. Having never seen any of my babies bleed from the nose, I did the only thing I could think of, which was to absolutely freak the hell out. I held him and ran out to the husband like BLOOD!! NOSE!!! HELPPP!!! OMGOMGCALLTHEAMBULANCE!!!

A fair bit of panic and half a blood-soaked piece of tissue later, we managed to get the bleeding under control. Baby Finn, though, was strangely calm and he fell right back asleep after his feed.

Saturday morning, we brought him to the nearby clinic for a consult. The doctor seemed unperturbed by the whole nosebleed episode. “It’s due to the thinning of the blood vessels, it happens to some babies, nothing to worry about,” he said. He gave Finn some antibiotics, taught us how to stop the nosebleeds and sent us on our way.

The nosebleeds continued intermittently throughout the rest of Saturday and by then, we were getting quite good at the nose pinching technique.

At 4am on Sunday, baby Finn woke up crying and when I picked him out, I almost fainted because there’s nothing quite like waking up at 4am to what was basically a homicidal crime scene. There was a pool of blood (like the size of a dinner plate) on the sheets and Finn’s face was covered in blood. Like blood everywhere, his cheeks, his eyebrows, his lips, his nose and even his hair. My poor baby looked like he had just spent 15 rounds in the ring getting face-punched by Sugar Ray Robinson.

We brought him in to KK Hospital, where the doctor identified it to be a case of bronchiolitis + a somewhat sensitive nose. Finn was such a little gentleman the entire time, waving at doctors and smiling as they did all their tests. He even sat for his x-ray on the big scary machine like a champ. Right up to the point where he had to be on the nebulizer.

Sigh, nebulizer time – the most traumatic experience for any parent. We had to hold him down in a stranglehold for all of 300 seconds while he pleaded and pleaded and pleaded for us to stop with his tear-filled eyes. *heartbreak*

Thankfully, that seems to be the last of it and he’s back home recovering nicely. There’ll be extra huggles and snuggles these couple of days, doctor’s orders.

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