The song that affects me the most and never fails to create a huge lump in my throat is "Storybook Love". Theoretically I shouldn't know this song exists as it's never played on radio stations which I tune into, and the film which it's from, "The Princess Bride" isn't one I'd normally watch. However, that's one of Simon's all-time favourite films (I've seen it a couple of times and despite insisting it's not my thing, I suddenly have a strange urge to watch it) and he's had the soundtrack forever (well for the duration of our relationship which is practically forever)
I've recently added "Storybook Love" to my list on Spotify and when I feel like torturing myself I listen to it. The song itself isn't torture, but the memories it sparks kind of are. That song always transports me back to being in our bedroom of our first official home together so many years ago now, September 2001. As I said in my very first post here, that month was the climax of a very tough time, and I still remember how surreal it all was. When I look back I realise just how young and scared Simon & I were, and how we were doing our very best to be brave, and also how flipping proud we were to have secured ourselves a home. It had been a real struggle but thanks to Simon getting a job at the eleventh hour after being let down by several people (he started work on 17th September which was a Monday, six days before our baby was due) and a substantial loan from Mr Barclays Bank which was a godsend at the time but later proved to be a millstone around our necks, we had a house. We'd done it, and the house initially was very impressive - to us, anyway; it was just a fairly standard three-bedroom terraced job - and so exciting. I still remember the letting agent handing the keys over, wishing us good luck and disappearing, leaving us standing uncertainly in the hall of our very first home.
So anyway, the song - our room was fairly big, the biggest bedroom I've ever had actually, and Simon's parents ordered us a double bed. While Darcie was still just about a bump, we did lots of shopping (courtesy of said loan, the bank actually froze Simon's card as we were spending so much they were convinced it had been stolen and someone was going mad in Argos with it!) one of the things we bought, the reason for this escapes me now, was a single bed from a cheap shop - in all honestly I think we were so shell-shocked we ran around buying things randomly! I also had way too much fun chosing a king size duvet and covers for our new bed. However, when the new bed arrived, rather than a double mattress the bloody store messed up and only provided a single one. So we had a double bed frame with single mattress, a wobbly and slightly dubious single bed, and a cool yellow and green sofa bed which didn't go with anything but had been a real bargain! As often happens, sending something back to be replaced with the correct item is an unbelievable nightmare; after lots of threatening phone calls Simons mum finally convinced the store that two people normally sleep on a double bed and unless they're both anorexic a single mattress will not suffice. While we were enduring the seemingly endless wait for our replacement mattress, we had to sort out alternate sleeping arrangements - Simon drew the short straw and crashed on the single mattress on the double bed frame while I got the wobbly single bed. If only we'd been forced to sleep in separate beds 9 months previously then our lives would have been much simpler, a fact we were suddenly grimly aware of!
Darcie arrived just a few days later, and the bed situation remained the same. She slept in her Moses basket near the window (we quickly realised single glazing equals one hell of a draught, if she'd been less sturdy then she'd have caught pneumonia) while I remained on the single bed, next to the radiator. My prize for surviving labour was the rights to the king-size duvet, I have no idea if Simon even had a duvet but I clearly remember him cursing every time he rolled off his single mattress island onto the cold, hard metal bed frame! We had yet to figure out the ageing central heating system which at that stage came on and off randomly, in fact it remained temperamental for the entire three years we would live in that house. I clearly remember waking up cocooned in the kingsize duvet, pouring with sweat as the radiator next to me had suddenly come on full blast, to the sound of a strange noise. It must have taken me a full ten minutes to identify the alien sound while attempting to extricate myself from the duvet prison - with a jolt of horror I realised it was my newborn baby sobbing hysterically for milk while her useless mother slept on! It was that dead time of night, about 2-3am, ages since bedtime and ages until morning, and Simon and I fought with the screaming pink blob while every single other person in the entire world was happily fast asleep.
For the first few weeks of her life, Darcie hated the bedroom light being turned off, clearly being used to always having her own personal lamp in my womb. We eventually invested in a lava lamp which she loved, but initially we left the main light on - even then it was easier to give in than argue with her. It was during one of these endless nights that Simon put the soundtrack to "The Princess Bride" on the stereo, either to drown out the desperate cries of the infant or in a vain attempt to comfort her. The song "Storybook Love" will forever remind me of those early chaotic days of motherhood, when it was all so new, so surreal and so terrifying. That song transports me back to that shaky single bed, the smell of the new duvet wrapped around me, and our mutual silent prayers "please stay asleep, please stay asleep, please don't wake up yet" as Simon and I listened to our baby thrashing around in her Moses basket.
