What do I mean Rome? Rome would probably be a lot more entertaining. But what I'm talking about is that I'm discovering that all upsets lead to Ciaran.
When things start to upset me, I'm tired, I don't know what I'm doing, Shane snaps at me, I break a fingernail or, lets face it, anything that's not all fun and happiness, eventually I will end up crying and broken hearted about my baby big boy. I guess it's like a woe is me cry. Which of course I'm not in a position to be woe is me any more. It's just that it doesn't make it all better. It helps, yes.
So there have been plenty more tears down the plughole this week.
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Changes.
We're moving. Shane finally got a new job!
The good points... it's a step up for Shane. He's happy. He's excited. He's validated by getting a position to match his experience, as after a year of not for ridiculous reasons like putting on someone less qualified because they were cheaper... well, that's just depressing.
The package is right. It's substantially more money, but given that we're close to the national minimum wage here at the moment, that just puts us back to the market, so I'm not talking 'rolling in it'. But hopefully it will help relieve the financial stress as I'm about out of money to subsidise us. And besides the actual wage, the rest of the package is industry standard whereas this place isn't. So the employer will pay our electricity, give us access to as much meat as we want, and subsidise our phone. That's so much help too!
It's only 12km to the closest town, as opposed to 35km. It only has 2.5km of well maintained dirt road, as opposed to 4km of unmaintained and washed out rocky goat track! And it's an easy drive to town, as opposed to our current windy mountain road. It's only 53km from our current close town which is a little bigger, and is halfway between there and a bigger town, so we have a choice of places to do our grocery shop. Oh and still only 1.5 hours from the city, and half an hour off the main Sydney to Melbourne highway.
Oh and guess what... I can take my sheeps!! The boss seems just lovely. He is very accomodating, and has expressed that he is willing to do what they can to make the house suit our needs. Within reason I think is the unspoken word of course. But still.
As you know, taking my sheeps is very important to me. Shane was hesitant to ask I think. I was afraid he would lead the boss to saying no, just by pre-empting the answer. But the boss agreed and Shane ended up explaining to him that they are very important to me as I have adopted them post-Ciaran's death. The boss has been great in that regard.
So, what's the downside then?
The house. It was described to us as a "comfortable three bedroom" home. Shane and I had heated discussions on that. He's the glass half full man here while I'm glass half empty. Anyway, I won't speculate on who was right... it probably could be called "comfortable", but we agree that it's more like a 1 1/2 bedroom home. It's awkward and small. Funny shaped. I think it must have been accomodation or quarters at some time as it's long and not wide. There are about 5 doors that lead onto the verandah, so if you picture a roadside motel with rooms side by side and doors all lined up in a row then you've got it. On the inside every second wall has been knocked out to open up the rooms, but that's just resulted in two long skinny rooms, with another couple of rooms added on in places.
There are no wardrobes, no linen press. The half bedroom will only fit a single bed in it. It has cupboards, but no hanging space. It would be a good nursery, except it's placement... when you enter the house you walk into the large concrete floor laundry, and then enter the house via a few steps and through a door. The 1/2 bedroom is actually off the laundry so to me it's more like a teenagers room, not the room that you would put a child in.
But I've decided to think of it as "it's all about the money". Because at this stage it is. The money is right. The location is right. The job seems right. And my sheeps can come. There has been mention by the boss that they may be able to add a room or two for us, so maybe in a year or so it might be more suitable. In the meantime, I'm sure I can make something of a home out of it. I don't know about our furniture... we have chunky kind of furniture and I'm just not sure how much of it will be able to fit. The rest will be stored. I like my furniture, and I don't want to get rid of it. But... trying to not worry about that too much at this stage.
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So, we're moving on 1st June. We've known for a week now. I haven't packed a single box. I guess this is life with a newborn. So much time is spent on the couch, which sounds ideal, but even enjoying a cup of coffee can be a challenge I realise now. I have already had several cups of coffee half made left on the bench as I've been "called away" by a certain young Toby, and never been able to return to them.
