A hint of mild schitzophrenic panic ...

This week my big bold adventurer is going into hospital to have grommets fitted. Hopefully by the end of the day of the operation he will be able to hear properly!

I am very excited but there is a hint of mild schitzophrenic panic. I made the grave mistake of watching an episode of ER last week where a child died in hospital. I sat with a lump in my throat until the end and then watched the final of Masterchef which just pushed me over the edge.

Not only will he be able to hear, but, his speech will improve. Whilst his speech is delayed one word answers have now moved on to full sentences. Some things are clearer than others and need no translation, but when his ears are bad the translation can become time consuming and frustrating.

My latest translation triumphs were ...

meeyonbiowsiiii? = Can I play on my bike outside?

nitno'ot = It's snowing, a lot.

itdogysi'onneeee = The little dog is sitting on my knee.

cartsonplee = I would like some carrots please.

thanyoomearv = Thank you for having me.

He's fairly non plussed about the whole 'going to hospital' part, although I'm not sure he understands. We bought a book called 'tubes in my ears' from Amazon. Published some time in the 1980's it seems to focus in on the fact that although the boy can hear when he comes out of surgery he is also violently sick over his mother. The boys father, dressed in a suit, is always in the background looking non interested and talking on a mobile phone the size of a rugby ball. On the plus side the 3 year old has discovered he will ride on a bed with wheels and he will have teeeny weeny tubes in his ears that will help him hear.

Last month he had a week of really good hearing which was hopefully a taste of things to come. His ears must have drained and the only reason we knew was because EVERYTHING WAS TOO LOUD.

The husband had a moment in a public toilet when the 3 year old screamed blue murder on hearing a hand drier, which has now grown into a phobia of hand driers. The mere sight of one and he covers his ears. Also his sisters singing gave him the eeby jeebies, but then she does, at times, sound like Snow White holding a pneumatic drill.

I seem to have the idea that all that waiting around will mean that I can read my book in peace. Who am I kidding. I will be the mother rocking back and forth, looking nervous, weeping and clutching Lulu.

I'm actually looking forward to the bit where he is violently sick all over me. At least it will be over!