For one day only, whenever you are about to say "yes" to someone, substitute that for the words "of course."
This is the phrase my daughter has latched onto.
"Would you like some yoghurt?"
"Of course."
"Do I need to change your nappy now?"
"Of course."
Today has been a long day.
Tuesday, 30 August 2011
Public safety trouser announcement
"So, what do you think?" I ask the health visitor anxiously. She peers into my baby's mouth with a frown and the in-drawn breath that usually precedes an expensive quote from the garage...
Rewind 48 hours to the Sunday - these things always happen on a weekend, don't they?
Having shed 3 stone of babyweight, I was delighted to discover a whole new wardrobe... in my old wardrobe. Clothes I hadn't been able to squeeze into for many months have been touchingly reunited with my more-svelte self. Including a pair of flares, or to give them their name in full, "super-flares". In my defence, they are the only pair of flares I've ever owned, bought on a whim. And worn on a whim, on the day in question.
Now, you know those surveys, that the likes of RoSPA put out every year or so? The ones listing bizarre causes of accidents? And you read these pieces and you think, what moron injures themself with a pair of trousers? I mean, how do you do that, exactly? Read on, dear reader, read on...
So it's Sunday afternoon, I'm chatting to husband mine about some rubbish too inconsequential to recall, while the kids play on the floor. My baby-radar is on, and I clock Baby Boy crawling towards me. I assume he'll do his usual thing of stop, look up and grin at me, or perhaps pull himself up on my trousers and give me his best puppy-dog 'play with me!' eyes. He does this a lot.
Today however I am wearing flares, rather than my usual jeans. Today he's decided to lean on me, rather than get a good handful of trouser. Today, he sits up, launches forward, and glides smoothly between my legs - through deceptive denim curtains that decline to support his weight - to land smack on his face. The sound of impact is sickening. The blood more so.
Baby's screaming, I'm freaking out, husband is trying to work out where the blood is coming from as Baby Boy is smearing it all over his face. It turns out the blood is coming from his mouth. His two tiny teeth have gone through his upper lip, and somehow seem to have impacted on the stub of a tooth that had started peeping through just a day or two before.
I can't see that tooth any more. There's just a bloody pit. A premonition of photo-shopping a front tooth back into school photos flashes through my head. By this point, a few minutes later, Baby Boy seems to have got over the shock. He's happily trying to catch my nose as I'm peering into his mouth, in paroxyms of guilt at having not foreseen this foolish flare disaster.
Whatever damage is done, it's not put him off his food, and he seems content enough in himself, so the call is made not make the dreaded trip to the out of hours doctors. Which brings us back to the baby clinic health visitor...
"Hmm, yes, he's taken a nasty knock. The tooth's still there, but with the swelling it's hard to tell if it's chipped. We'll just have to wait and see."
Wait and see. How I hate those words.
Parents - beware your trousers! They don't tell you that in the parenting books...
Rewind 48 hours to the Sunday - these things always happen on a weekend, don't they?
Having shed 3 stone of babyweight, I was delighted to discover a whole new wardrobe... in my old wardrobe. Clothes I hadn't been able to squeeze into for many months have been touchingly reunited with my more-svelte self. Including a pair of flares, or to give them their name in full, "super-flares". In my defence, they are the only pair of flares I've ever owned, bought on a whim. And worn on a whim, on the day in question.
Now, you know those surveys, that the likes of RoSPA put out every year or so? The ones listing bizarre causes of accidents? And you read these pieces and you think, what moron injures themself with a pair of trousers? I mean, how do you do that, exactly? Read on, dear reader, read on...
So it's Sunday afternoon, I'm chatting to husband mine about some rubbish too inconsequential to recall, while the kids play on the floor. My baby-radar is on, and I clock Baby Boy crawling towards me. I assume he'll do his usual thing of stop, look up and grin at me, or perhaps pull himself up on my trousers and give me his best puppy-dog 'play with me!' eyes. He does this a lot.