The bad news? Or really I guess it's the good news? The MIL is arriving on Sunday morning to pack for me. As always when I talk about my MIL it all sounds ideal really. I can sit on the couch and enjoy my son. Except it doesn't work like that. She stresses me. And besides anything, how can someone else pack up your house for you? Especially when you need to downsize, so I need to ensure that the things I want access to are easily accessible, and everything else is either culled or packed for storage. That's a personal thing that only I can do. And also especially when the house is as unorganised as it is right now.
Give MIL the baby to hold while I do it? I've heard it a few times. But that stresses me too because as I said to Shane... she's burnt her own bridges with me on that one, not that she'll ever know that, by telling me all about what she does with her 'local' granddaughter behind the mother's back. Namely stuff like taking her to the doctor to get antibiotics if she has a cold or a cough or anything, because her mother is more into 'natural' products rather than jumping to ABs all the time. And then swears the granddaughter to secrecy, and keeps the ABs in her fridge to dose up the young un' behind her mother's back. She carry's on as if the mother is a bad mother (she's not!). I've already caught her sticking the dummy in Toby's mouth when he was asleep and not even stirring... my thoughts are that if Toby doesn't want or need the dummy then leave it out! She's also the type to put honey on the dummy and things like that, whereas I don't think baby's need anything on dummies. My opinion but also my baby. So, needless to say, leaving the baby in her care while I go off into other rooms doesn't work for me either.
But I am grateful that she is coming, because after the week we've had God knows I need her!
:::
Two nights ago I got up to feed Toby at 2am and plugged in the oil heater in our room. We normally leave it on, but Shane had thought it was too warm that night and had unplugged it. Luckily as it may have turned out.
I plugged it in and straight away it started hissing and smoking and carrying on. I leapt away from it and said something to wake Shane. I would like to say I did something brave, but I really just turned into a panicking girl, and had no idea what to do.
Shane jumped out of bed, and the next thing the plug burst into flame. All I could see was the curtains that were just above it. Shane managed to grab the cord and pull the plug out, and put out the flame, so we have very little damage, maybe some scorch marks.
It scared the shit out of me.
I'm not over our loss of Ciaran enough to not be freaked out by things like this. I was paralysed when it was all happening. When Shane went to the smoking, hissing plug I think I said something to him like "please don't get killed". I'm afraid of electricity. I guess I thought he might get electrocted by touching something.
I grabbed Toby and came straight out to the lounge room when it was all over, which was a matter of moments. Why didn't I grab him straight away? I don't know. I don't know. The only thing I can say is that I was paralysed. I didn't know what to do. And now I feel guilty that he was the first thing I thought of. Well, I know I knew I had a clear path over the bed to him, I do remember looking at that. But I didn't do it, until the fire was out.
The smell was acrid. Toxic. Electrical mixed with plastic burnt. I refused to sleep back in there with him. Not to mention the fact that it was freezing in there now with no heater, and having had to open the windows. Shane went and found the blow heater and set it up in the spare room, with Toby's bassinet. So Toby and I moved in there.
But I couldn't sleep. I turned the blow heater off before going to bed... I wouldn't leave one of those heaters on while I slept anyway, let alone now. I lay there awake, just certain that something else in the house was about to burst into flame.
The resurrection of fear.
I blogged it.
Anyway, two hours after it happened, after laying there, cold and afraid, and watching Toby, checking on him constantly, I took the bassinet, and a blanket and moved to the lounge room.
I didn't get much sleep here either, on the short uncomfortable lounge. But we were warm. And it felt a bit safer. I'm still paranoid but not quite so much now.
:::
So, tonight is our second full night in the lounge. Shane is happily sleeping in our comfy bed. But it's too cold in there according to the gro-egg thermometer, and I can't put Toby at risk of SIDS like that. I keep thinking how I grew up in a cold, old house, with no heater in the room. When you'd wake with a cold nose. And I'm still here. But it doesn't work like that does it.
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I have more snippets to add, but it's a rushed post that has taken days to get to this point. Now I have a little cootie patootie (blurgh... pet names already hey. Sickening.) who is stirring and needs to feed so that I can hit the sack. Or the lounge as it is right now.
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