I woke in fright, into chaos. The cot-death sensor was blaring. Out of bed before I was awake, fear invaded my body, icing my blood and scattering my thoughts. In seconds I was in Angus’s room and unzipped the mosquito net. Kristine was right behind me. I pushed the button on the alarm, killing it and stared frantically into the cot.
Me and Angus in the pool
My heart hammered, because I couldn’t see Angus. Where the fuck is he I thought.
He was there, right at the top of the cot. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I saw his belly move. He was alive and still asleep. In my entire life I can’t remember being so relived. My hysteria settled into glee. Kristine, who’d been just as panicked, smiled though her eyes betrayed our fear.
Then Angus woke up, seeing us gazing down on him. He launched into a wail and Kristine lifted him from the cot to soothe him.
The explanation for the alarm was simple. Angus had moved to the far reaches of the cot, marginally out of the sensor’s range, which is why it went off. Somehow he slept through the ruckus.
When Kristine came back to bed we held each other. ‘At least we know the sensor works,’ I said. She laughed without cheer.
‘Poor little bugger must’ve got a fright when he saw us,’ she said.
‘Not as bad a fright as we got.’
I lay awake for a while, the sound of the alarm reverberating in my ears. My boy was alive. It was my mate Adam who ordered me to buy a sensor, a task I left up to Kristine. She found one, second hand for $50, from a woman who lived in the Sunshine Coast hinterland. It was worth the money.
The following day, with Kristine out, I called Adam and offered thanks for his order to buy a sensor. In the afternoon I took Angus for a swim. I’m not sure why I did it but I put him on the side of the pool before I got in. Angus promptly dove in and went under while I watched. I jumped in and pulled him from the water. He’d been under about a second.
The look on his face, shock and surprise, made me laugh, and my laughter made Angus laugh. We had nice swim and I reflected on too close calls inside 24 hours. I’d been taught valuable lessons, make sure the sensor pads are placed far apart to cover all reaches of the cot, and always carry a baby into the pool.
When Kristine came home we were still swimming. I told her how Angus dove in without me, and demonstrated how it happened. She scolded me in an impolite way and offered a neat warning, don’t do that again. Then she asked if I applied sunscreen to his little arms and legs.
‘He’s got sunscreen on,’ I said.
‘Did you use baby sunscreen or adult sunscreen?’
Arms out wide, I offered protest. ‘How the hell was I supposed to know babies have their own sunscreen?’
So I learned another valuable lesson, and that’s what happens when you are a parent. You learn every day. The lessons are often frightening or funny, and you never know everything.
I was still applying for jobs and though I endured a few more interviews, nothing was being offered. Our finances were fine but we decided on a gift free Christmas. From late December to early January there were few jobs advertised. I was waiting patiently to hear back from dozens of potential employers.
In the meantime, I’d been watching Angus closely. He started crawling when he was seven and a half months old. Not long after he was pulling himself up on furniture and guiding himself around the coffee table.
He discovered electrical cords and the pedestal fan. He loved touching the stereo, turning the volume up and down. He also liked crawling under tables and banging his head, which led to crying.
I was living almost every moment of each day with my boy and gazing in wonder at his development. Employment was secondary, because my boy commanded my attention and he was providing amazing joy.
At the same time, emails were providing predictable gloom. I received dozens of rejections. Because I’d applied for so many jobs, I couldn’t always remember which vacancy I was being rejected for.
The wording of each emailed rejection followed a similar path:
Dear Matt,
Thank you for your application for the position of Media and Communications Officer.
After careful consideration, we have decided to pursue other applicants. Your application will not be processed further.
We encourage you to apply with us again if you are interested in any other vacancies that suit your skills and experience.
Good luck with your search.
The wording of the rejection emails galled me. I particularly disliked the affirmation that my application will not be processed further. They were basically telling me to fuck off but I thought that line was redundant. It was enough to tell me I didn’t get the job. Therefore, it was obvious my application wouldn’t be processed.
Two of the jobs I was interviewed and rejected for were in Melbourne. They would’ve been great jobs, both in the health industry. Being told I was the second choice, meant as sympathy, was also redundant. You don’t win second place…
I had applied for all manner of vacancies, jobs requiring government and ministerial experience. I applied for a job as a sport journalist. I applied for communication roles with universities, unions and sporting associations.
Each time I applied for a job I called the contact. By January, I wondered if I’d be employed by March. Most of the contacts I talked to, harried HR staff, told me they received in excess of 200 applications.
I already knew that, but I didn’t know that people with ten years experience were applying for graduate positions, just to have a job.
The state government’s eradication program wasn’t just affecting those who’d already been in the industry. Students graduating with high distinction were destined to keep working at Coles or Subway. Their lack of experience could never match those who had been sacked.
My experience – seven years in communications, couldn’t match it either. There’s always someone else with more experience.
What a ripper Ramble Mr Watson. It made me laugh and I shared it with the rest of the family. Guess what the learning NEVER stops. As some are aware I have a 16 y.o. boy a 14 y.o girl and a 12 y.o boy and am always learning new lessons. Lessons that although vastly different to the ones you are learning, lessons all the same. It is a journey that has not stopped for me since they were born and the journey is never likely to end. My parents are 84 – I must ask them whether they are still learning. Matt you should interview other generations and write about the their journey.
Well done to you. On the jobs front I think organisations are missing some great talent. You will very shortly find yourself in the position of multiple offers and you will have to decide which one is for you.
What a fabulously written article. Very entertaining, heartstopping and educational. The John Lennon quote comes to mind. In some ways you are very fortunate to have this opportunity to bond with your son. It is a gift! Life has a way of working out just fine, just not the way you thought. Don’t panic.
