Do you want to know what I can hear right now?

The sound of a small boy CRYING at the top of his lungs. That would be Alex. Let me tell you his story.

I was delighted when I found out I was pregnant again, and even more so when we found out we were having a little boy. Pregnancy was a breeze, although I was under considerable stress from the neighbours from hell. Then at 36 weeks, everything started to go wrong. I started to bleed and an ambulance was called. I spent two nights in hospital while they tried to get the bleeding under control. For the next two weeks, I spent three or fours hours nearly every morning at the hospital being monitored. Then one of the traces found that the baby had minimal movements and there was talk of induction. I saw an ob that morning who sent me home and told me to wait until I went into labour. That night I started bleeding again, and passed clots this time.

After spending the night in hospital, they doctors finally agreed to induce me. I had my waters broken and labour kicked off with a dose of syntocinon. After two hours, my little man entered the world and I thought that the hardest part was over.

When Alexander was 3 weeks old, we went to his GP with chronic constipation. This was the beginning of his health problems. At six weeks, he stopped drinking his bottles. He was diagnosed with reflux and tried on several different meds which all had little or no effect. These medications were in addition to the three or four he was already for wind and constipation problems. Alex was always a difficult baby- he would cry for what felt like to entire day, he wouldn't sleep, he wouldn't drink. At my wits end one day, when he wouldn't drink, I threw the bottle across the room. It ricocheted back and sprayed Alex with milk. While it didn't come close to hitting him, it was the wake up call I needed, and I promised myself I would try to be a better mother to this tiny helpless thing.

Life didn't get any better, and one afternoon, after he'd only drunk 10 ml all day, I went to the emergency room, desperate for some help. I don't know how long I waited, but nobody came to help. I left in tears, thinking that this would be the end of me. That night, paediatrics rung our home to find out why we'd left. They said that if we would come down right then, they had a space to see us. We drove as fast as we could and were seen immediately. I spent the night in hospital with Alex, where they were able to see for themselves what he was like. We had already been referred to Andrew Kelly, a private paediatrician, and were advised to keep this appointment, and in the meantime not to worry about the volume of milk he was drinking.

When the appointment with Dr. Kelly finally rolled around, I was nearly sick with nerves in the waiting room. Alex put on his best show, smiling, laughing and cooing for the doctor. At then end of the medical check, Dr. Kelly gave us his diagnosis. There was nothing physically wrong with the child, more that he was a difficult infant, and that the only cure was time.

And he was right. Two years later (although it has been a very hard two years), Alex is generally a happy healthy two year old with the normal two year old tantrums. I would say that he is still quite likely to fly off the handle a lot quicker than your average child; but on the whole, he is a delight and a blessing.

He is my first born son and I love him dearly.