So she
took me to another doctor, who said the same thing. If you were to ever meet my
mother you’d know pretty quickly that she is not at all the panicky person
type. I can count two times when she’s been like that, and that was two times
when she felt that the events that had ensued were her fault. When it comes to
her children’s health and well being, for the most part she’s a ‘take a
paracetamol and go to bed. You’ll live” type of parent. She only ever takes us
to the doctors if she knows we need it. She took me to a third doctor. He checked
my ears and sent me to a paediatrician straight away. I had massive fluid
build-up in my ears and required grommets. They were put in and a few days
later I was walking.
Just
a quick note: the South African health system is more like the US system than
the British one. You get insurance, or you get it provided by your employer.
Which means that you can often see a doctor a lot quicker than you can on the
NHS and being transferred to specialists takes a lot less time. It also means
you can get useless vitamin B injections in the winter (without being tested
for vitamin deficiency) and all sorts of stupid treatments you don’t actually
need. The government hospitals aren’t that great, which leads to a massive
disparity between the health of the middle class and wealthy and the health of
the poor. I love the NHS, even though you wait longer to see specialists in
non-emergency situations.
Anyway,
back to the walking. Perhaps it was a bad idea for my mother to get me checked
out by the doctor. I mean, obviously something needed to be done about my ears,
but learning to walk meant I could get into all sorts of trouble. I’d been
causing trouble in my nursery for quite a while. The ability to walk made this
worse. I went through a phase of biting the other children. My mother, who
worked at the same nursery, but in the pre-school section, had to apologise to
the parents of these children. I also woke everyone up at nap times. I’ve
always been someone who needs her sleep to be routine and relatively
regimented. Even to this day I have an exact time I go to bed, because if I
don’t go to sleep at a certain time I won’t get 8 hours of rest. I need 8 hours
sleep. No more than that. Even as a baby, toddler and child I didn’t need a lot
of naps. I’ve also always had to be very routine with my eating. No on demand
feeding for me. Nope, I got fed at certain times of the day and that was that,
because otherwise I wouldn’t eat properly or enough. No bottles at nap times or
bed time for me.
The
thing is, in the baby side section of a nursery there’s a lot of napping that
goes on. There’s not much scope for flexibility. My mother would drop me off,
the toddlers would have breakfast, the babies would have their bottles and down
for the first nap we’d go. I wasn’t having any of it. Not only was I expected
to go back to sleep so soon after waking up, but I had to do it to the sounds
of other children sucking on their bottles. To express my displeasure, I
proceeded to go from cot to cot, throwing mattresses out of the cots while drinking
the other children’s bottles. I couldn’t walk at this point, but I certainly
could climb out of cots and into other cots. I was not very popular with the
staff.
I
honestly don’t know why my parents had two more children after me.
Walking
just made things worse. Once you reached toddler age and were toddling about,
you were allowed out into the outdoor bit of the baby side. To quickly explain,
the place my mother worked at was connected to a military camp, and so it was
rather large by normal nursery standards. There were various different age
group classes, split off into different sections. The older children section,
from 2 years plus, was up the hill slightly. Everything was split off into
different rooms where the different age groups went. The baby side was down the
hill, past the principal’s office and behind the kitchens and dining room. The
outdoor space was huge. The older children had a very large space to play in,
with a top section where we were allowed to play in all of the time, a middle
section that we couldn’t go to unless there were teachers there and the bottom
bit that only after schoolers were allowed to go to when the other children
napped. The baby side had its own fenced off area within the bottom and middle
bits of the fields. The fence had slightly bent railings, with gaps the perfect
size for a baby to fit through, if she twisted and squeezed herself through.
To
be fair on the nursery workers, they’d not had a child like me before. They
probably hadn’t thought to check the iron railings as, well, they’re iron so
unlikely to be bent by puny little toddlers, and they’d never had any escapees
before. I was the first. The other toddlers saw what I was doing and proceeded
to follow me. All but one. She was a little chubbier than the rest of us and
couldn’t fit through. Instead she sat on the ground and cried, giving the rest
of us away. We were rounded up and brought back. I proceeded to keep escaping.
After the biting, the Great Napping Revolt of ‘87 and the escaping, they had
enough and expelled me from the baby side. At 18 months I was already a bit of
a rebel.
I
don’t know if this was before or after I got my head stuck in a gate.
