Un-slumping

I'm sorry to say so
but, sadly, it's true
that Bangs-ups
and Hang-ups
can happen to you.

You can get all hung up 
in a prickle-ly perch.
And your gang will fly on.
You'll be left in a Lurch.

You'll come down from the Lurch
with an unpleasant bump.
And the chances are, then,
that you'll be in a Slump.

And when you're in a Slump,
you're not in for much fun.
Un-slumping yourself 
is not easily done.

From 'Oh, the places you'll go!' by Dr. Seuss

As I've mentioned, Jessica is going through a Dr. Seuss phase at present. I must have read every Dr. Seuss book we have (and we have a fair few) on occasions rapidly approaching triple figures now. I think it has addled my brain as I frequently find myself thinking that Dr. Seuss was some kind of a misunderstood genius. I find myself nodding along sagely as I read the darn things.
Yes, you should try Green Eggs and Ham.
Yes, it is a bad idea to allow strange cats wearing hats into your home whilst your Mother is out.
Yes, funny things ARE everywhere.
Damn straight Dr. Seuss my old bean.

He may write charming nonsense rhymes for children but he knew a thing or two.
No bulls*** from my old pal Dr Seuss.

Bang-ups and hang-ups certainly did happen to me.
I did get hung up in a prickley-perch.
My gang did fly on.
I was left in a Lurch.

And yes, predictably, I'm now in a Slump. It's not much fun. The next logical move according to my latest text for life which appears to be . . . .'Oh! The Places you'll go!' by Dr. Seuss (proof positive that I have, in fact, lost the last tiny remnants of my mind) is to move on to un-slumping. As the man says, un-slumping yourself is not easily done.

If I fail to un-slump myself, nobody will particularly care and it is not particularly important in the grand scheme of things.
But this is a one shot deal, unless you believe in reincarnation, and spending it in a slump seems like a bit of a waste to me. Particularly when accompanied by a husband and a daughter as brainy and footsy as mine. Read enough Dr. Seuss and you'll start describing your nearest and dearest as footsy too.

So I've been on a Slump identification and management programme.
Search and destroy.

Slump # 1
Jessica's growth. I think I've been in denial about this one. Jessica is still wearing 9-12 month clothing and hasn't been putting on much weight recently. I weighed and measured her a few days ago and plotted her position on the centile charts and she has dropped away a little.
To un-slump this I am re-instigating the 'So you had a dinky baby, feed them like a school child of the 1950s and watch 'em chub up' diet. Patent pending. So Jessica is back to meat, potatoes and two veg followed by fruit crumble and custard / rice pudding / semolina and jam twice a day. Plus my sneaking in a little cheese or cream to her meals. I do have a hotline to the dietician before you start worrying. This scheme has paid dividends in the past so I'm hoping it might help Jess put on just a tiny bit more before her next review.

Slump # 2
My absolute failure to fall pregnant. I've also been in denial about this one. I have tentatively starting buying ovulation tests and the like but to no avail.
To un-slump this I went to see the doctor to ask if there might be a reason. He told me to come back in a year. Not what I wanted to hear as I don't know if I can stand the suspense of another year of this but at least I tried. Perhaps it is all for the best that I don't fall pregnant again anyhow.

Slump # 3
Work. Hard to un-slump this one. Particularly as by some rather mean set of circumstances I have been lumbered with two maternity projects and one acute paediatrics project over the coming weeks. Oh and one mental health project too. Thanks colleagues. Is it because I'm the only woman? Or do you just have a dark sense of humour? Or some kind of collective amnesia? But I will try and un-slump. Dr Seuss did tell me it wasn't going to be easy. Just smile, try and be professional and talk really rapidly. Oh, and smile a lot.  I'm sure I can handle all mentions of childbirth and infant mortality and so on.

Slump # 4
Jessica's preferred mode of communication is still the grunt. Admittedly she has a wide range of tones (from enraged to benevolent) and pitches (from bass to squeaky) but still only grunts. Words. Nope. Un-slumping strategy is to stop being so ridiculous. She will speak in her own good time I hope and to be honest, who cares.

Slumps # 5  to 50
This post is already getting too long but I'm trying on a number of fronts to un-slump. Bitterness. Envy. Anger. Resentment. Shyness. Loss of confidence. Uncertainty. Self doubt. Self loathing. Weakness. Dependence.

But obviously the biggest slump is the most difficult slump of all to un-slumpify.

Georgina is dead.
It still feels so agonizingly close, I nearly caught her by the very tips of my fingers.
She was so very nearly there.
She was conceived (a minor miracle if my recent attempts are anything to go by) and developed normally.
She survived being born.
She survived her first 24 hours, her first 48 hours, her first 72 hours.
But then she died.
And I can't remember enough.

I know that Georgina is always present. In the same way that my ears are usually listening for Jessica's grunts (or in particularly hard times, wails) and my eyes constantly search for her fuzzy head bobbing along (even when I'm at work and she is fifty miles away) my mind is constantly aware of Georgina's presence. I'm always hoping for memories to be restored to me.

It seems so unbelievable that this child, Georgina, who now feels as distant as a dream, so very other, was once in such close physical proximity to me. That she lived inside me. Her heart beat inside my body. Her eyes and brain flickered into life inside my body. So close to me. Nestled inside my viscera. That I nourished her with the food that I ate and the air I breathed. Even more impossible than Jessica's presence in that same place.

Georgina was born. Georgina was alive. She was so close. I was so close. Happiness. But she's gone and I can't remember enough of her.
My skin touched her skin. How incredible and unfathomable. This skin that still coats me now touched Georgina.
I held her living, breathing body.
I looked into her eyes.
I wish I could remember the space occupied by that tiny body, how it felt to hold her, the exact dimensions and weights, her hair, her smell. I feel as though my muscles should bear the imprints, that they should remember precisely how it felt to touch that child of mine.
It seems so improbable, so unlikely, that we touched. But we did. I know we did.
I have a photograph.

Try as I might, I can't seem to un-slump from this one. But I suppose I simply have to keep trying.