So my shocking, worst day so far with Baby J culminated in a trip to the hospital last night, where they eventually decided to admit us overnight – mainly in the better-safe-than-sorry vein. Looks like he has reflux, and that we’ll be going home shortly with medication, but after 12 straight hours of screaming yesterday, I was pretty happy to check in with the professionals.
His red-faced, high-pitched distress yesterday really broke my spirit in the end, and I actually sobbed for the first time since his birth, helplessly rocking him, nothing at all working, both of us covered in vomit and tears. I think being a communicator by nature and profession made my inability to alleviate whatever ailed him so much more acute, and I felt like a total failure. In one of my innumerable and ill-fated attempts to settle him yesterday, I was even bullied off the grass across the road by a really menacing, scary motherfucker black crow. It was really not my day.
And it seems Baby J really objects to our seeing things at the Sydney Opera House – this is the second time in a row he’s landed us in hospital on the eve of a performance we were due to attend. Tonight was going to be our first tilt at leaving him with a babysitter – his eminently capable auntie – so we could see John Malkovich’s Sydney Festival opera (Llew’s anniversary gift to me), but now Auntie is going in our place. The first time Baby J nixed the night out was the start of his early arrival, and, now as then, we really don’t care, just so long as the kid is all right. I think we all know who’s on centre stage now.