Today however I am wearing flares, rather than my usual jeans. Today he's decided to lean on me, rather than get a good handful of trouser. Today, he sits up, launches forward, and glides smoothly between my legs - through deceptive denim curtains that decline to support his weight - to land smack on his face. The sound of impact is sickening. The blood more so.
Baby's screaming, I'm freaking out, husband is trying to work out where the blood is coming from as Baby Boy is smearing it all over his face. It turns out the blood is coming from his mouth. His two tiny teeth have gone through his upper lip, and somehow seem to have impacted on the stub of a tooth that had started peeping through just a day or two before.
I can't see that tooth any more. There's just a bloody pit. A premonition of photo-shopping a front tooth back into school photos flashes through my head. By this point, a few minutes later, Baby Boy seems to have got over the shock. He's happily trying to catch my nose as I'm peering into his mouth, in paroxyms of guilt at having not foreseen this foolish flare disaster.
Whatever damage is done, it's not put him off his food, and he seems content enough in himself, so the call is made not make the dreaded trip to the out of hours doctors. Which brings us back to the baby clinic health visitor...
"Hmm, yes, he's taken a nasty knock. The tooth's still there, but with the swelling it's hard to tell if it's chipped. We'll just have to wait and see."
Wait and see. How I hate those words.
Parents - beware your trousers! They don't tell you that in the parenting books...
Monday, 29 August 2011
All the answers in life can be found in Peppa Pig
We had a breakthrough with the water today! Or so I thought...
Dinner-time comes around, and I duly offer a drink, cycling through the options of squash, water, milk... So accustomed am I to the answer always being squash, it didn't really register that she'd asked for water. The indignation when I gave her a beaker of squash!
She: "Mummy! That's not water!"
Me: "Sorry dear-heart, it was automatic."
She: "No mummy, it was orange squash."
Me: "Erm. Yes."
So I change it for water, and this time the beaker is accepted graciously.
She: "This is a glass of water."
Me: "Yes."
She: "Now shut your eyes."
Me: "Uh, okay..." [Closing eyes and hoping for best]
She glugs from the beaker...
She: "Now open your eyes."
Me: [penny drops] "Ah! Magic! Look, some has vanished!"
She giggles in delight, and we repeat the above for about 20 mins, until the contents of the beaker has vanished.
For those of you unaquainted with The Pig, I would direct your attention to that fine episode "Talent Day", featuring Pedro Pony's 'magic trick' of disappearing water. Et voila...
Peppa Pig does seem to set the 'schema' for many of her concepts about life. I'm sure she wouldn't be nearly so keen on jumping in muddy puddles, were it not for the declaration in so many Pig episodes that "everyone loves jumping in muddy puddles!" Sadly, although there is one episode where Mummy Pig clearly states that Peppa has to have boots on to jump in puddles, that part of the message seems to have been lost...
But at least the Pedro Pony trick got her drinking the water, which was an improvement on the previous day's dinner-time conversation which ran thusly:
She: "I want some plain water please."
Me: "Right, I'll just get you some."
Returning with water as instructed:
Me: "There you go."
She: "No mummy! Plain water!"
Himself: "Mummy's just run that from the tap, it is plain."
She: "Can you take the lid off please?"
Me: [In tones of suspicion, having been down this road before] "Why? Are you going to drink it?"
She: "No. It's plain water, mummy. Water for plain with..."
Me: [light dawns] "Oh. You mean playing water? Ah. No. Wait for bath-time..."
Dinner-time comes around, and I duly offer a drink, cycling through the options of squash, water, milk... So accustomed am I to the answer always being squash, it didn't really register that she'd asked for water. The indignation when I gave her a beaker of squash!
She: "Mummy! That's not water!"
Me: "Sorry dear-heart, it was automatic."
She: "No mummy, it was orange squash."
Me: "Erm. Yes."
So I change it for water, and this time the beaker is accepted graciously.
She: "This is a glass of water."
Me: "Yes."
She: "Now shut your eyes."
