Dear Elliot-kid

I know you have teeth coming through, and I *know* you have a cold (by the way, Mummy doesn’t feel so great either, do you see me howling all day?  No!  Maybe. Only in secret ).  But please, for the love of all that is Holy, I wish you’d quit your sodding whining.  Even five minutes of peace would have been enough.  I could have made a coffee, or not snarfed down my peanut butter toast so fast that it made me choke, or even, God forbid, had a wee in peace.

I could have maybe, changed my t-shirt, so I didn’t have to walk around with damp, snot ridden clothes on all day.  I could have brushed my hair.  I could have brought the nappy pail downstairs and put a (much needed) load of washing on.

I would dearly love a nicer today tomorrow.  So, if it’s not too much to ask, please allow me to engage with you a bit more when we are playing.  Please have a nap (or two), and please have something to eat (you’ll feel better, I promise).

But most of all, please just quit. the. fucking. whining.

You’ll definitely find, a less frazzled mummy, is a *better* mummy.

Your ever-loving, but right now quite stressed out, mother

XOXO

I am beginning to feel that horrid oppressive feeling of not being able to cope so well.  Whether that is just because it’s now the Christmas holibobs and both my kids are poorly, coupled with the fact that I go to bed too late, and when I do finally fall asleep, Elliot inevitably wakes up, or the beast that is PND creeping up on me once more, remains to be seen.

I dearly hope it’s the former.

And holy crap, that was a long sentence.

Hello, is that Father Christmas? (Getting my kid to behave)

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Like most 3 year olds, Ruby is a bit of a little madam.  She is the first to admit she’s a diva.

I’m not even kidding.  She has, on more than one occasion, informed me of this.

(“I’m a diva, Mummy, and Elliot is a tiny genius”. Oy! That kid, she is nothing short of hilarious.)

Well, it’s not exactly out of the realms of possibility is it?

And despite her shyness (the child tries to crawl back into the womb if someone so much as glances her way at times) she knows her own mind and she isn’t adverse to the odd tantrum if she thinks it will get her her own way.

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Happy 8 months, Small Son

Elliot is 8 months old today.

Eight months since he decided to ruin any Valentines day plans Ross and I may have had for the foreseeable! Where has the time gone? Eight months ago I was dazed, a bit shellshocked, cradling a small creature who looked not disimilar to a tortoise, heaving into a bowl every time I breastfed from the nausea-inducing afterpains (they don’t tell you that the afterpains are SO. MUCH. WORSE with the second bambino), and sitting down on a soft chair, always very carefully, always with a cushion.

Eight months ago, Baby Son looked like this

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New Beginnings

big girl

We’ve been gearing up to this week for months.  (Not so) Small Daughter has started preschool.

I’ll be honest, I was worried.  Ruby is a child who needs to know what is expected of her, what’s going on, where she is going, and what is going to happen. She does not do particularly well in brand new situations and she isn’t a fan of surprises.  If she finds herself in a situation where she doesn’t know what to expect, she will freak out.  A sad face will be pulled.  There will be tears.

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The Joy of Weaning

We are weaning Elliot.

For a while I thought he’d hold out until six months, like all good babies who have studied WHO guidelines apparently do *cough*.  But a few weeks ago, there I was, drinking a latte in a coffee shop whilst waiting for a tyre on my car to be changed, and Elliot grabbed the little biscuit they served up with it in his pudgey fist, and promptly shoved it in his mouth.

And that was that.  I was really quite shocked.  When we weaned Ruby I spent a lot of time and effort pushing cooked fruit and vegetables through a mouli in various combinations, and although a lot of people choose to avoid purees for their little people, I have to say it worked for us.  I quite enjoyed doing it, and she certainly enjoyed eating it.  Even so, this time I was keen to take a more baby led approach, and you can’t get more baby led than when your baby helps himself to the biscuit you were about to enjoy.

So I started offering little bits of food here and there (only sporadically, mind, Elliot may not have read those WHO guidelines but I’ve skimmed over them) and popping him in a high chair at dinnertime so he can see what mealtimes are all about and so far, it’s going okay.  No pressure though, it’s not like he really needs solids at the moment for nutrition, he’s done pretty well on Mummy Gold Top.

Elliot likes sausage (my goodness, his eyes lit up like Christmas when he tasted sausage), fromage frais, banana, and apple sauce. He is not such a fan of avocado (what? you crazy kid!), broccoli, and cucumber.  Can you see where this is going? It seems my boy has a penchant for sweet things, and meat.  And why not?  Plenty of time for vegetables.  Barbecue ribs it is, then!