3 & THE BIG C

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During chemo, some days I would lie silently sobbing on the bathroom floor and one of those times my little boy found me. You see, my little boy is 3 now and in his short, little, crazy life he has seen pain that he shouldn’t even know exists. We tried so, so hard to protect him from seeing his mummy in so much emotional and physical agony but as much as you try and shelter them, he did at times stumble across me when I had my guard down. I feel like a failure just writing that because that’s not the job description I got when I became a mother (from memory it said YOU WILL NEED THESE with some Valium and a bottle of wine attached). That bathroom sobbing stint ended with my little boy patting my bald spot saying “ please don’t cry mummy, its okay” he then ran to get his dad and little sister. We all ended up sitting on the bathroom floor together, me in all my glory showcasing my best selection of ugly cry faces and snot bubbles – until someone filled their nappy and the moment was over ( it wasn’t me!! ) These are the times that make a difference, that stick with you and pull you from the brink of conforming to failure….and the times that people often don’t hear about.

Kai was pretty amazing through everything and mostly it didn’t faze him where he was as long as he could hang off something, brake something or dig in something (primarily his nose). I did however notice a change in his attitude towards me especially while I was in hospital. He was a bit distant with me at times with all my tubes hanging out and the changes in the way I was acting and looked. I could tell he was confused and it broke my heart when he wouldn’t kiss me goodbye or cuddle me when he arrived, but I also understood because he really had no way of emotionally absorbing the true impact of what was happening. In the end I bribed him with chocolate which usually kicked in as they were leaving so Anthony drove home with a raging psychopath most days…but hey I got my fucking hug so I WIN.

Along with all the hospital visits and watching daddy give mummy painful haircuts, he had recently had his life turned upside down with the arrival of his little sister. Like all parents we did all the stuff you need to do to prepare them: The books about being a big brother, the drawings about being gentle and songs about household dynamics, in the end all he gave a shit about was how many of his toys he had to give up and where Wally was…but whether or not he knew it, it was a pretty big deal.
The other change was Kindy. Not only had he started going that year but it took him AGES to settle in and we had just got him to a stage that he wasn’t spewing into his “vom-cup” every morning and making finger nail marks on me while they prised him off so I could leave. After I started chemotherapy we had to take him out of kindy due to the cesspool those places are and the fact that I could die if I so much as walked through a fart. So he was home with us EVERY BLOODY DAY and I decided after a month that I’d rather risk a crop-dusting fart death than one more day of him bouncing from the walls while in my chemical induced coma. I mean the dudes 3, but I’m no miracle worker …. SO back to the cesspool he went and back to square one! Queue fingernails and vom-cup.

Today he’s still the same little rock star he always has been and loves Kindy….. Although I did discover that the part about him not wanting a hug and kiss from me had fuck all to do with the hospital and more to do with the fact he’s a jerk and loves his dad more….but that’s okay, 3 year old chocolate infused Psychopaths give THE best cuddles.

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