tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-373377962024-01-31T07:50:40.516+00:00All Grown Up...still feeling like a kidMaking my way as a young, stay at home mum, trying to have-it-all in a world that's mostly having-none-of-it! Sometimes wonder if I'll ever feel like a "proper" grown up. I'm no domestic goddess or Jo Frost, just taking each day as it comes, sometimes wishing they would end more quickly than others....allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.comBlogger165125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-77086736483808731562010-05-05T08:24:00.005+00:002010-05-06T18:48:17.027+00:00First ImpressionsSome things that may happen if you take your high-need toddler with you on the organised tour of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">prestigious</span> local primary school which you are hoping he will attend:<br /><br /><ul><br /><li>in the staffroom during the boring <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">adulty</span>-talky bit, he will spot a pile of coasters and hand them out like biscuits to other bewildered parents (who, brilliantly, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">haven't</span> brought along their offspring) and an amused deputy head.</li><br /><li>when Mummy decides it's going to be all too much to let him run wild and deposits him in a sling in a quiet classroom, he will shout "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">OSH</span>! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">OSH</span>!" all through the next boring-talky bit until I get him "off".</li><br /><li>he will attempt to steal dice from the first classroom we visit, the class teacher of which used to teach me.</li><br /><li>he will use every single opportunity to run away.</li><br /><li>he will squeeze through adult legs so that I can no longer see him.</li><br /><li>He will not be impressed or amused with a plum from the bottom of my bag, but instead will roll it around in sand and then eat it.</li><br /><li>he will paint all over children's drying paintings when you take your eye off him for ONE SECOND (ironically to express your concerns <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">to the</span> deputy head about how a "lively" child will fit into school life)</li><br /><li>he will shake up the little pots which are home to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">caterpillars</span> that the class are hoping will be butterflies before long, unless you stop him in the nick of time!</li><li>he will sit himself down in the empty dinner hall on the way out as if you never feed him, and stack empty cups, nodding forlornly when people ask him if he's hungry.</li></ul><p>Well, I think he made an impression anyway.</p>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-51156660273404070852010-04-12T07:58:00.003+00:002010-04-12T08:08:05.861+00:00All is quiet....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Xu-3C0Z34smoxMpbPb-8gkKvt7m0aa8bSolDWuOjf8aTrFeaY3oMCReXNnjjKeJrlawGTr_CQgvi1iOfrJaMvphyxE3mUyMyrkAN_gEXLcSwkoSlKOnznshzkNJrjZCtSxl8XQ/s1600/porridge6.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459158653495028082" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Xu-3C0Z34smoxMpbPb-8gkKvt7m0aa8bSolDWuOjf8aTrFeaY3oMCReXNnjjKeJrlawGTr_CQgvi1iOfrJaMvphyxE3mUyMyrkAN_gEXLcSwkoSlKOnznshzkNJrjZCtSxl8XQ/s400/porridge6.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJdl8k0-g9qRTUkmY58JvscXOA8XPPeposcKzrX29N75jeJ9EQ5iM6_zP35MHJEHuD1F0i_tqlrB2OMqwgrwOiX_ZQJDGTaLC6yBSpNyAPF_2-gJgJf4LGO9e5Stb_JCNhJCcqw/s1600/porridge5.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459158641390039234" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNJdl8k0-g9qRTUkmY58JvscXOA8XPPeposcKzrX29N75jeJ9EQ5iM6_zP35MHJEHuD1F0i_tqlrB2OMqwgrwOiX_ZQJDGTaLC6yBSpNyAPF_2-gJgJf4LGO9e5Stb_JCNhJCcqw/s400/porridge5.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5iAJbAy-0FreTerUjYUxnnlaePuKo5i81M6djcMwiBkid78vuKqKoaMyWACQGwbfvGWCcieJT_qo82Z7D_uzqaxW-hcNQJM8a1nt053aHO0FGGj2vMAqK-MhmxTnPLJiXjXBkA/s1600/porridge4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459158639634147970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM5iAJbAy-0FreTerUjYUxnnlaePuKo5i81M6djcMwiBkid78vuKqKoaMyWACQGwbfvGWCcieJT_qo82Z7D_uzqaxW-hcNQJM8a1nt053aHO0FGGj2vMAqK-MhmxTnPLJiXjXBkA/s400/porridge4.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmgh4OKxNXuTk8mNgyiwHgnLDeDGsbDpBw9cJxoW9ZyMeFfDGQAo2FlCWkhOYjUIdyL2fobLWGXUOkxwUnxcckR8oxWPGvJs_qy8RnE4Hqs1MSlzo9jH-127ntvCu-xVJtjhGmA/s1600/porridge2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459158629820834178" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLmgh4OKxNXuTk8mNgyiwHgnLDeDGsbDpBw9cJxoW9ZyMeFfDGQAo2FlCWkhOYjUIdyL2fobLWGXUOkxwUnxcckR8oxWPGvJs_qy8RnE4Hqs1MSlzo9jH-127ntvCu-xVJtjhGmA/s400/porridge2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHovNLR74xoBc47ErezZ2oshA7RhZO7oDCMsmLDYx3-z6gG-aweOhs73RXCYWKXHtX42f_LU35JNKIzJ3XDEE_TFPcDvgblYp_w0SDL0j8Vf6XaEAqzAMg2kGoo83s5QCeNvpcQ/s1600/porridge1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459158625648192434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHovNLR74xoBc47ErezZ2oshA7RhZO7oDCMsmLDYx3-z6gG-aweOhs73RXCYWKXHtX42f_LU35JNKIzJ3XDEE_TFPcDvgblYp_w0SDL0j8Vf6XaEAqzAMg2kGoo83s5QCeNvpcQ/s400/porridge1.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>So you know somethings going on. I take the baby and nip upstairs to the loo, and this is the scene of devastation that awaits me on my return.</div></div></div></div></div><br />I've never been more glad that I chose the tesco value oats, and not organic-such-and-such. He will turn his bath to porridge tonight. It was in his hair...even in the turn ups of his jeans. I'm thinking cupboard locks. Tonight. Shame HID spent an hour last night cleaning the kitchen.....cleaning the house while the kids are still growing is like shoveling snow while it's still snowing!allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-1994509182213098052010-04-08T06:39:00.009+00:002010-04-14T13:48:59.850+00:00Weekending<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWdc6G0vFq85l71FYBdQFMZwQONC6WyR9Pg-dVeb7FZssAPZ8jUaXn1oll9vmeDFz3SEfz9DnoL4YKJAY_qTgr4oupBN0pNbXkFaPU3IjLbRbvvmQ7ZiJpNPoMAOTjMfT8_eOXQ/s1600/blog+work.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459988782060816482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGWdc6G0vFq85l71FYBdQFMZwQONC6WyR9Pg-dVeb7FZssAPZ8jUaXn1oll9vmeDFz3SEfz9DnoL4YKJAY_qTgr4oupBN0pNbXkFaPU3IjLbRbvvmQ7ZiJpNPoMAOTjMfT8_eOXQ/s400/blog+work.