Me: "Uh, okay..." [Closing eyes and hoping for best]
She glugs from the beaker...
She: "Now open your eyes."
Me: [penny drops] "Ah! Magic! Look, some has vanished!"
She giggles in delight, and we repeat the above for about 20 mins, until the contents of the beaker has vanished.
For those of you unaquainted with The Pig, I would direct your attention to that fine episode "Talent Day", featuring Pedro Pony's 'magic trick' of disappearing water. Et voila...
Peppa Pig does seem to set the 'schema' for many of her concepts about life. I'm sure she wouldn't be nearly so keen on jumping in muddy puddles, were it not for the declaration in so many Pig episodes that "everyone loves jumping in muddy puddles!" Sadly, although there is one episode where Mummy Pig clearly states that Peppa has to have boots on to jump in puddles, that part of the message seems to have been lost...
But at least the Pedro Pony trick got her drinking the water, which was an improvement on the previous day's dinner-time conversation which ran thusly:
She: "I want some plain water please."
Me: "Right, I'll just get you some."
Returning with water as instructed:
Me: "There you go."
She: "No mummy! Plain water!"
Himself: "Mummy's just run that from the tap, it is plain."
She: "Can you take the lid off please?"
Me: [In tones of suspicion, having been down this road before] "Why? Are you going to drink it?"
She: "No. It's plain water, mummy. Water for plain with..."
Me: [light dawns] "Oh. You mean playing water? Ah. No. Wait for bath-time..."
My preferred way of waking...
...is not to a refrain of "Help! Help! Help! Help! Help!".
I prise apart my sleep-encrusted eyes, to blearily gaze at the muted green glow of my alarm clock. 06.50. An ungodly hour for a bank holiday. The plaintive cries for help hold neither terror not pain, so really, do I have to get up to deal with it? A glance to my left: the male parent lies stonily unconscious. I envy that gift for deep sleep.
I try and ignore the depressingly chirpy shouts. "Help! Help! Help!" No-one shouting for help should sound that happy. (Don't get me wrong: as a mother I want my children to be happy. But if they're calling for help, dragging me from my bed, then, I don't know, maybe a little bit of misery would make it seem less irritating?) Igoring the noise proves impossible. An alarm clock that went "Help! Help! Help! would surely be more effective than the standard "Beep! Beep! Beep!".
Regretfully casting aside the half-promise of sleep my duvet's cosy folds offer, I stumble down the hallway. A beaming face greets me as I blunder into my daughter's room with an ungracious "What?!". Am I chastised in the face of her obvious delight to see me? No. My grumpiness has settled on me like a scattering of dandruff.
She's clearly pleased with herself. "I shouted help, didn't I mummy?"
"Yes. Do you need help?"
"Yes. I need to sleep in your bed." In my world, this is doesn't qualify as an emergency warranting the waking of your mother, but I don't tell her this.
"No you don't. It's too early. Go back to bed, or play in your room quietly, okay?" I ask, leaving before she can answer.
I crawl back to bed, the cries of help now replaced with the siren-like "Aaaaa Hooooooo. Aaaaaaa Hooooo. Aaaaaa Hoooooo." This is what my 2 year old thinks crying sounds like, when she's not actually crying.
Five minutes later, as I resign myself to the fact that the day has started and sleep is behind me for at least the next 14 hours, I am cuddled up with a warm, wide-awake toddler in my bed. It is quite cosy, I concede. And at least she lies quietly. I can imagine these are the moments I'll miss when she's older, and cuddles are no longer cool... I tell myself that, just before she starts poking me.
"Get up mummy. Get up mummy. Get up mummy..."
Ah. Kids.
I prise apart my sleep-encrusted eyes, to blearily gaze at the muted green glow of my alarm clock. 06.50. An ungodly hour for a bank holiday. The plaintive cries for help hold neither terror not pain, so really, do I have to get up to deal with it? A glance to my left: the male parent lies stonily unconscious. I envy that gift for deep sleep.
