How a movie put me into hospital

So I bet you're dying to hear how going to a movie landed me in hospital?

Let me explain.

This date, January 24, seems to be a significant one on our calendar. You'll see what I mean.

First of all, it would appear that our Huggies-free era may be in its' infancy. After nearly seven years of nappies on various bottoms (rarely mine), the potty-resistant Mouse made her first steps towards big-girl undies today. My Mum was looking after Jack and the Mouse, and she took them down to the beach early this morning to get a paddle in before the sun reached its' zenith. Apparently, at some point the Mouse was coerced by Narnie into having a go on the potty. Narnie must have some magical powers, cos Mummy has had Z.E.R.O. success with Toilet Training The Third Child ( heretofore known as TTTTC) So there you have notable January 24 fact number one :)

Right now, I'm in bed with Phoebalina, Ernie, and a whole lotta tissues, watching the tennis. If my girl weren't so miserable, it'd be lovely. But the reason why Jack and the Mouse were with Narnie today is that my middle baby went to hospital and had her adenoids removed. That nasty old general anaesthetic has knocked her for six. She is pale, a bit weepy and all bent out of shape. I couldn't be more proud.

Phoebs has dealt with snozz-related issues since she was born, and we've been waiting for this surgery for six months. I was so relieved that we were squeezed in by the specialist with enough time to recover for school. I was also delighted that any anxiety Phoebe had about her "nostrils" being removed was mostly alleviated by a new pink Dora nightie to wear to hospital.

We were at Frankston hospital at 7 this morning, and she was discharged about 4pm. Phoebs spent time playing in the toy room of the paediatric ward (I drank about 50 cups of air coffee), spoke to anaesthetists and nurses and doctors, and wore her hospital gown with aplomb. She wasn't too impressed with the hairnets required for the operating theatre, but quietly drew a picture while waiting for her turn. Every single person who cared for my daughter today was quite simply brilliant. They spoke kindly, made jokes to make her laugh, allayed her fears and kept her comfortable. And in return, my little girl was a very grown-up, quite tiny-looking-in-the-hospital-bed, five year old who was very brave (and quite stylish too).

It was our first time to have a child in hospital under a general anaesthetic, having surgery. So as far as notable fact for January 24 number two goes, I couldn't be more delighted that it's over. As far as I'm concerned, Phoebe's healthy new life starts today. Nothing will stop her now!!

Which brings me to the explanation of how going to a movie landed me in hospital. For you see, ten years ago, on January 24, 2003, I went to see 'Chicago' at Rosebud Cinema. I remember that I had a drink at the pub beforehand, and that it was about 42 degrees that day. And it was on that January 24 that I realised that the man I was talking to was really, really funny. And clever. And just...nice. Not the revelation I expected while talking to someone I'd known for quite some time, but then again, on that January 24 I worked out pretty quickly that I didn't really know this guy at all. And I really, really wanted to.

So, January 24, 2003 to January 24, 2013. One rather lovely bloke took me to a movie, and it turned into ten years, a sprawling, gap-toothed 6 year old, a growing-up-too-fast 3 year old...and a snoring 5 year old lady lying next to me in the bed, with a purring old-man pussy cat between us for comfort. I reckon that movie ticket was worth every cent.