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxz69xWgNFS2K1LHheHWIZkRbHMdp8Tn8R5p1UX7_4i0RZEPvJQbj4pc6qB-_WRyn_uO55i1xOnrqzKPeg8rp4zG-eAnOnO0LOhHHrI3XI99_x9xsEK3ZOOB-St6TKnHYL45FIA/s1600/blog+playground.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459988771819409826" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxz69xWgNFS2K1LHheHWIZkRbHMdp8Tn8R5p1UX7_4i0RZEPvJQbj4pc6qB-_WRyn_uO55i1xOnrqzKPeg8rp4zG-eAnOnO0LOhHHrI3XI99_x9xsEK3ZOOB-St6TKnHYL45FIA/s400/blog+playground.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDHLxX76Zaqb7iW4xSOxJtRGsZJU4Cj0OB7epxML9dZBFdsw-EuAXKQ3iyYxSI8L-4IPbr8RTGnh5AR-6RHQrM7ld1_npUlX-cV1Elg795x6S_fodpX6GeKW6rUlsoRrufu9qYA/s1600/blog+pink+hat.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459987626041585202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguDHLxX76Zaqb7iW4xSOxJtRGsZJU4Cj0OB7epxML9dZBFdsw-EuAXKQ3iyYxSI8L-4IPbr8RTGnh5AR-6RHQrM7ld1_npUlX-cV1Elg795x6S_fodpX6GeKW6rUlsoRrufu9qYA/s400/blog+pink+hat.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6jGDddQNuo1ZtrDe-gf72lM2fNxgEdhESxMY8-HZyRAZRrfklL9akV6MhMEdGWOakdPmNHantzmVFnqzZ9_BF4IML7XtIVsh-gH7PrswzjUpK_X223dQpMHTcntZnEMgwcr-pQ/s1600/blog+grass.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459987619588122418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6jGDddQNuo1ZtrDe-gf72lM2fNxgEdhESxMY8-HZyRAZRrfklL9akV6MhMEdGWOakdPmNHantzmVFnqzZ9_BF4IML7XtIVsh-gH7PrswzjUpK_X223dQpMHTcntZnEMgwcr-pQ/s400/blog+grass.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWWCBSmkgtpZ1KCO3ZmkaZJkqSOW3F5yvQjE3Qn9GdcgMUXdTgJd_HOTLriLmlt9aO8AUpoP9hd-6ptsqk4hy2m_7qM5HavOg8C1HnYngKeuB8JyZlm1SWArc-Ne0Tu9NBbiBd7w/s1600/blog+daff.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459987612892891090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWWCBSmkgtpZ1KCO3ZmkaZJkqSOW3F5yvQjE3Qn9GdcgMUXdTgJd_HOTLriLmlt9aO8AUpoP9hd-6ptsqk4hy2m_7qM5HavOg8C1HnYngKeuB8JyZlm1SWArc-Ne0Tu9NBbiBd7w/s400/blog+daff.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulmWB2lK6sjVk7hbMc6yigs-u7mcLHA1fJEl7PhlMRLVkXp98mvBhmNowLB-PQtAvLFnXO2oedVmEQxKXz7Juck5u5RfMJXHo-cGULqV9Qpt7edHvZFJEbj24AsqFjYBLCdozlA/s1600/blog+car.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459987603518716658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgulmWB2lK6sjVk7hbMc6yigs-u7mcLHA1fJEl7PhlMRLVkXp98mvBhmNowLB-PQtAvLFnXO2oedVmEQxKXz7Juck5u5RfMJXHo-cGULqV9Qpt7edHvZFJEbj24AsqFjYBLCdozlA/s400/blog+car.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWfVQFEbqA6JYHkefPvZM5S-f6mKmGJkH2XrE0aOILAJAWL8Y5ux26jlSRACFbFQZz_m8SHrYsuahlH-VQNBupxRZohHZr0e9MRjTVjaYRw_1ixwl3UAB1P6bEQPf48AXQCD0PQ/s1600/blog+2+hats.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459987599118284034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyWfVQFEbqA6JYHkefPvZM5S-f6mKmGJkH2XrE0aOILAJAWL8Y5ux26jlSRACFbFQZz_m8SHrYsuahlH-VQNBupxRZohHZr0e9MRjTVjaYRw_1ixwl3UAB1P6bEQPf48AXQCD0PQ/s400/blog+2+hats.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZ32DXOnVvWTfDSzguzolSubxfVy3z5flNwcV2c5s_eeDNCkCaIyAxv4od7MXXNXy9_tOkUY0GH-lEBS4C_6lzOnLuHG6YVVtm5lYYMNldzgLlvQzhx0NQ5O0hUS38wahJONEyQ/s1600/wk+hat+m2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459982819263332866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZ32DXOnVvWTfDSzguzolSubxfVy3z5flNwcV2c5s_eeDNCkCaIyAxv4od7MXXNXy9_tOkUY0GH-lEBS4C_6lzOnLuHG6YVVtm5lYYMNldzgLlvQzhx0NQ5O0hUS38wahJONEyQ/s400/wk+hat+m2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQc2LZp-GVGbKuuDMxCYumC6HzO9Un_AguNuu5FXCyUwrNar93wSzYakcULnvmZRuQH2cNzT2Wzu6meRcjneuIeCSCrLZrIMD7VPkEM61vtcYcbUOIPEyF3odxjxizOIIBGrE0bg/s1600/wk+hat+m.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459982811455169250" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQc2LZp-GVGbKuuDMxCYumC6HzO9Un_AguNuu5FXCyUwrNar93wSzYakcULnvmZRuQH2cNzT2Wzu6meRcjneuIeCSCrLZrIMD7VPkEM61vtcYcbUOIPEyF3odxjxizOIIBGrE0bg/s400/wk+hat+m.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieyWv1QeKItAilUc9rvCqYTjSrcLAlrU0b8wQF1r7XriDREjekrO-Hs7d70iZx5H3D3FTkXA7o206EP1Z_R1MjLEp7zb2Jggivqk_X0akJBHOpQlstia5sxieG4JOrLMe7dS4MEA/s1600/wk+hat.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459982805628936370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieyWv1QeKItAilUc9rvCqYTjSrcLAlrU0b8wQF1r7XriDREjekrO-Hs7d70iZx5H3D3FTkXA7o206EP1Z_R1MjLEp7zb2Jggivqk_X0akJBHOpQlstia5sxieG4JOrLMe7dS4MEA/s400/wk+hat.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsarZgWZ2ovLVKncdFdQ9nUxFcqhUW8cpsNtBHznXAPnW54Vqj0HjpNb6mnBI6eBDSbkdcxMHaBiFqwMs29dyZ0XIJob14DA1wmf3u00q3Ea2hzTwW3xjXygaX_KYvxQId3qaqA/s1600/wk+cars.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459982797509346146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAsarZgWZ2ovLVKncdFdQ9nUxFcqhUW8cpsNtBHznXAPnW54Vqj0HjpNb6mnBI6eBDSbkdcxMHaBiFqwMs29dyZ0XIJob14DA1wmf3u00q3Ea2hzTwW3xjXygaX_KYvxQId3qaqA/s400/wk+cars.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Well, a happy belated Easter to all! We had a bit of a crazy time, including mine and Missis' longest ever separation so far....planned of course. It was a friend's hen do, the one who you all voted for to win her wedding! She had an evening out planned, which I'd politely declined, sadly, knowing it was impossible at the moment, due to me being an all night snack bar. But, she also planned a spa day. Well, it was tough to refuse lunch, lazing around in robes, a facial, and full use of the facilities for a mere £35, so I took the plunge. Knowing that while Missis is still breastfed and most available babysitters point blank refusing to believe in the power of the sling as a calming tool, there was no way one person, not even sling-convert HID, could look after a high-need baby and a high-need toddler. So I split them up. Boy off to his Aunties to decorate hard boiled eggs, and Missis with Daddy for almost 5hrs solid of slinging. I did enjoy myself, but I felt like I was missing something the whole time. And when HID brought her back to me, I felt I just needed to feed her, even though she wasn't really interested, and I wasn't especially full.