I try and ignore the depressingly chirpy shouts. "Help! Help! Help!" No-one shouting for help should sound that happy. (Don't get me wrong: as a mother I want my children to be happy. But if they're calling for help, dragging me from my bed, then, I don't know, maybe a little bit of misery would make it seem less irritating?) Igoring the noise proves impossible. An alarm clock that went "Help! Help! Help! would surely be more effective than the standard "Beep! Beep! Beep!".
Regretfully casting aside the half-promise of sleep my duvet's cosy folds offer, I stumble down the hallway. A beaming face greets me as I blunder into my daughter's room with an ungracious "What?!". Am I chastised in the face of her obvious delight to see me? No. My grumpiness has settled on me like a scattering of dandruff.
She's clearly pleased with herself. "I shouted help, didn't I mummy?"
"Yes. Do you need help?"
"Yes. I need to sleep in your bed." In my world, this is doesn't qualify as an emergency warranting the waking of your mother, but I don't tell her this.
"No you don't. It's too early. Go back to bed, or play in your room quietly, okay?" I ask, leaving before she can answer.
I crawl back to bed, the cries of help now replaced with the siren-like "Aaaaa Hooooooo. Aaaaaaa Hooooo. Aaaaaa Hoooooo." This is what my 2 year old thinks crying sounds like, when she's not actually crying.
Five minutes later, as I resign myself to the fact that the day has started and sleep is behind me for at least the next 14 hours, I am cuddled up with a warm, wide-awake toddler in my bed. It is quite cosy, I concede. And at least she lies quietly. I can imagine these are the moments I'll miss when she's older, and cuddles are no longer cool... I tell myself that, just before she starts poking me.
"Get up mummy. Get up mummy. Get up mummy..."
Ah. Kids.
Thursday, 25 August 2011
The difference between TV and reality...
On TV, the hero wakes the heroine after a steamy night between the sheets with the tenderest of kisses, and I think, aw, how romantic...
In reality, if I'm sleeping, and anyone - be it my husband, be it Johnny Depp - wakes me in any fashion, however romantic, they will be kicked out of bed faster than they can blink. This is what having two kids does for you. (Sorry Johnny.)
In reality, if I'm sleeping, and anyone - be it my husband, be it Johnny Depp - wakes me in any fashion, however romantic, they will be kicked out of bed faster than they can blink. This is what having two kids does for you. (Sorry Johnny.)
Water, water everywhere but only squash to drink
Parenting hey? There's so many things to keep track of, so many areas you can fall down... Let's start with the basics: food and water. Keeping the kids fed so they can do that all-important growth and development, and keeping them hydrated, so that, well, they don't die...
We know what they recommend, kids should drink water, and not have squash or juice. And if they do have juice, make sure you dilute it, one part to 10! And only at mealtimes! And brush their teeth straight after!
Getting my daughter to drink water is an ongoing battle. Now, let's not call it a battle, as that implies it's something more combative than it is. And you don't want combative, as then it starts being all about the parent-child power-struggle, and not about whatever it is that it started off being about... what was that again? Oh yes, water.
So my 2-heading-for-3 year old has never liked drinking water. We introduced squash - very, very dilute - probably around her first birthday, or a bit before, as she was poorly, getting dehydrated and no, she wasn't drinking water when she was thirsty. She's stubborn like that. I don't know if she'd actually starve herself and all the sort of things they say kids won't/shouldn't, but boy is she stubborn. (Part of me thinks I should be imposing my parental will and breaking that stubborn streak/spirit, but the bigger part of me doesn't want to parent like that. The part that thinks I should is more to do with how I think people think I should be parenting - perceived or imagined social pressure. And I don't think drinking squash is the end of the world, much as I would prefer her to be drinking water at least some of the time. I have other battles to pick, I'm not short on them!) Anyway, we introduced the squash and getting her liquid intake around where it should be hasn't been a problem since.
Of course, when child 2 comes along, child 1 is drinking this lovely squash. And he's too small now to have much choice in what he drinks, but he's had squash at an earlier age still, thanks to his big sister's generous sharing.