I
think everyone thought I was trying to escape to see my mother. After all, she
was only a few metres away from where I was, it would make logical sense that I
would be trying to find her.
I
wasn’t. I was trying to get out. There was a big wide world out there, and I
wanted to go and see it. The fences were inconveniencing me, and I was going to
find a way through them. This lead to the one day when I caused most of the
nursery to panic.
The
nursery was surrounded by some pretty heavy duty fencing. It was far too high
to jump over, not very easy to climb up and almost impossible to climb under,
unless there was a hole in it. I’ll come to that later. The gate was pretty
tall, but it wasn’t solid. Instead it had gaps in it. The same sort of gaps
that that iron fence had. This gate was what was separating me from that
exciting world outside. I had to try it. I stuck my head through and…got stuck.
From
the way my mother describes it she was internally panicking while trying to
remain calm on the outside. Here was her daughter, her only child, with her
head stuck in a gate. The other teachers and nursery workers gathered round,
forgetting that there were quite a number of other children requiring
supervision out in the playgrounds behind. My mother reminded them all of that
fact and tried to shoo them away. Running through all the scenarios in her
head, she figured the only solution was to call the fire brigade and get them
to cut me out. From the sounds of it I was in no such panic. My small little
brain was trying to figure this conundrum out. Out there where my head was
sticking out is where I wanted to be. I didn’t want to go back in the direction
of the rest of my body. Besides, my ears were preventing me from doing this. As
my mother was about to call to get me cut out I twisted my body to the side, popped
my shoulders and the rest of me through and started running as fast as I could
across the military hospital car park. Relieved, and probably rather concerned
I may be hit by a car, my mother opened the gate grabbed me and brought me
back.
I
like to think that tales of my escapades were passed down from the toddlers I
was in the baby side with to the toddlers that came after me. I like to imagine
that, as the adults watched on, stories of how I almost got away were gurgled
from one toddler to another. In my imaginings they made a pact to try and
succeed where I had failed. A few years after my escape attempt, one of the
teachers turned to see a group of nappy clad toddlers waddling across the car
park. They almost managed to get away with it. It was obvious that they must
have gotten through the fence somehow, as the gate had since been replaced by
one more difficult to escape from (as well as the cots in the baby side being
placed further apart from each other for some reason). Herded back into the grounds
by the teachers they let them go in order to see where this baby sized hole
was. As expected, each of the toddlers headed straight to where they’d escaped
from. The hole was repaired. To my knowledge that was the last escape attempt
from the nursery school.
My
escape attempts stopped. I no longer terrorised the other children by stealing
their bottles and keeping them awake during nap time. I was still a little
terror, a tantrum throwing little minx who wanted to get her own way no matter
what. My mother has a theory that I was just really, really bored, as I started
behaving as soon as I went off to school and started learning.
My
parents struggled financially in those first few years of marriage. My mother
was fresh out of college and working her first full time job when she found out
she was pregnant with me. Apparently she was only three months into her new
job. It must have been pretty daunting to have to tell your new employers that
you’re pregnant soon after starting, especially considering the lack of
employee protection in those days. My father moved from his managerial position
to working as an insurance salesman at some point. I’m not exactly when. They
had a little flat, just the right size for a family of three, but not anywhere
nearly big enough for the family they wanted.
When
I was 2 years old we moved into our first house. Number 36 Applemist Road,
Ottery. I’ve found it on Google Street View and wondered if the owners after us
kept the orange tree I’d planted in the back garden. They certainly didn’t keep
the hedge my father planted and lovingly cared for, or the carnations he grew
for my mother. I doubt that they kept the rest, as the front garden is nothing
but grass now. It’s funny how, even when something is no longer yours, you still
feel some sort of ownership over it, and feel insulted when the changes you
made, the memories you had, are painted over. Or, in our case, grassed over.
Little
did I know that a big reason for this move was because our family of three was
to expand to a family of four. If I had known this, and if I had understood
this, I probably would have protested and stated that we were fine the way we
are. As will become clear in Chapter 2, I wasn’t really big sister material for
a very long time. I mean, why did my parents need another child? Surely I was
enough of a handful for them, as it was.
It’s
probably a good thing I had no say in the matter. I can only imagine how
unbearable I would have been if I hadn’t had to learn how to compromise and
cope with a sibling who couldn’t always be pushed into doing what I wanted to
do.
This is great :)
ReplyDelete