</div><br /><div>Easter Sunday was spent with the same friend and her same-age-as-Boy daughter; they had organised a huge egg hunt for all the children they would usually have bought eggs for. I wasn't sure Boy would understand, so we'd done a practice run with his hard boiled eggs in the garden on Saturday, and he enjoyed it much more than I had thought. But on the day, he just wasn't in the mood for trekking round fields to look for eggs. Although he wasn't the youngest, he trailed the furthest behind, and if it wasn't for other parents being extra-kind and coercing their children into leaving one or two eggs behind, he's never have found any! Being a bit of an anti-junk-food household, we were secretly pleased he had just a few small eggs, some children had 20 or so! It would take him all year to eat that many with the amount of chocolate I'd let him eat in a week. We'd asked relatives not to get him chocolate. Only my Nanna ignored this, and she also attempted to buy seven month old Missis an egg, I managed to talk her out of it. Apparently, white chocolate is suitable for babies! The party tea after the egg hunt was lots of fun. It was a jacob's join, but I'd only been informed the night before, so I brought cheese butties. Not exactly fancy, but I was glad when I realised almost everyone else had brought some form of Easter cake! We decided to let Boy eat what he wanted, it was a party after all. He liked the idea of having the cakes, more than eating them, oddly. He ate one, but had many on his plate. They did look yummy! HID and I ate far more junk than he did. And Missis enjoyed trying lots of different savoury things.<br /></div><div>On Monday we went to a friend's son's 5th birthday party at a local soft play place, taking the same friend that we'd spent most of the weekend with, since her and her partner don't drive. Halfway through the day, the Easter Bunny arrived! It was a total surprise to my friend who had organised the party. Boy LOVED it. He went straight over and wanted to touch the person in costume, and then started giving him high fives, much to mu amusement! All of this was before he even realised the Bunny was handing out chocolate eggs, well that just made his day. My friend's daughter had the opposite reaction to a costume-d man, and sat, shaking, at the other end of the room in Mummy's arms, poor thing. Neither of the toddlers were at all interested in the party tea, having gorged the previous day, but Missis was well up for it. With her tiny frame in a highchair next to all the huge toddlers, she shocked all the parents by managing four or so tuna sandwiches before deciding she'd had enough. I loved watching their faces, totally bemused at this tiny thing stuffing her face while all the toddlers pushed a few chips round their plates til the cakes came out.</div><br /><div>We've had a great time this weekend too in the sunshine, even though my SPD has been really bad. HID had to take Wednesday as a sick day because I literally couldn't walk when I woke up. We misguidedly went to the zoo yesterday, I was too sore really, and was really hobbling when we came out. We only stayed an hour too! We did a little planting in the garden, it was lovely just being outside with the children. And choosing summery clothes for my little girl is the most fun. Hats, how I love hats! I took so many photos for her sitting in the grass. (And pulling it up. And eating it.)<br /></div><div></div><div>Next weekend is my friend's wedding! My mum was asked to have Boy overnight, and is now taking him for the whole weekend to their cabin in the lakes, which he will love, and I'm sure we'll enjoy ourselves too. And HID has his mock motorcycle test, for a BIG bike, on the Sunday. I wasn't keen on him having a small bike, but when the little one got stolen while we were on holiday, he used the insurance money as a "silver lining" and booked his test. I know he'll do great. He's a very sensible rider. So busy busy once again! </div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-13919152424361173452010-03-27T13:52:00.003+00:002010-03-27T18:36:01.738+00:00Not what you thinkA message to the nosy old biddy that stared into my window at 11.20am this morning and shook her head in horror, in a "the youth of today" way when she saw me in my pajamas.<br /><br />This morning I got up at 2am with my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">symphasis</span> pubic dysfunction pain, leftover from a pregnancy that ended six months ago. I could no longer lie in one position, so here's what I did instead: folded all the children's washable nappies (yes, I use <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">terries</span>, just like you did with your children!) then folded and prepared the newborn sized nappies to be sold at the next <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">NCT</span> sale. Folded all my dry washing, put another load on. Went upstairs to feed my daughter. Left her asleep and crept downstairs for painkillers and to put away the washing up.<br /><br />At 5.45am, my two babies got up. Then I cooked the whole family a hot breakfast and hung out the load of washing on the line. I tidied the kitchen and changed and dressed my two children. I played with them, then fed my daughter to sleep for her nap and stole <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">forty</span> winks myself while my son went food shopping with hid Daddy. When you saw me, I was changing my 5<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">th</span> nappy of the day, although you couldn't see my baby. The beautiful house you saw is ours, not our parents. We work hard. Don't judge me if you don't know me.allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-18808310413306520242010-03-25T12:49:00.003+00:002010-04-14T20:58:05.273+00:00Baby Led Eating<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XZyMyJeTWWFWIPxgUdWx2pLql4Ed_vfxm-zQlQULJJyRw-TatKFPYcnotfBHRbbRIzksUVIndyGTotKEFyedSAGA1hTIVBa7qcwuIzZ_YWGddA-TXBlGUcBDkgNEBtVSCE5FuQ/s1600/blogblw4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452554060183715042" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3XZyMyJeTWWFWIPxgUdWx2pLql4Ed_vfxm-zQlQULJJyRw-TatKFPYcnotfBHRbbRIzksUVIndyGTotKEFyedSAGA1hTIVBa7qcwuIzZ_YWGddA-TXBlGUcBDkgNEBtVSCE5FuQ/s400/blogblw4.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5xrb3cd9Wm5fF36qKd64smv1D-y6K1JB5JUty8-YJJvJzbja232xl8o3AzhToM7pOr-2_tHC_w0zjok4WDbLi10QraiXTG9vRCxpLmaAaCEe50C9gt2LKgS47XldPCcM01npLQ/s1600/blog+blw5.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452554052583998674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5xrb3cd9Wm5fF36qKd64smv1D-y6K1JB5JUty8-YJJvJzbja232xl8o3AzhToM7pOr-2_tHC_w0zjok4WDbLi10QraiXTG9vRCxpLmaAaCEe50C9gt2LKgS47XldPCcM01npLQ/s400/blog+blw5.