We're still trying to crack the water problem, in terms of getting Big Sis to drink that rather than squash. She's obsessed with orange squash. Rock's Orange Squash, to be precise. Blardy Tesco stopped selling Rock's Lemon Squash, which in my humble opinion was far superior. Thankfully Big Sis has taken to the orange variant.
(Oh yeah, something else to beat oneself up about - have you noticed how many of these "No Added Sugar" squashes have aspartame in? Aimed squarely at kids in the main, and yet that sweetener seems to be highly questionable, or at least questionable enough that if I can avoid it without going to too much effort, I will. Hence ending up with Rocks, which is basically sugar, juice/zest, and water.)
Things we've tried to get our older child to drink water, with varying degrees of success, include:
* Introduce a straw - fun to drink with, fun to spray water everywhere with
* Introduce a 'grown-up glass' - and watch mummy stress out about safety
* Introduce ice-cubes - they may not drink the drink, but they'll probably suck/eat the ice (and watch mummy stress out about choking risks)
* Set an example by drinking water in front of them - not tea, not coffee, not beer! This is the one that has probably been most successful (and least messy!) for us. And who couldn't do with drinking more water? (Yes, I'm sure those extra pounds are water-retention and not cake retention, definitely no question...)
I know in the grand scheme of things, it's not as if they're drinking Special Brew... But if I didn't have something to be fretting about, I wouldn't be happy, as my other half says.
Such is the nature of motherhood. I can't be the only one who was hit by the 'overwhelming rush of anxiety' before the 'overwhelming rush of love' upon becoming a mother, surely?
We know what they recommend, kids should drink water, and not have squash or juice. And if they do have juice, make sure you dilute it, one part to 10! And only at mealtimes! And brush their teeth straight after!
Getting my daughter to drink water is an ongoing battle. Now, let's not call it a battle, as that implies it's something more combative than it is. And you don't want combative, as then it starts being all about the parent-child power-struggle, and not about whatever it is that it started off being about... what was that again? Oh yes, water.
So my 2-heading-for-3 year old has never liked drinking water. We introduced squash - very, very dilute - probably around her first birthday, or a bit before, as she was poorly, getting dehydrated and no, she wasn't drinking water when she was thirsty. She's stubborn like that. I don't know if she'd actually starve herself and all the sort of things they say kids won't/shouldn't, but boy is she stubborn. (Part of me thinks I should be imposing my parental will and breaking that stubborn streak/spirit, but the bigger part of me doesn't want to parent like that. The part that thinks I should is more to do with how I think people think I should be parenting - perceived or imagined social pressure. And I don't think drinking squash is the end of the world, much as I would prefer her to be drinking water at least some of the time. I have other battles to pick, I'm not short on them!) Anyway, we introduced the squash and getting her liquid intake around where it should be hasn't been a problem since.
Of course, when child 2 comes along, child 1 is drinking this lovely squash. And he's too small now to have much choice in what he drinks, but he's had squash at an earlier age still, thanks to his big sister's generous sharing.
We're still trying to crack the water problem, in terms of getting Big Sis to drink that rather than squash. She's obsessed with orange squash. Rock's Orange Squash, to be precise. Blardy Tesco stopped selling Rock's Lemon Squash, which in my humble opinion was far superior. Thankfully Big Sis has taken to the orange variant.
(Oh yeah, something else to beat oneself up about - have you noticed how many of these "No Added Sugar" squashes have aspartame in? Aimed squarely at kids in the main, and yet that sweetener seems to be highly questionable, or at least questionable enough that if I can avoid it without going to too much effort, I will. Hence ending up with Rocks, which is basically sugar, juice/zest, and water.)
