I was aroused from a peaceful sleep by those immortal words, "Muuum, mummy!"
having survived Cork Hospital, I returned to England in order to visit my
nephews, as promised. My new surroundings took time to comprehend, as I was
staying with my Sister in her new home and all was unfamiliar. I distinctly
remember informing my nephew Simon, age three, that under No circumstances
was he to wake me up. Both boys rallied at 6am, their young spirits
stimulated into action. The passing years and health problem had mellowed my
spirits, I no longer rallied, I just came too, sluggishly.
While the only light, a street lamp, bore through the bedroom window, I
could hear Simon crying for his Mother. I hauled this body into a vertical
position, donned my bathrobe and fingered my way out into the hall. I
suspected Simon had woken from a bad dream, in which case I would merely
tuck him in, then whisper "Good night", what could be easier?
The luminous face on my watch displayed 3am, my brain had not engaged, as I
fumbled with his bedroom door. Groping for the light switch, I jerked the
stud down. The brilliant bulb blinded me. As my pupils adjusted I detected
Simon sat upright in bed, staring at me!
His initial words, "My bed is wet Gillian" failed to register as I replied,
"Well never mind Simon, turn over and go back to sleep". I am not at my
mental prime this early. "WET" his bed is wet? Moving into the room I found
myself staring up at the ceiling, "Simon has it been raining then?" He
looked sleepy and bewildered.
Then it hit me, 'He had wet his bed!'
My course on child psychology down loaded: young children do this and under
no circumstances do you scold them. Grasping for words I stuttered "No I do
not think it has been raining!" Simon was now kneeling on his damp bed,
inspecting the darkness outside his window.
I had to pull myself together, which at 3am is easier said than done. A plan
of action was called for, "Well never mind, you can come and sleep with me!"
Logical thinking, that would save me a few hours. I grabbed his hand, "But I
do not want to sleep with you, because you smell!"
The ability to scent runs deep in the family genealogy. If it does not smell
friendly, the chances are it is not friendly. Simon did have a valued point,
my bathrobe was still ingrained with that septic odour from hospital.
So he chose not to sleep with me. "Simon get out of bed!" He sat their
studying me. Simon is not a computer or a dog, he is just a child, so I
would have to engage my child mode. "Simon what do you think we should do?"
that should evoke some response. "Mummy changes my bed Gillian!", and at
this point I started to hate my sister.
I was in a strange house at 3am, with a three year old, whom was expecting
me to put his damp world to right.
I perused the room. A wardrobe stood in the corner, aside a chest of draws,
all decorated with "Thomas The Tank Engine" and friends.
Pyjamas, that was it, Simon needed dry pyjamas, but where were they? Simon
then said, "My pillow is wet as well, but Tigger is dry!" I could see the
other stuffed toys applauding Tigger, as he managed to swim for dry land.
"Simon where does mummy keep your clean pyjamas?", the answer failed to come
but he held onto Tigger! "My bed is wet Gillian" as if I did not know, he
had to repeat it! I turned to the toy box behind me. On top was a large
remote control Thomas The Tank Engine, so I picked it up. Simon witnessed
this action, curiously he cried, "Gillian what are you doing with Thomas?" I
replied, "Thomas is helping me find your pyjamas!"
I had suddenly gained his full attention, my words were being digested, cogs
were turning and then he said, "Don't be silly, Thomas is a Tank Engine!"
3am is not the right time to be demanding money back on a child psychology
course, 9am would be soon enough.
"Simon you are going to have to tell me where mummy keeps your clean
pyjamas, PLEASE!"
So I grovelled, come on it was 3am! The word please had a impact. "Their in
that draw with the Fat Controller on!", pointing towards a rather enormous
man dressed in a top hat, whom I assumed was the controller.
Sure enough, several pairs of clean, dry, ironed pyjamas were stockpiled, in
that exact precise draw! Taking the first pair I spread them on the floor,
"Come on then jump out of bed and put these on!"
At the age of three, children put nothing on. They attempt to put items of
clothing on, but usually end up with legs and arms incorrectly positioned.
Therefore I peeled off the soggy pyjamas, while Simon held onto Tigger. I
admit, the trousers looked wrong, but it was now 3.30am and not a fashion
show!
While I am bending unbendable legs, manoeuvring Tigger under arms, into
sleeves and hunting for hands, let alone toes; I know he had them to start
with, Simon said, "You are going to die Gillian!", how very observant of
him!
His body now occupied clean dry pyjamas, while his mind dwelled on the
deeper questions of life, but stage one as far as I was concerned was
complete.
Stage two, change the bed.
"Simon do you know where mummy keeps the bed covers?" He was now playing
with Thomas and my watched showed 4am. "Simon it is very late, I am tired,
PLEASE come to bed with me!" Simon let go of Thomas, looked up and said, "I
want to sleep in MY bed with Tigger!"
For the first time in my life, OH how I wished I was Tigger!
Love and God Bless
Gillian