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50lbQdSEGvccFqe1C3LMpuVoNWAh0zb-5RDu5pn9hsZhcgjj9eEMX3qnTFDaUjkyBGpmtgkO_7mB0qCcc8zoOIBU4heXSozGh94vVbjU1jBFD1PhzRZomz3mKTHF59r4_kyMQjw/s1600/blog+blw3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452554049000930402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50lbQdSEGvccFqe1C3LMpuVoNWAh0zb-5RDu5pn9hsZhcgjj9eEMX3qnTFDaUjkyBGpmtgkO_7mB0qCcc8zoOIBU4heXSozGh94vVbjU1jBFD1PhzRZomz3mKTHF59r4_kyMQjw/s400/blog+blw3.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58GeUojkQ6dWxQL8J6TMLzZm_hGWlHuVCeHrRtU0-U7JnjazUE5tEAxIYh76AeP389GCFFuIXaYlTrPmowHkUdmtToWd8T6kndZokEd8iv8GkWNjqcqiz_B-up32RUH7VOHbXOw/s1600/blog+blw2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452554037441095458" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg58GeUojkQ6dWxQL8J6TMLzZm_hGWlHuVCeHrRtU0-U7JnjazUE5tEAxIYh76AeP389GCFFuIXaYlTrPmowHkUdmtToWd8T6kndZokEd8iv8GkWNjqcqiz_B-up32RUH7VOHbXOw/s400/blog+blw2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-oCJXMnfQsX12gRdAh_Uz40o8tD6j124XVGrmwAwQ1HbaPagGiB_HRA4Fp0mdyYoirQm9whWmOJxmMO7dbM10fpwkK_yQ_EkSMBz3VbUiI__U5fC0VLjawqs9-xj4g_OE-HJf1w/s1600/blog+blw.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5452554032276004626" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-oCJXMnfQsX12gRdAh_Uz40o8tD6j124XVGrmwAwQ1HbaPagGiB_HRA4Fp0mdyYoirQm9whWmOJxmMO7dbM10fpwkK_yQ_EkSMBz3VbUiI__U5fC0VLjawqs9-xj4g_OE-HJf1w/s400/blog+blw.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Missis is seven months old. She is just sitting. When she was five and a half months, she started to grab food out of my hand, HIDs hand, Boy's hand...you get the picture. And if you tried to take it back, oh, it was utter meltdown. So we started babyled weaning a bit earlier than I was comfortable with. We havn't yet come across a foodstuff that she hasn't grabbed and attempetd to devour with a gusto. The only problem seems to be her frustration at not being able to do it accurately/quick enough/soon enough. Perhaps it's her firey red hair coming out in her personality! It has made me realise that Boy and I had been totally stuck in a rut food wise. Cereal, cheese butty, pasta. Most days! Boring or what. Missis had become a bit constipated, I think due to the bread, so we've been shaking up the family meal rotas and doing some proper planning and shopping, and EATING! I've been going for things that are easier to hold for the sake of avoiding mealtime meltdowns when she just CAN'T DO IT! So tonight it was risotto fingers, recommended by a friend. Delicious, but what a faff and mess to make. Breakfast can be a toughie, fruit is good, but often to slippy to hold (and thus avoid meltdowns), cereals seem a bit little in the absence of a pincer grip just yet, and toast all the time is dull!</div><div> </div><div>She's doing really well. She's so tiny that it shocks people when we are in public (two people in the last week have said she looks three months old, not seven), and it's prompted many people to ask me about baby led weaning, even via my photo albums of her eating on facebook! A few nights ago, we took her along with us to our favourite Italian restaurant. She was amazing. We leisurely ate our meal, and had an adult conversation, while she tucked into pasta and pizza. I loved this stage with Boy. And Missis, aside from her fireyness, is powering on with food. It took Boy ages to realise it wasn't just play and fun, she knew just a few weeks in! She shakes with excitment as her little hands shakily deliver the food to her wide, "O" mouth! </div></div></div></div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-15363226332264088242010-03-21T12:44:00.011+00:002010-03-25T12:49:25.535+00:00Family holiday<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHqmz9Y8lEd_hsimZeJDZDf8m-s7At3ETDq9yxICcQOKs_9d-BCJrTXA4qBtI16UucH_waJzAZPraVw8HEB8x9lm4_I59YsFhDcghEeD5_4AialsJ4X-fKN2I8I9mqknOmERzhg/s1600-h/bloh+hol+gloves.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451071721063195394" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxHqmz9Y8lEd_hsimZeJDZDf8m-s7At3ETDq9yxICcQOKs_9d-BCJrTXA4qBtI16UucH_waJzAZPraVw8HEB8x9lm4_I59YsFhDcghEeD5_4AialsJ4X-fKN2I8I9mqknOmERzhg/s400/bloh+hol+gloves.JPG" border="0" /></a> Gloves are the essential item of the holiday. The UK in March. Not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">exactly</span> warm.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyZwdzcFqr6nLeT_yXj-mbqTl7B5P8GO4C2WP11XkDiJ7phiiUUt1Kw_6XrYwBzwm8o_LWyNmalbGUYmENR3u_xm1xoIvA-IwtuO8UKLQ1IkrhV85FYqJKZktuXyTeTM3maEXMQ/s1600-h/bloh+hol+bench+dad.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451071714718768274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIyZwdzcFqr6nLeT_yXj-mbqTl7B5P8GO4C2WP11XkDiJ7phiiUUt1Kw_6XrYwBzwm8o_LWyNmalbGUYmENR3u_xm1xoIvA-IwtuO8UKLQ1IkrhV85FYqJKZktuXyTeTM3maEXMQ/s400/bloh+hol+bench+dad.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />A moment to catch their breath in the sunset.<br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjNW8Ig9x34-w3MQbBwSJxyh_6i-6l_S-HKrkR0SKKwaAfsSrlGMRPb9TDXY4vNavw93etrXQgXuqMj24F1-FGVdm_3vej7PHcOzvcpBKgkwcGDN3XQjVCSizcL1i_Ea463eWcA/s1600-h/blog+holl+nappy+boot.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451071700561998866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLjNW8Ig9x34-w3MQbBwSJxyh_6i-6l_S-HKrkR0SKKwaAfsSrlGMRPb9TDXY4vNavw93etrXQgXuqMj24F1-FGVdm_3vej7PHcOzvcpBKgkwcGDN3XQjVCSizcL1i_Ea463eWcA/s400/blog+holl+nappy+boot.JPG" border="0" /></a> It's bedtime, but Boy is begging for five more minutes outside! He even managed to put his own boots on to stress the importance. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Didn't</span> have the heart to point out he might be a little cold in just boots.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUt-FQv1CiEiecEbivmfThrYUffLCGrvdq5swGyt2b6pGSqQZQsU2pJPLjL7JFdyTOa84qYODrQp0iQIyivWy5JwH8e0T2IsZ8ChQrRk32sPQFGAKXVDGxKEFgo_3NJrPjOcbtA/s1600-h/blog+hol+pj.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451070653541281954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 266px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFUt-FQv1CiEiecEbivmfThrYUffLCGrvdq5swGyt2b6pGSqQZQsU2pJPLjL7JFdyTOa84qYODrQp0iQIyivWy5JwH8e0T2IsZ8ChQrRk32sPQFGAKXVDGxKEFgo_3NJrPjOcbtA/s400/blog+hol+pj.JPG" border="0" /></a> It's 7am. The perfect time for pottering around outdoors on your holidays in your pajamas and a pair of boots.