Things we've tried to get our older child to drink water, with varying degrees of success, include:
* Introduce a straw - fun to drink with, fun to spray water everywhere with
* Introduce a 'grown-up glass' - and watch mummy stress out about safety
* Introduce ice-cubes - they may not drink the drink, but they'll probably suck/eat the ice (and watch mummy stress out about choking risks)
* Set an example by drinking water in front of them - not tea, not coffee, not beer! This is the one that has probably been most successful (and least messy!) for us. And who couldn't do with drinking more water? (Yes, I'm sure those extra pounds are water-retention and not cake retention, definitely no question...)
I know in the grand scheme of things, it's not as if they're drinking Special Brew... But if I didn't have something to be fretting about, I wouldn't be happy, as my other half says.
Such is the nature of motherhood. I can't be the only one who was hit by the 'overwhelming rush of anxiety' before the 'overwhelming rush of love' upon becoming a mother, surely?
If Bridget Jones had a mummy-blog
It would look something like this:
Hours of TV watched with kids: 2
Number of chocolate button bribes dispensed: 3
Number of battles picked: 4
Days since last hoovered: 2
Actually, that's kind of the running total I have in my head most days. Just don't ask me when I last got time to clean the bathroom.*
Some days, just getting to bedtime feels like a huge achievement. I'm not averse to a bit of TV, but there is something eerie about watching my bubbly toddler turn into a glassy-eyed zombie which makes me frankly uneasy. Particularly if it is a nice day outside. (Today it isn't. Which will bring me onto my next post shortly - things to do on rainy days with the kids...)
Don't get me wrong, I do try to keep TV consumption within the bounds of what I consider 'moderate' - 2 hours at the outside. Days when we don't have any TV on are the grail of my parenting, though - and usually that happens on days when baby boy has deigned to grace us with a decent sleep the night before and I have more mental resource to call upon as a result. (Rare! So rare!)
They don't call TV the electric babysitter for no reason - but you don't get pictures of 'mummies in magazines' of them all crowded round Cbeebies, now do you? And I am fairly sure a good indication of watching too much TV is when my son's second word appears to be "Peppa" (as in Pig).
But frankly, when life resembles the chicken-farmer-fox-grain puzzle most days, I don't know what people did before childrens' television, when they needed to, say, have a wee in peace... And at 5 mins per episode, Peppa Pig is a good length for a 'comfort break'.
There we go, my first mummy-blog post and already I'm oversharing... ;)
*Yes, I know, I could be doing some cleaning now, but only one of the kids is napping. The other 'ankle-biter' is doing just that as I type. I'm multi-tasking, so there!
Hours of TV watched with kids: 2
Number of chocolate button bribes dispensed: 3
Number of battles picked: 4
Days since last hoovered: 2
Actually, that's kind of the running total I have in my head most days. Just don't ask me when I last got time to clean the bathroom.*
Some days, just getting to bedtime feels like a huge achievement. I'm not averse to a bit of TV, but there is something eerie about watching my bubbly toddler turn into a glassy-eyed zombie which makes me frankly uneasy. Particularly if it is a nice day outside. (Today it isn't. Which will bring me onto my next post shortly - things to do on rainy days with the kids...)
Don't get me wrong, I do try to keep TV consumption within the bounds of what I consider 'moderate' - 2 hours at the outside. Days when we don't have any TV on are the grail of my parenting, though - and usually that happens on days when baby boy has deigned to grace us with a decent sleep the night before and I have more mental resource to call upon as a result. (Rare! So rare!)
They don't call TV the electric babysitter for no reason - but you don't get pictures of 'mummies in magazines' of them all crowded round Cbeebies, now do you? And I am fairly sure a good indication of watching too much TV is when my son's second word appears to be "Peppa" (as in Pig).
But frankly, when life resembles the chicken-farmer-fox-grain puzzle most days, I don't know what people did before childrens' television, when they needed to, say, have a wee in peace... And at 5 mins per episode, Peppa Pig is a good length for a 'comfort break'.
There we go, my first mummy-blog post and already I'm oversharing... ;)
*Yes, I know, I could be doing some cleaning now, but only one of the kids is napping. The other 'ankle-biter' is doing just that as I type. I'm multi-tasking, so there!
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