The thing is with life, sometimes the hardest things are better in your memories. I often wish we could be in that place again, to feel what it was like then. I'm sure some nights Simon & I lay there having whispered conversations about what kind of child Darcie would grow into, and how fabulous it would be when she was old enough to do her own thing, and be a companion for us. I know those early months and then years would prove to be the biggest challenge of our lives, and we'd be stretched emotionally more than we could ever have imagined, but they were wonderful days. Looking back now, I realise just how young I was, but also how well I did - with Simon at work, Darcie and I spent 10 hours a day together, and we both survived. Sure sometimes I wanted to throw her out of the window but that's normal, any parent who says they've never felt like that is lying. Having a child means endless sacrifice; putting someone else's needs before your own constantly is indescribably hard. Simon & I had made our choice and I'm proud of how well we coped in those days, apart from the occasional visit to my parents, we literally never had a break. We had no friends or family nearby to really help us out, and we realised we'd have to cope just the two of us. We didn't spend a single night away from Darcie until she was almost 4; we struggled and we had our problems but I honestly believe we did our best for that baby.
Every time I listen to "Storybook Love" I find myself choking up, and asking the same old question: what went wrong? I wish with all my heart sometimes that I could have my baby girl again and get it right this time. Darcie is so unhappy, she's lonely and sad most of the time which is heartbreaking as I never imagined any child of mine would be miserable. Over the past few weeks she's developed a habit of screaming "GO AWAY, just GO AWAY!" at me; it's amazing how hurtful two words can be. I'll walk into her bedroom, or the front room, or even sometimes my own room if she's in there, and I'll be yelled at to leave, like some animal. It makes me so angry as Darcie has absolutely no right to order me around, I truly resent being told where I can and can't be in my own flat by a 9 year old! Underneath the anger there's an underlying sadness though, why doesn't she want me near her? This is the child who I've given up so much for, looked after for nine years and yet she can't abide me. I often lose my temper with Darcie, I defy anyone not to, but I'm not the most patient person in the world. I've said to her that I wish I'd put her into nursery at three months and got a full time job rather than staying at home, I bet she wouldn't resent me like she does if I'd chosen to do that. Some kids hardly ever see their parents; Darcie has two parents who spend so much time with her, and have changed their entire lives for her. I could have had a good job by now, we could have had a nice house, car, holidays abroad, etc. with a bit of luck. But no, I opted to stay at home with Darcie (and later Harvey) so she didn't feel unwanted and resent me - not expecting her to be grateful but blind hatred in return seems a bit unfair!
I have dark moments when I honestly wonder if Darcie would be better off without me. I don't make her happy, perhaps if I wasn't around then she might behave and feel differently. A couple of weeks ago she screamed at me to go away for hours, finally I flipped and walked out of the flat. I stood outside the front door (having no shoes on, no coat and no money meant I couldn't go far, if I ever leave I'll have to think it through properly!) listening to Harvey screaming hysterically for me, devastated that I'd gone. Darcie quite clearly just did not care, she showed no remorse or worry. I came back in after a few minutes as my little boy was heartbroken (I suspect that he was panicking that with me gone his daddy might make him sleep in his own bed) but all I received from my daughter was vague annoyance that I'd come back in. Does Darcie realise that I'd never really leave her and that's why she wasn't bothered? Or was it that she simply wouldn't care if I disappeared?
I think I mentioned that Darcie was on a list for Art Therapy previously, after being stuck in the system for months we finally have an appointment for her on Friday. The building we'll go to is on the sprawling grounds of St James, a hospital for people with mental health problems. Funnily enough it's very near to the university campus where Simon & I lived many moons ago; there used to be a phone box near the driveway where I often called my parents from - this was 1997/8, pre-mobile phone days! I think that phone box is gone now, but I remember all the hours I stood in it listening to my mother rattling on about Eating Proper Meals, Keeping Warm and Shopping Economically whilst silently praying that she'd shut up and send me some cash! (this was also before the days of transferring money online which must be a godsend for poor students now) I never, ever imagined that I'd be taking my daughter to St James Hospital for what is essentially mental health treatment. I'd like to state here that I don't think mental health issues are anything to be ashamed of, but I doubt any parent wants their child to be placed in that category.
As far as I know, Darcie's Art Therapy will be every Friday morning, which means she won't be in school until lunchtime (ironically she's furious at the thought of missing art!) Will it be worth risking the wrath of the headmistress and affecting my child's attendance record? I hope so. I have my doubts but I hope this therapy helps Darcie to express and deal with some of her anger, resentment and jealousy. While she's having it, Simon & I will be attending a counselling session in the same building - we kind of resent having to do this as most professionals treat us like idiots and assume that we're in this situation because of our incompetence. (very nearly wrote impotence then which would bring a whole new dimension to this!) I expect we'll be spoken to in a patronising way and asked questions like "now, when Darcie gets angry is it best to pour boiling water all over her or walk away calmly?" We'll give the counselling a go though, it might help in some way.