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivG16XAAxTMD6V97qxcJenExFlH_J8jP1-_5BdpTRt9FYUO1w0WB6NOMqDNCWczErv6fKzruFLQRbCuyVxV_n1so0Arc8NflV8Db3Xcdn7t7cRg8lyUxs962R5ghthqNYZYp6HYQ/s1600-h/blog+hol+MT.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451070644705939794" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivG16XAAxTMD6V97qxcJenExFlH_J8jP1-_5BdpTRt9FYUO1w0WB6NOMqDNCWczErv6fKzruFLQRbCuyVxV_n1so0Arc8NflV8Db3Xcdn7t7cRg8lyUxs962R5ghthqNYZYp6HYQ/s400/blog+hol+MT.JPG" border="0" /></a> A <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">preferred</span> mode of family transport: the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mai</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">tai</span>. Sadly, Boy is getting very big and I can't carry him anymore, and HID isn't far behind me on that one. This may have been Boy's last ride. HID is devastated.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivoeZo77MWncS1TO4jftLZsVv0ShxNmPGtGqfU4abqTKIXwV-ay_srGSJVHw_xrEA6Cq4C3HsvexDOCdEJFC1gcwDjlefFnbNe0bCR8YHRvTHQhezA_2LTucxNw1STMujlCHtnGw/s1600-h/blog+hol+ice+cream.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451070633337332866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivoeZo77MWncS1TO4jftLZsVv0ShxNmPGtGqfU4abqTKIXwV-ay_srGSJVHw_xrEA6Cq4C3HsvexDOCdEJFC1gcwDjlefFnbNe0bCR8YHRvTHQhezA_2LTucxNw1STMujlCHtnGw/s400/blog+hol+ice+cream.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />It's never too cold for an ice cream from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Twentyman's</span> shop! Needless to say, the coat went in the wash.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_TGaVhJ-PKBLnpQJ62RVULV1Mafvb_BMJX64ZbfZAPKcPeqEMF36V_Q44IkpdYrwmTZmQMFqrK0kM3YinwkfZfFWU7bXsLvysaQ_bkD3ANXKxISwVjfmMJLXIvhk34eDDfyB8Xg/s1600-h/blog+hol+grass.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451070620630244242" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_TGaVhJ-PKBLnpQJ62RVULV1Mafvb_BMJX64ZbfZAPKcPeqEMF36V_Q44IkpdYrwmTZmQMFqrK0kM3YinwkfZfFWU7bXsLvysaQ_bkD3ANXKxISwVjfmMJLXIvhk34eDDfyB8Xg/s400/blog+hol+grass.JPG" border="0" /></a> Back to the car very cold and wet. The picture of a Daddy's love.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcTyxVeyW-UL_pE7_OVK_3BNfX02AjtabF8FS6cXi2UpO0SdrCigjJPsFLShZdPIRAXljsjGKAUymuzWPAHJFG1ym4QNlpTyWwdSIqeuOAyBlPxDLtMYmRjpBO5wBaXCsD8A3pYA/s1600-h/blog+hol+dry2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451070613983511986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcTyxVeyW-UL_pE7_OVK_3BNfX02AjtabF8FS6cXi2UpO0SdrCigjJPsFLShZdPIRAXljsjGKAUymuzWPAHJFG1ym4QNlpTyWwdSIqeuOAyBlPxDLtMYmRjpBO5wBaXCsD8A3pYA/s400/blog+hol+dry2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />It rained overnight and the car was wet, so it had to be dried. Well, Mummy dried my little car!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnFistmZoCXK_E5bHlz487H-Efo0R9zN1G5b1s4KNuW7oKzjZB-AStJd_9a47tNj_UWbMH5FVahFkvwo6o8_-4Cmgs7Is7QQymIuK6SXshc6YW5zwHpoNkw8gajm_6iHycJF-Jw/s1600-h/blog+hol+sunset+walk.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451068467290100210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDnFistmZoCXK_E5bHlz487H-Efo0R9zN1G5b1s4KNuW7oKzjZB-AStJd_9a47tNj_UWbMH5FVahFkvwo6o8_-4Cmgs7Is7QQymIuK6SXshc6YW5zwHpoNkw8gajm_6iHycJF-Jw/s400/blog+hol+sunset+walk.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />On our way to the local park.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMXR3w-8Rd2J4j1H_EHBlMDk9si4H0qTdPLj346Rn4R81JF5tpeFu0SCKOpD4ElUoC4vvZLebFmEeOJKT-wM1eaCelNqvFKYS-kH457_Hec57_XbCGxqV3uXbdMlH5OuCFIOuwA/s1600-h/blog+hol+paddle.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451068457368216146" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMXR3w-8Rd2J4j1H_EHBlMDk9si4H0qTdPLj346Rn4R81JF5tpeFu0SCKOpD4ElUoC4vvZLebFmEeOJKT-wM1eaCelNqvFKYS-kH457_Hec57_XbCGxqV3uXbdMlH5OuCFIOuwA/s400/blog+hol+paddle.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />On the beach. Thank goodness for wellies!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbb81whT3_96aw_eFEO1Np4-OVwAuLAxoBrs9Xiw7rCfOoOzbns1xAuHfR-uOMgpeu_adh7hXpmGOccAtsXYzvnVimqycQn6rcM8IBK46pGe6gjVXoQIskgde75vqwdTW9f-dGHw/s1600-h/blog+hol+bench.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451068444600258690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbb81whT3_96aw_eFEO1Np4-OVwAuLAxoBrs9Xiw7rCfOoOzbns1xAuHfR-uOMgpeu_adh7hXpmGOccAtsXYzvnVimqycQn6rcM8IBK46pGe6gjVXoQIskgde75vqwdTW9f-dGHw/s400/blog+hol+bench.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />You're never too young to appreciate this view. On a clear day, you can see Scotland and the Isle of Man!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07ZigtTsT91cREEhWwXsZl-QmENDcld5W3O7AotbKros5so_w5CRkDGlpq26qo0m1p1suLGjw-14BXFbFNX20rtI7FM2E4MtciT7kFZH5aR4bxlZaL5KoGt8xIsxEdpNXJGtU5w/s1600-h/blog+hol+boot.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451068425648942258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07ZigtTsT91cREEhWwXsZl-QmENDcld5W3O7AotbKros5so_w5CRkDGlpq26qo0m1p1suLGjw-14BXFbFNX20rtI7FM2E4MtciT7kFZH5aR4bxlZaL5KoGt8xIsxEdpNXJGtU5w/s400/blog+hol+boot.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Baby boot, Daddy boot.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8WMVDwrGyyvsDE3KLEBHkjKUSLojWUISUDHYX-fd85O32gNlcHtg5hqBCAPPidYS5S3Tw3WUsPDqSVk-G635HWRXiWHKd5f-kK1k76o-5oo78FQSSxWDITjk05HQvKDzyrm0Lw/s1600-h/blog+hol+beach+boot.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451068413953280034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht8WMVDwrGyyvsDE3KLEBHkjKUSLojWUISUDHYX-fd85O32gNlcHtg5hqBCAPPidYS5S3Tw3WUsPDqSVk-G635HWRXiWHKd5f-kK1k76o-5oo78FQSSxWDITjk05HQvKDzyrm0Lw/s400/blog+hol+beach+boot.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Choosing a stone for Daddy from the beach. I'm a big fan of wellington boots, can you tell?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Last week was spent in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Cumbria</span>, enjoying <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Missis</span>' first ever family holiday. We set off on Mother's Day, which was also <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">HID's</span> birthday, and it was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">forecast</span> rain all week in the Lakes. We were staying in a tiny village on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Solway</span> coast, in a field with chalets around it's edge, belonging to my parents. It's a very special place to me, I've been visiting since I was about seven years old, and it is where HID popped the question. I still can't believe our luck; it only rained for a few hours on Thursday afternoon! Yes, it was cold, and as soon as we left the field we were on the coast road and the biting wind was a price to be paid for being so close to the beach. But it was fine and dry, and there was room to run around and be outdoors. Blissful.