Pass the Whine

  • Harry’s ulcers are better, for a given value of ‘can eat soft foods without crying’ as ‘better’. He was given a shortbread finger yesterday by a well-meaning friend, who was startled to see it emerge after a while, half-chobbled and thoroughly blood-soaked. His gums are still bright red and his breath could knock out a troll at 10 paces.
  • This is what his cot sheet looks like after a night of dribble-diluted ulcer bleeding.


  • The Delightful Doctors Next Door returned from holiday yesterday and were promptly waylaid by me plaintively recounting the full tale of Harry’s woes. Apparently the GP told me a Big Fat Porker. I had specifically asked about paediatric ibuprofen suppositories, and she said Didn’t Exist. Apparently they do. Bah!
  • While we were animatedly discussing this, Harry reached up higher than we thought he could reach, and grabbed the tape of the horses’ electric fence.
  • He had barely recovered from the misery this occasioned him, when he toppled into a plastic crate, which flipped up and hit him in the mouth.
  • This is what my top looked like after his battered gums and front teeth had finished pouring with blood. His clothes and my face & hair caught most of it.


  • If I told you how often I have nagged John to bring up some fencing materials to toddler-proof a small patch of lawn outside the kitchen door, you would be just as bored with the topic as he evidently is. I took a risk at teatime and left Harry playing free-range on his new slide while I scuttled just inside the door to put his sausages on. He immediately wandered towards the hedge and fell into some stinging nettles.
  • I bought him a new slide last Friday night


in order to cheer him up after his illness. The first thing he did Saturday morning was fall off it and bruise his back.

  • I have not bothered to list all his thumps and bumps this week. There have been so many, I can’t remember half of them, but he is a constellation of bruises. I am so frustrated and miserable about his endless run of shitty luck that I could scream. In fact, I have.
  • John keeps telling me we have No Money, are spending more than he earns, and that my going back to work would be a Good Thing.
  • He keeps looking at new camera lenses on Ebay.
  • The speech therapist has postponed our next appointment to the middle of April. Harry is 20 months tomorrow, and still isn’t saying a single bloody word. His peers are starting to use sentences. Please don’t tell me about your son/daughter/friend’s nephew/lady down the road/Einstein who didn’t start to talk until they were 23, as Harry might just be the one who is Different.  He understands plenty, and that will have to content me for now.
  • He is still toppling over a lot. Some days he is much worse than others, but he’s a little more balanced than he was.
  • On Tuesday he bit his little playmate’s finger. Hard. She cried for 20 minutes. My mortification knew no bounds.
  • Yet he always looks…


 as if butter wouldn’t melt. 

  • He has been excessively cuddly and kissy since he has been ill. I could absolutely eat him up.


  • According to the LH peesticks, I ovulated the night before last. We have had sex. I now think this was a stupid thing to do.
  • According to my EWCM, I ovulated over a week ago, and consequently all of John’s sperm will die horribly in any event. So, no worries.
  • Have had random musings regarding a great new conception/fertility technique involving holding magnets next to chaps’ balls. If sperm could be polarised, then you could put a magnet either in your knickers or in your pocket, depending on which way you wanted them to head. Clever, no? 

11 Responses

  1. POOR HARRY! Damn it to hell, WHEN will he ever catch a break? But not the sort that requires a cast, you know. What a cute little fellow he is, too!

    The sperm-magnet idea is brilliant. Tell John to up his iron intake and report back with your findings.

    I have one who didn’t walk A STEP until he was eighteen months old and fell on his face regularly until three. He also didn’t particularly speak until twenty-two months. I won’t lie to you, he DOES have Some Issues. But after very aggressive therapy (physical, occupational, educational, etc. and Special Ed. preschool) since two years of age he is entering MAINSTREAM KINDERGARTEN next year (with an Individualized Education Plan, which in America means he Is Special and Bears Watching, but still, THE REGULAR CLASS!) and will get to ride the big bus with his brother, and I’m SO VERY PROUD of him! Whatever is going on with Harry clearly he has his wits about him and my little guy was the same way. Smart as a tack, you could just tell, but wasn’t so much with the walking and talking. I think in the end Harry will do alright, but it’s a lot of work and worry between the ages of two and five. Luckily for my guy and Harry both, they have mothers who Are Tenacious and Read A Lot.

  2. Poor child. Talk about World of Pain. His poor mouth! All that blood! I still have distinct memories of the times I a) fell over the sheep fence and got my foot tangled in it and you *zap* try untangling *zap* your foot *zap* from *zap* a *zap* SODDING *zap* electric fence; and b) the time I fell off my bike into a ditch full of nettles in shorts and a sleeveless tee-shirt. My heart is now all Harry’s in sympathy and fellow-feeling.

    I should jolly well think, what with the horrible ulcers, than even if Harry was talking he wouldn’t until they went away. All that tongue and lip manouvering when they’re that sore. Nah-ah. Hoping hard that when he’s recovered he’ll be ready for another go at this talking lark.

    The LYING COW DR who wouldn’t hand you the baby-ibuprofen, is a COW no wait I said that. COW. I said it again. Moo.

    As for the getting-knocked-up sex, ooh. Well. Um. I wish for whichever result will make you happiest in the long run. Also, Nature, sneaky bitch, likes loading the dice by making a person more willing, as it were, at those times of the month. Nature has no respect.

  3. I read this comment on another site once, so I can’t claim it as mine, but truly, my mother-heart is breaking for you and for Harry. I hope it all stops soon and you have nothing like this at all to blog about for months and months and months. I think I’m going to leave something for you over on my blog today…

  4. Poor Harry – I swear he has a trouble magnet installed somewhere and it makes me worry terribly about this babe I’m growing as both its parents are horrific clutz!

    I am praying all this ends for you soon and Harry decides that single words are boring and announces his speech arrival with an incredible sentence. How’s the signing going?

  5. But he DOES have a word! You told us about it (moo)!

  6. He DOES say Muuurrrmm, yes! He says it to cows, sheep, dogs, camels, elephants and giraffes!

  7. Poor Harry – begone nasty ulcers. It hasn’t affected his overall cuteness any – adorable even in abject misery from nasty virus.

  8. Would kinda like to bitch-slap your pediatrician. I mean, she couldn’t have simply said, “I don’t know, but I’ll find out for you”?

    Anyway, I think that in the end Harry will be one of those indomitable men who never gets sick, never even cuts himself shaving, because he paid his karmic dues a long, long time ago. He’ll be sort of unbearable that way, but we’ll forgive him because he will still be overwhelmingly cute.

  9. Harry’s pillow looks like P’s, but substitute blood for copious and crusty piles of snot and you’ve got it. I flip it over, change the pillowcases every two days, and still THE SNOT. It’s disgusting.

    I hope poor Harry starts to look after himself a bit more, or I shall come up for more cuddles, because lordy did I like cuddling that boy at Thalia’s.

  10. Saw your Tweet about Harry answering to the name of Lucky. Your poor boy, I never know what to say. I keep hoping things will start looking up for him. Whatever else may come, he’s a very handsome and charming little boy. I’m sending you oversized American hugs. (We don’t have any regular sized ones on account of this is America.)

    I like your magnet idea! Be sure to get a patent; your money woes will be solved!

  11. I’m soooo slow to catch up after getting back from hols. You poor things- you have had an AWFUL time of it. My goodness. I can’t even imagine it. Don’t fret too much about the talking, Harry may be the strong silent type and one day he’ll probably surprise you by launching forth with an oration on…something important. I;m too tired to speculate on what great orators, um, orate about.

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