So this week I decided to pull myself together, and write a blockbuster, only no one told Pinkie and Blue, who between them managed to claim every waking moment.
“Nothing serious, but you should probably take him to the dentist.”
“Those lovely white second front teeth… yeah, well they’re now smashed to pieces,” (I’m not quoting verbatim I admit.)
“I’m on my way,” I said and moved at a speed Superman would envy.
The bulk of Monday was spent at the dentist. After which, much time was spent assuring Blue that the gnashers could be fixed and that the jagged stumps he was currently sporting wouldn’t spontaneously fall out.
“In a couple of days when they’re not so sore the dentist will work magic,” I said confidently.
Tuesday I had to do some work, the real kind that pays, the graphic design kind. I’ve been designing icons for an app which when I quoted for, I thought sounded straight forward enough, but oh how wrong I can be. It’s no ones fault, just a more painful project than I expected and it syphoned the life out of me, leaving no room at all for any creative thought except how to break dry January without feeling guilty. In the end I just figured I deserved it, so there.
Wednesday Pinkie had an M.O.T. It was just a routine appointment, no biggy. We’ve been doing well on our mission Pinkie vs Winter (see blog post 5/11/15) so I had no real concerns. Pinkie was happily playing with plastic gloves and the sink in the room we were in, as she has done since she was no age, only now I don’t bring a change of clothes, when we were introduced to the new psychologists. Pinkie has a fear of needles which has proven problematic on numerous occasions, so when we were talking in general terms about areas the last psycologist had covered Pinkie went green.
“I feel sick.”
I looked at her and knew she wasn’t joking so we ran to the bathroom, where Pinkie almost turned herself inside out.
“It must be a bug,” I said, “probably best if I get her home.”
I was issued with a handful of paper maché bowls and wipes for our journey home.
“We’ll be in touch about rescheduling,” said our favourite nurse.
At least she’d been weighed before a tummy bug had got her I was thinking.
Not even half way home Pinkie looked at me and said, “have you got any bacon at home, I’m quite hungry.”
It transpired that Pinkie hasn’t got a tummy bug, just a fear that is going to need some serious energy and time to handle. I thought we’d made progress last summer after it was explained to her that she’s frightened because she can remember being really young when we had to pin her down and just do it. I can pinpoint the day, annual review when she was three. Pinkie has always been very communicative, an early talker, and she understood everything even before she could be reasoned with. I didn’t know if I should forewarn her that she was going to be jabbed with a needle by the nice smiley nurse or not. In the end I sugar coated it and said "hold your arm out", trusting as always she obeyed. I held her so she was looking in the opposite direction and then another nurse held her wrist so the bloods nurse could get busy. Pinkie was horrified, hysterical, sobbing, unconsolable, and from that day forward the Treatment Room was a place where needle bearing monsters and evil lurks.
I was running through this with the new psychologists when the sickness struck. I called them when we got home to say she was cured of the sickness bug and that it was a bit more serious than that. They have plans and are ready to work with Pinkie to erase the terror tiny Pinkie has left in her wake. They are confident that Pinkie will realise that the ‘tiny Pinkie’ that used to hammer on the fridge shouting “Ham” will soon stop hammering on her phobia button and she will learn to cope. Let’s hope so.
Thursday I wrote 46 words of my blockbuster - so that's basically done then!
Friday, Blue and I headed back to the dentist. The stumps were still sore but Blue is quietly braver than anyone ever. He just never makes a fuss, even when he was a baby getting his vaccinations he barely whimpered. I sometimes worry that he thinks he has to be good because Pinkie is such a cause of concern, that if he shows off it’ll be the final straw that tips me into a padded jacket.
“Do you need a break before I do the next one?” asked the dentist.
“No, carry on,” he said, “I’ve got food tech at 12 and I want to be there for it. We’re making soup.”
I had previously told him that the dentist could work magic and celebs like Chezza or Simon Cowell have paid thousands to have the same done to their teeth. I didn’t know how right I was, the new front teeth look exactly the same as the old ones, and Blue’s cheeky smile is back.
I dropped him to school in time for his cookery lesson. It wasn’t until a little while ago when I had to add water to the winter vegetable soup to get it out of the flask that I was sorry I had.
The blockbuster is going to happen next week - absolutely, definitely, next week.