</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>A week of being able to go for a shower, brush my teeth and have a wee whenever I wanted never lost it's appeal! And since <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Missis</span> has decided that during her naps every single noise wakes her unless we walk for the full hour each time (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">xs</span> 3 per day), my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">SPD</span> leftover from <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">pregnancy</span> had flared up again, it was great to say to HID, "Actually, can you take her for a walk?" or "I'm going to bed with her, will you do something <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">quiet</span> with Boy?", so I feel well rested too.<br /><br /></div><div>We took <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Missis</span> swimming for the first time too in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Carlisle</span>. HID hates swimming, which is the main reason we have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">lesft</span> it so late (six months!) with <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Missis</span>, as I can't take both on my own. I'd been nagging him and my mum (who also hates swimming) to come with me for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">aaaaaages</span>. HID has feebly pointed out that he finds it stressful. Well, I hate to say it, but I do <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">plenty</span> of things on a daily basis that I find <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">stressful</span> but that enrich the children's lives, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">or are</span> for their own good; learning to swim ticks both boxes. Jabs? Dirty nappies? Putting two children to bed on my own? Yes, having children can be stressful, get over it. I was desperate for it to go smoothly, Boy has grown so much since last time HID came with us, he's not so much of a handful anymore. I do sort of begrudge having to practically beg my husband to do something nice with us. Does this happen to anyone else?</div><br /><br /><div>So I feel like it was destined to go wrong from the start. All the local pools were shut during the week, as the "season" had only just begun, lucky I thought to check. Then we went to the "Sands" leisure centre in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">Carlisle</span>, would you believe it, they don't have a pool. Why call <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">yourself</span> "Sands" then?? (This had <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">happened</span> to us before. Turns out "The Wave Centre" was a museum about coastal life). So we abandoned our expensive parking space and drove across the city to a small and packed <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">carpark</span> at the pool, and ended up parking a five minute walk away, not great considering we had two babies and two huge bags to carry. On arrival, we were informed that all children pay adult prices, even our six month old! We bit back our protests and went in.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>What a relief. The pool was great, lovely and warm. Totally separate from the big pool, which couldn't even be seen, an important factor if you have a toddler with uncontrollable urges to throw himself in the big pool at every opportunity at our local pool. Lots of toys for us all to enjoy, and not to many other swimmers! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Missis</span> was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">fascinated</span>, and didn't cry or fuss at all, as I'd expected. Boy was (finally, after months) persuaded to wear armbands, and swam unaided by us for the first time! When we got home, I signed them both up for a water babies swim class, and Boy refused to have any help at all during the class, swimming all by himself for the full hour. And I breastfed in a swimming pool, which was a bit weird, but fun.</div><div> </div><div>We had such a great time on our holidays, and I was very glad to be part of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Cumbria's</span> tourist industry as they are still feeling the shock waves after the flooding.</div><div> </div><div>The thing I loved most about the holiday was eating together as a family, 3 meals a day. On a week day, we are very luck to all eat together once! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">Missis</span> has started baby led weaning (more on that to follow) and it's important to me that she sees eating as a pleasurable family <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">occasion</span>. We have no mealtime battles in our house! So that's been the thing I've most missed since we got home, to the point that I'm cooking tea for the children at 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">ish</span>, and eating a little with them, and cooking tea for everyone and serving it up at 6.45pm when HID arrives home, and hoping we've all finished before 7pm, which is bedtime! It's a bit of a rush, but I love all sitting round together.</div><div> </div><div>I also managed to wangle one lie in. (He got 4, plus a night our when he stayed over at a friends and didn't get back <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">time</span>lunchtime the following day.) It wasn't on Mother's Day ("It's my birthday! Can't I have a lie in?!" He did) but the following Sunday. We'd been home for a few days, and he had promised! The babies had been getting up at 5am all through the holiday, and at 5.40am, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">Missis</span> had HAD ENOUGH milk and wanted to GET UP. So I prompted him, and he got up with her! And then Boy too. I was so cold without them I couldn't really get back to sleep, so I got up at 7.15 to have a shower. When I came downstairs, they had gone out! I pottered <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_36">around</span>tidying up and drying my hair, and got a text at 8.15am asking to be picked up from the park, whenever I was ready. How fab is that!? And <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_37">Missis</span> went 4 hours without a feed, a new record. All ready for when I go on a spa day next month for a friend's hen do (the one that won her wedding after you all voted for her!). Can't wait!