To my big and little whirlwinds, To my loves… my work… my miracle daily grinds. It hit me recently, amidst the busy-ness of two small kids and the fact I am still very much finding my feet with the (not so) new baby, how settled I actually am, and happy. […]
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I don’t make a habit of doing reviews on here, but didn’t hesitate when the lovely MumMe.co.uk asked me to try out their nursing range from their online store. When I breastfed my first baby, I was consigned to a wardrobe of three stripey tops (why are all nursing tops stripey or flowery?!) and felt very restricted with my wardrobe, missing moseying around in my usual combo of leggings and dresses. I know there are other options out there, but I found a lot of the alternates – such as summer dresses or long sleeved tops – carried a hefty price tag which I couldn’t really afford or justify for clothes I wouldn’t be wearing forever.
Dear Little H,
This has been bubbling around my head for some time now, but the last eleven weeks – since your arrival – have flown by so quickly with busy days and wakeful nights that I haven’t been able to get anything down. Now, you are sleeping and I have chance to try and turn these feelings into words, though I am not sure where to begin.
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.
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.