It was never going to be easy

Oh my beautiful beautiful little boy, we did it. We sat through that awful EEG and discovered that you are healthy.

Such a tired, sweaty boy after so much screaming
and struggling, and a very teary mama.

It was never going to be easy. Whenever I hear bloodcurdling screams from upstairs at bath time, I know that your daddy is washing your hair. And I STILL don't actually know if your last molars are partially, fully or not-at-all through yet (you drew blood from my finger in one very earnest attempt to find out). You are funny about people messing about around your head. I talked to you about it a little throughout the day, but I didn't want to discuss it so much that you became worried all day like me. I just told you that we were going to the doctor again, a new doctor, and that he was going to do some special tests on your head (yes, that's your head. And yes, there's my head.) to make sure everything is okay. Closer to the appointment I told you that maybe you'd have to wear a special hat, and you seemed okay with that.

But it was never going to be easy. Just like how you need time to get used to the idea of snow before you play with it, or how you need at least five half-hour visits to walk around the little toy ride-on tractor at the supermarket before you consider sitting on it, and just like how you stand and watch children play in an unfamiliar playground for twenty minutes before tentatively joining them yourself, you would have needed time to be okay with it. But as it was, we sat together on the bed, you screaming and thrashing about in my lap, your daddy pulling out everything I'd brought to distract you and keep you happy (games on the tablet and my phone, my computer with shows to watch, your favourite books, stickers, etc), you screaming so incredibly hard, going bright red  and sweating from head to toe, unable to catch your breath, sobbing. Oh the sobbing. You were just an absolute absolute wreck. I'm sorry that, in your short life so far, there is ever a situation where you would become so upset. The worst part for me was that I couldn't even rest my head against yours, or nuzzle you in to my chest while telling you I'm here, your daddy's here, you are safe, it won't last forever, everything will be okay... Each time you exhausted yourself so much that your head would flop against me, an electrode would come loose and the lady would have to reattach it. And then the screaming would start all over again.

I didn't lie to you. It didn't last forever. When it was over, you asked for a bottle and just collapsed in my arms exhausted. When the neurologist spoke to us afterwards, he said that your brain activity was absolutely normal and that you showed no signs of brain abnormalities, thank god. We looked at the videos of your wobbly leg and of your newborn twitches/seizures. He watched you run around, declared you (in jest) a genius when you managed to do puzzles well beyond your age, checked reflexes and head circumference (no surprises, You're huge! But, as he says, "geniuses need big heads.") and asked us some tough questions, such as how old were you when you began putting things away. There, with this lovely man, you were happy.

Happy again soon after the ordeal, the pressure marks from the electrodes still on your forehead.

It is incredible to me how you are able to bounce back from what appeared to be one of the most stressful situations of your life. You were were babbling, giggling and wiggling away like your normal self in no time. No lasting damage, it seems.

I'm away from you this weekend, little bean. I'm doing the Swiss national netball trials in Geneva. I wish I could be with you for an hour right now, that precious morning hour, give you a thousand hugs and tell you I always love you all the time no matter what, no matter where I am.

Love Mummy