</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-63429673932563806272010-03-10T21:05:00.003+00:002010-03-10T21:12:13.536+00:00Wordless Wednesday: Love that dress<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83df8Kq13Wn2OqZbzxmfr84AClJIvPfozNVrz5Qf54_VKVf_Ioh5kXMERhlHD7ReAK3X3lPqRKcYjZmyu3H1XdePF6jPf57SsXkXCVHBgnKeNC07j2lRO79kBXJnfrynzHdwS9w/s1600-h/blogdress5.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447115712731197458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi83df8Kq13Wn2OqZbzxmfr84AClJIvPfozNVrz5Qf54_VKVf_Ioh5kXMERhlHD7ReAK3X3lPqRKcYjZmyu3H1XdePF6jPf57SsXkXCVHBgnKeNC07j2lRO79kBXJnfrynzHdwS9w/s400/blogdress5.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXf_GUoQ_uxRoMq7TNtDqD0hB9z5yYTJVffdDGDKkI1gZPKrbWFTOqnKTsS1YW3mpmTHkpZTbomv1IIcCkKBovT1VgJ2r9Id0i2VvKXrWKVrZkwmtTcETKpNQ0FoH1xi2tOlbYCA/s1600-h/blogdress4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447115705252928802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXf_GUoQ_uxRoMq7TNtDqD0hB9z5yYTJVffdDGDKkI1gZPKrbWFTOqnKTsS1YW3mpmTHkpZTbomv1IIcCkKBovT1VgJ2r9Id0i2VvKXrWKVrZkwmtTcETKpNQ0FoH1xi2tOlbYCA/s400/blogdress4.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOZvx6PL_YSm_K88DOy_9f9QcxhdhDOCwlhBjzQMfQD0KenjNXqLynMrKvTB_obBfwYKEsR4_ExXMjKmIvTWGlFVQaUZ_DhAdKjDLQCR63TZ5S0pyU69cz4zi6xdFY2FUMfkkpg/s1600-h/blogdress3.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447115702006357986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPOZvx6PL_YSm_K88DOy_9f9QcxhdhDOCwlhBjzQMfQD0KenjNXqLynMrKvTB_obBfwYKEsR4_ExXMjKmIvTWGlFVQaUZ_DhAdKjDLQCR63TZ5S0pyU69cz4zi6xdFY2FUMfkkpg/s400/blogdress3.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu8Neap_jn1heh1st4UrngATJEWjxQ0yweX57qSqX4Lm30qh4-QHGBHsxAsLFnKKj72e3JdQ5MAPcBZxFcWqg-kKr6hMEErIZpDArM9qT1cOV5XwECisraQWfFus8YhfUCj1l9tQ/s1600-h/blog+dress2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447115696061804770" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu8Neap_jn1heh1st4UrngATJEWjxQ0yweX57qSqX4Lm30qh4-QHGBHsxAsLFnKKj72e3JdQ5MAPcBZxFcWqg-kKr6hMEErIZpDArM9qT1cOV5XwECisraQWfFus8YhfUCj1l9tQ/s400/blog+dress2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi37WVT4GrphM2TE_aBIkryp9QLwbQYjUZSibMIJzBzZ8M62IL9Pcbk-64sKH_41dEKl1tKni_lRPTA9RhsGspwaU3YCkWE91WrafNQLCYo-SWxEFnW6k2scfWxWytPDTKLVtwLdg/s1600-h/blog+dress.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447115681673795858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi37WVT4GrphM2TE_aBIkryp9QLwbQYjUZSibMIJzBzZ8M62IL9Pcbk-64sKH_41dEKl1tKni_lRPTA9RhsGspwaU3YCkWE91WrafNQLCYo-SWxEFnW6k2scfWxWytPDTKLVtwLdg/s400/blog+dress.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Do you have a favourite outfit of your child's? This goes straight on Missis as soon as it's dry from the wash :-)</div></div></div></div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-26905349063392651162010-02-28T21:53:00.009+00:002010-04-01T16:18:02.077+00:00Toddler to English Dictionary: revised edition<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0Tueclb_6cZbCMSaR0egzbfuyNsOS_HWaiZ6H8IC5UZ2doMHanrFIg73v0GldFnx2xmu6w8nRN3vuZq-OrEMZ1pb-y35OlW5k79OT3yaSU2PAZyUbd05nfPrGd9p4zMeXNr8Yg/s1600/street.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455201245952495154" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF0Tueclb_6cZbCMSaR0egzbfuyNsOS_HWaiZ6H8IC5UZ2doMHanrFIg73v0GldFnx2xmu6w8nRN3vuZq-OrEMZ1pb-y35OlW5k79OT3yaSU2PAZyUbd05nfPrGd9p4zMeXNr8Yg/s400/street.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />He's growing up so fast. I took him paddling in the stream at the end of our road the other day. His first stream paddle! It was slightly stressful, with Missis in the sling too, but we had a great time.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeQrgfwt8V4bns9zDBAbHK8Zcx1ZtXn7voqElLf7AXjlhApOz2oe8L2CuNR2cF9EEG6lga-NnOkBGKU9bGF0TecwxCYvfQUAUpZIJjtxWDNFMImmnljk99ivgv_LqYmY0ESMoJQ/s1600/boots+blog.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455201233602766610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxeQrgfwt8V4bns9zDBAbHK8Zcx1ZtXn7voqElLf7AXjlhApOz2oe8L2CuNR2cF9EEG6lga-NnOkBGKU9bGF0TecwxCYvfQUAUpZIJjtxWDNFMImmnljk99ivgv_LqYmY0ESMoJQ/s400/boots+blog.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhNEr6rShVsLuMihLtmu7jA3OYqTl3kG6qtn2tif11qpfVQ-MTYmMZwzb1f24QTfCJy3lrPgXyQXsMf0v5SvHntaf6ZL1Db8DRF9zN54O2AIY4AMNHriYnetuzVQ35RGshyphenhyphensoU3Q/s1600/blog+woods+run.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455201225216337874" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhNEr6rShVsLuMihLtmu7jA3OYqTl3kG6qtn2tif11qpfVQ-MTYmMZwzb1f24QTfCJy3lrPgXyQXsMf0v5SvHntaf6ZL1Db8DRF9zN54O2AIY4AMNHriYnetuzVQ35RGshyphenhyphensoU3Q/s400/blog+woods+run.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAF6VlCXy75gaBc4BJKRd2r53fRrzsNS_mosfvLVn2-YwSVH1XS_2yIUV_lm4DfE0rzgE8wd64rMp2l4kOysrVnotAz64u_LqJRvNM6cIzbT39jmLsSGXh9uFfM5tmCfwHhJ3xVA/s1600/blog+woods.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455201216486726402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAF6VlCXy75gaBc4BJKRd2r53fRrzsNS_mosfvLVn2-YwSVH1XS_2yIUV_lm4DfE0rzgE8wd64rMp2l4kOysrVnotAz64u_LqJRvNM6cIzbT39jmLsSGXh9uFfM5tmCfwHhJ3xVA/s400/blog+woods.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixLywwUgr4pMUBm3P30NTYKPhEHjzhOKNV-ZzZv9a3MVjbHJi0Poromvw8EvhCEVO6fjQNa2quz8tUwXoKF-Yr2yQb-WnvGRFT-gW9JnzGOhW84zxpWfjVUlrr-r27J5aGcnt1cw/s1600/blog+wet+gloves.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455199640054673890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixLywwUgr4pMUBm3P30NTYKPhEHjzhOKNV-ZzZv9a3MVjbHJi0Poromvw8EvhCEVO6fjQNa2quz8tUwXoKF-Yr2yQb-WnvGRFT-gW9JnzGOhW84zxpWfjVUlrr-r27J5aGcnt1cw/s400/blog+wet+gloves.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8E96JFW9JPOKgb9dUG_4Qpfa2pvGkii7yCaZNSWTOOa39yLbL7s4zp2X_3sVrKCUnaQA4Rm03LBbaOSbHAm6IqKEA_SLANZQzH78JJNM-k9HpskhmOIk2CwmnPKNw-e65BLxVSg/s1600/blog+steam.