Something new is happening on Friday (it's a big day for us - the therapy/counselling then Simon has a diabetes appointment in the afternoon, can life get any more exciting I ask myself?) Darcie will be spending the night away from home, and won't be with her grandparents! Her school has organised a giant sleepover for kids in Year 4, so she'll be sleeping on the assembly hall floor. I must be getting old as I'd be very unwilling to sacrifice my warm soft bed (even if the covers are unironed and I'm forced to sleep with a wriggly four year old who talks in his sleep and randomly demands drinks throughout the night) for a cold stone floor. We initially refused point blank to sign the slip and pay the £10 (the school are being very vague about what this money is being used for, "enhancing school experience in the future" was the weak explanation offered I think; I reckon the unlucky members of staff picked to sleep in school overnight will pocket the money themselves which I can't blame them for in some ways. Or maybe the money gathered will be put towards a face transplant for the headmistress, not being unkind but she has to be one of the ugliest women on the planet. Yep, I'm being unkind.) Darcie screamed and moaned at us for weeks, declaring Simon & I to be the cruellest parents in the world, something I take great pride in. Apparently every single person in her year is going to this sleep over thing, Darcie is also the only child in the entire school not to have an iphone, we're expecting a call from Social Services any day now regarding our deprived daughter.
Finally, Darcie convinced my mum to persuade me to let her go; my mum offered to buy her beloved granddaughter the sleeping bag she needed, plus camping mat to make her more comfortable. All Simon & I had to do was pay the £10, buy Darcie some new warm pyjamas, find her a torch and take her to school. We finally caved and paid up, admittedly the thought of a Darcie-free evening swung it for me! My parents ordered the sleeping bags (one for Harvey too, this is completely unnecessary but my mum felt it was unfair for Darcie to have one and not him, apparently she's going to keep the sleeping bags at her house and has some complicated plan for them) and paid for a fast delivery - they were meant to arrive today but now delivery has been delayed until tomorrow. I will be complaining to Argos which will hopefully result in a grovelling apology letter and some vouchers which will be useful for Christmas. I think we're entitled to complain though - my parents paid for 24 hour delivery, were told it could be any time between 7am-7pm then Argos phoned at 2pm saying we'll have to wait in the following day instead!
Just hope the bloody sleeping bags arrive tomorrow, or I'll be heading into town to buy one personally. Darcie has to be at school by 6.30pm on Friday, there's going to be some kind of spooky game in the playground with torches which sounds frankly terrifying, then they're watching a film, then it will be bedtime. My mind is full of worries - will she be cold? will she brush her teeth? will she be frightened? should I send her with a drink? (the letter included a list as long as my arm of things which will be confiscated if the children take them, there was no mention of drinks being forbidden but will she get into trouble if she takes one?) will she like the "free" snack of squash and crackers? will someone pick on her? will she lose something vital like her pyjamas or sleeping bag? how many pairs of knickers should I pack? does she need a fresh set of clothes for Saturday morning or are all the kids just going to put the things from the previous evening back on? This is alien territory and I'm 99% certain that something will go very wrong. We have to collect her at 8.30/9am on Saturday morning - my child will be the one wearing filthy crumpled clothes, with unbrushed hair, hungry, tired and angry. I will miss her on Friday night though, it's going to be very odd.
On Tuesday some kind of bug hit the Balding-Rudd household, in fact Harvey said he felt sick over the weekend so it might have started then. He often says he feels sick so being the terrible mother I am, I basically ignored his cries and hoped he'd stop moaning. He hasn't been sick, but is off his food, not unusual at all as the slightest thing makes Harvey completely stop eating. Darcie has been pale and off-colour for a day or two, she never admits to being ill so it's a mystery as to how she's feeling - she isn't eating much either which is highly unusual for her. I'm praying that whatever she's got disappears by Friday, knowing our luck she'll be sick that morning meaning the sleepover will be a no-no and our lives will be hell for at least a month.
I started feeling sick and generally awful on Tuesday evening, and Simon woke up feeling rough too. Neither of us have eaten a thing all day (except some Heroes chocolates mid afternoon, we need to keep our strength up) and I've basically lazed around as I have zero energy. Painkillers help although there is no specific pain apart from a vague tummy ache; we've just felt utterly sick and generally crappy. Slept for two hours this afternoon - I was so grateful that both kids were at school all day and I didn't have to drag myself to nursery at 11.30am for Harvey and then keep him happy all afternoon. Felt better in the evening but fell asleep at 9pm after Darcie went to bed, and woke at midnight in a total frenzy as I hadn't got the uniforms ready for tomorrow. I'm really struggling with washing and organising two sets of uniform - one was fairly simple but two seems impossible! Realised at midnight that Harvey has no jumper clean (just didn't have the energy for laundry today, then again I'm always behind with it) so have washed one ready for tumble drying in the morning. It's now 3am and I need to go back to bed, feel tired but reluctant to lie down as my stomach is making worrying gurgling noises and I'm not quite sure what that means. Realised that apart from the chocolates we haven't eaten anything since Tuesday lunchtime, by teatime the sickness had suddenly arrived and I couldn't face my pizza which was vile anyway. Strangely I don't even feel hungry really, half hoping I carry on like this as I'm going to lose serious amounts of weight!
Suppose I'd better finish this now, grab a drink and lie down - Harvey was exhausted tonight and wailed virtually continuously from when I collected him at 3pm until 7.15pm when he fell asleep, he refused point blank to eat any tea apart from 3 heroes chocolates. I'd better get some sleep as I'm sure he'll be awake in about three hours......bye for now.
