08 May 2008

All Sewn Up

It’s amazing what you can come to consider as normal because you’ve grown accustomed to it.
A husband snoring by your side sporting a lime green eye mask with ‘Sleep Tight’ printed seductively across the front in a girly font. A Nanna pretending to be a Smash Robot, jerking around the lounge in pursuit of potatoes for peeling (Chickie’s the potato). Or even your child nestling down to snoozies with three pairs of socks on each hand and a t-shirt with the sleeves sewn up.

Fortunately, I have a sister who monitors the family closely to nip any disturbing new trends in the bud. In my defence, and this is exactly what I’ll tell Social Services, my child’s homemade straight jacket was fashioned out of necessity and, I like to think, an element of cunning.

My research proves that it’s very hard for a child who pulls his hair to do so when wearing his entire sock drawer on his hands. Even harder when the sleeves are sewn up too. And so the ritual began. I rather liked it. Chickie averted an incoming comb-over and the socks were proving excellent value for money.

My sister wasn’t so keen. “What if he gets attached to the socks?”
“He doesn’t care about the socks”
“But he might think he can’t go to sleep without them?”
“He has no interest in the socks” I reiterated.
“What if he develops a sock fixation?”
“Isn’t it better than a hair pulling fixation?”
“I don’t like the socks”

Months passed with my sister not liking the socks. She recruited mum to her cause. A weekly enquiry would be made as to whether they were still in circulation and disapproving grunts made upon confirmation. Renewed hair growth and Chickie’s complete disinterest in his alternative nightwear did nothing to reassure them. The tuts got louder until the day my sister presented her findings following her extensive research into compulsive hair pulling, or Trichotilomania, as it’s known officially.

Whilst the prognosis for younger children was encouraging and likely linked to habit, it was a habit that needed breaking. My sister closed with her recommendation.

The following morning, Chickie sat statue still in the Barber’s chair whilst I ordered a Number One all over. The Barber raised his Number Five eyebrow. “It’ll look quite severe” he warned. I nodded gravely before giving the order to proceed.

Ten minutes later, a fuzzy Chick checked out his new do, stroking a curious hand over his bristles. He attempted a small tug but, being male, soon lost interest when it became clear pulling it would now require effort.

Sister was thrilled to hear that Chickie went to sleep that night a free man, all ten digits released into the evening air thanks to her relentless campaigning.

Now freed up for other projects, it seemed an excellent time to mention Accountant’s worrying new attachment to a ladies eye mask.

So ‘Sleep Tight’ Sweetheart, while you still can!

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