I was cross, yes. I was worried, yes. But I didn’t say anything untoward.
And it wasn’t a case of inflicting the dreaded silent treatment either. I actually told him it was ok, I told him we all make mistakes. Which we do. When you realise that your little one is sick and that it is entirely your own fault, (or in this case, Daddy’s fault), it makes the whole situation a lot more frustrating.
How he lasted 33 years without realising that you can’t go to bed in wet clothes without getting the mother of all colds, I’ll never know. Last Friday night, I wasn’t home from work until midnight and the wee man was fast asleep. I couldn’t wait to see him in the morning. When he heralded the dawning of a new day with a gurgle and a chat with the ceiling, I trotted in for my Saturday morning cuddles. He was smiling, but he was snotty and his little chest echoed with a cough. I lifted him up and realised that his grow bag was damp. He had been zipped into a veritable pneumonia trap for 12 hours. By his Daddy.
It didn’t matter that I had phoned home at dinner time the previous night and told himself to throw the grow bag, which was just damp not sopping wet, into the tumble drier. For whatever reason, he thought better of my plan, and unleashed his own. He was and is always well intentioned. But still.
We had some fun that morning, the usual “jump on Daddy to wake him” games, and I let Daddy realise for himself that the little man had a cold. I then suggested that I knew why. “Really? Do you think so? The growbag?” His query was so honest that I couldn’t get cross. “Yeah I’m afraid so”. I didn’t accuse and he wasn’t indignant, and it reminded me of a mistake I made a lot of months ago. I wrote about baby’s near getaway, when the brake failed on the pram and the wee man hurtled out onto the street before being all but emptied out of his hooded carriage. It was terrifying. I screamed and I cried. I couldn’t believe I had let my precious baby roll off down the driveway into oncoming traffic. I certainly didn’t need a judgemental look or a scolding. And I didn’t get one. I was told, “it’s ok, he’s fine, these things happen”.
I’ll never forget how grateful I was for that reaction. These are probably the things that make or break us all as parents. I suppose the goal is to at least sing off the same hymn sheet and always have each other’s back. I’m thankful too that Séimí’s Daddy was the one who showed me that kindness and understand first, because if I hadn’t had that attitude as a reference point I may well have unleashed all kinds of fury last Saturday morning!
Thankfully the wee man is on the mend… slowly. Daddy feels bad, but like he told me, these things happen, and he will never make that mistake again!
Chat next week friends.
E x
