It has been another restless night and despite my plans to be Mrs Oh-So-Relaxed-Superwoman this time, I am feeling the stress of a baby who has fallen out with his moses basket and a toddler who needs more from me than I can sometimes spare. Oh and several million things I am behind on at home. But hey, they say that stuff doesn’t matter, I know. Until of course the toddler has no clean trousers and we have run out of nappies, and food.
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Well, we made it. Our much wanted baby boy arrived in the world a couple of weeks ago, filling our hearts and completing our family. Obviously, I am completely biased, but I think he’s a beaut and am very happy with him – he can stay! S is enjoying being a big brother and we are all settling into life as a four, in between being woken and urinated on at regular intervals (by the baby, not my husband).
It is the middle of the night and your croaky voice wakes me through the monitor, you have been coughing and need a drink. It is just a cold – one of many this winter – and I stroke your head as you gratefully guzzle your water, while hoping you settle back down. I am tired, I need the loo and my legs are aching and unsteady. But then you say, ‘Want to lie in Mummy and Daddy’s bed,’ and I don’t hesitate. Of course that’s what you want, and secretly I do too tonight, not just because it is the quickest path to lying back down again.
Although it’s wonderful to have my toddler at an age where he can communicate with me, I’ve started to notice a significant downside to it, in the form of Brutal Honesty. I mean, how long does it take for kids to realise they don’t have to tell the truth about everything? (Confusing and potentially slippery slope, I realise.)
In the last couple of months, he has pointed out that my bum is wobbly, my hair is, “Fluffy… like a dog,” and that I am not a lady. When I ask him what I am, he responds, “Hmmm, can’t remember what you is.” Although I could hazard a guess, based on his loud proclamation that, “Mummy has her willy out,” in the supermarket toilets last week.
Over time, we parents become familiar with the different kinds of naps bestowed on us by our young. There’s the car nap (all too brief), the nap-in-arms (restrictive) and the cot nap (the holy grail of naps and widely revered through parenting circles).
Naps can take place too early or late in the day, by accident, or after meticulous planning. They can be too short, just right or even too long – though only ever if you have plans or an appointment. By far the worst though, is the nap that doesn’t happen – the one that gets away. This has been an all-too-frequent occurrence for me of late, to the point where I now must accept that my son’s naps have pretty much got up and gone…
This week saw the return of the great Justin Fletcher, complete in clown form in a brand new NEW SERIES of Something Special. Imagine I screamed this sentence, reacting much like Buddy the Elf upon hearing Santa’s visiting Gimbels, “Santa’s coming! He’s coming here tomorrow! I know him!” Yes, I was genuinely that excited, perhaps more so than my toddler… but not as much as my husband.
Unlike Buddy, I don’t know Justin Fletcher, I just know that he creates a brilliant world of fun and magic for so many children and makes my son very happy.
1. Use CBeebies and YouTube to virtually babysit your children
2. End up getting sucked in to said programmes… particularly the songs… which remain stuck in your head all day
3. Leave the house looking like a hobo. Most days
4. Bore people with photos of your kids
5. Say, “We’ll see.” About 75 times per week
I have been suckered in to the idea of New Year’s Resolutions one too many times. But now the game is over – I am out my friends. I finally understand that the promotion of ‘New You January,’ is just another way of reminding people they are not good enough. Folklore should not dictate that it’s out with the last year of my life and all I have achieved, and in with the new one of change and improvement.
Perish the thought that actually, I might be just fine as I am.
We have a lot of stuff in our house: keepsakes, bits & bobs, clutter, junk. Now we’re expecting our second baby, we’ve realised unless we house him or her in the garage, we have to take action. So I got to thinking: planning, sorting and throwing out my husband’s stuff while he was at work then denying all knowledge.
And you too can have an organised, de-cluttered home, by following these ten simple steps
“I had a bad feeling about the facilities as we approached; who wouldn’t when hearing the sounds of other customers screams from 100 yards away? Was this the kind of place I wanted to get naked in? Err, no thanks. My fears were sadly confirmed when I was told the only bathroom option available was on the (filthy) floor, wedged between a sanitary bin and a terrifyingly loud monster (allegedly called a hand-dryer). My head hurt from the hard floor, and I could find comfort in neither the view nor the smell of my surroundings. All I wanted was to escape – which I attempted by rolling around whilst screaming hysterically – I couldn’t believe I was being subjected to such a horrible experience at a place we were spending money to eat in.”