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455199622637591906" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8E96JFW9JPOKgb9dUG_4Qpfa2pvGkii7yCaZNSWTOOa39yLbL7s4zp2X_3sVrKCUnaQA4Rm03LBbaOSbHAm6IqKEA_SLANZQzH78JJNM-k9HpskhmOIk2CwmnPKNw-e65BLxVSg/s400/blog+steam.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyta8kvTKXjIni-5ldhUYCTNa1RdP2LC0R6UxyB_3e34gR2aY5wX6MpJ1nf7irfufPJb39vsfGSyTXXuM-X6GFE7vGzCV1I0IsONbbTgc8o2TLWHhyphenhyphenUMw1LoogpkCpuLI0cElRvg/s1600/blog+peep.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455199603034341170" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyta8kvTKXjIni-5ldhUYCTNa1RdP2LC0R6UxyB_3e34gR2aY5wX6MpJ1nf7irfufPJb39vsfGSyTXXuM-X6GFE7vGzCV1I0IsONbbTgc8o2TLWHhyphenhyphenUMw1LoogpkCpuLI0cElRvg/s400/blog+peep.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XHIiEXPs893eFh6zOhsAJHl-hT5szxCG7a5Ux0yIp1kbAN8D53C8iKQtQuLmo54d2VtNCXQ9XRbiXQKqrVo4W2n_aX9vrHW_PusxpQ0h4qu4_CDWq0u4fcQMQj0ers-g5IT8cg/s1600/blog+gate.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455199596165527538" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5XHIiEXPs893eFh6zOhsAJHl-hT5szxCG7a5Ux0yIp1kbAN8D53C8iKQtQuLmo54d2VtNCXQ9XRbiXQKqrVo4W2n_aX9vrHW_PusxpQ0h4qu4_CDWq0u4fcQMQj0ers-g5IT8cg/s400/blog+gate.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZDt88IRC5HiYVmcTOs00PkwMFPKX7lQPk-vr_NwmqcloR2RgZ00XOOGvV2DAOcrIa_ojmczM6CwPpIyfBHqWzlBEEkM2Y9ueEdKtTKoKrpf9T9zwTULHb1GM6W9wDfO45Xrh8Yw/s1600/blog+boots+stream.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455199594693132274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZDt88IRC5HiYVmcTOs00PkwMFPKX7lQPk-vr_NwmqcloR2RgZ00XOOGvV2DAOcrIa_ojmczM6CwPpIyfBHqWzlBEEkM2Y9ueEdKtTKoKrpf9T9zwTULHb1GM6W9wDfO45Xrh8Yw/s400/blog+boots+stream.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div>So here are his latest in terms of favourite words. My favourites, that is....</div><div> </div><div>Or-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Tock</span></span>: <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">octopus</span><br /></div><p>ash-ash: apple</p><br /><p>sic-sic: chicken<br /></p><p>didit: biscuit</p><br /><p>Iya: phone, as in, Mummy's Iya</p><br /><p>wot-wot: yoghurt</p><p>sassas: pasta</p><p>Dean: green<br /></p><p>Right: white<br /></p><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Dick-cock: clock (*smirk*)</span></div><p>Dan: dance (accompanied by a shoulder wiggle) </p><p>Car Dan: a car with music playing on the stereo<br /></p><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Weak: drink, water</span><br /><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Meak</span>: Milk</div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Mummy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Meak</span>: Mummy's milks.... you know, boobs!</span></div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ahh</span>: name for his sister. Everyone who meets her says "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Ahhh</span>".</span><br /><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Daddy dike: Daddy's bike (motorcycle). This applies to all motor bikes and leather gear.</span></div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Oh tie-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ee</span>: all tidy. Not that this happens often!</span></div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Night night: his "night night" comfort blanket</span></div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Nan nigh: saying goodnight</span></div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Miss: kiss. Also to mean dummy. It's a tedious link.</span></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Dad: granddad.</span></div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Cheerios: cereal. Any type. (Including supermarket-own brand <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">O's</span>, not Nestle!)</span></div><div> </div><div>No, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">dada</span>, no! : I've finished my meal, thank you. (Ignore this warning and it's going on the floor)</div><div> </div><div>Or-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Oss</span>: Awesome! (we watch an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">American</span> children's music show. Listening and dancing to music <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">iiiiis</span>....AWESOME!)</div><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Dillian</span>: Brilliant (listening and dancing to music is also brilliant)</div><br /><p>Tun ON!: come ON! (something I say when frustrated. Come ON zip. Come ON shoe. Come ON car. Etc. Not thrilled he repeats this! At least it's not swearing.</p><p>Ma-mo: <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">banana</span></p><p><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Ossh</span>: off</p><p><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Tenny</span>: penny</p><p>Notice in the above words that Boy sometimes pronounces "F" as "sh" and "P" as "t". I don't swear in front of the children, and instead have chosen to say "oh flip" when things aren't going my way. Boy copies. But change the F to an sh, and the P to a T, and he says......oh dear. Perhaps I'd better come up with a new non-swearword.</p><p>After being found to have a language delay at his two year check two months ago, Boy has advanced to quickly, I often find myself wondering where he heard such and such, or how he knows about this or that when he comes out and says certain things. He really thinks about things, and now he can say enough words to tell us what he's thinking about. Yes, it is mostly cars, but it's interesting nonetheless! I'm so ridiculously proud of him, it's only learning to talk, most children do it no problem, but its just so utterly amazing to see this baby that I MADE telling me that his sister has finished her milk, so now mummy can get the blocks out for me. As exciting as I find it, I'm also clinging on to that baby I once had. I was writing some of his funny sayings in his baby book last night, and some of the pictures in there make my heart ache. He was so small not very long ago. His sister looks just like him. When she grows, will she be like Boy is now? I remember being so excited when he learned to blow a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">raspberry</span> at four months. Everything he conquers is so precious to me, but I know I can't keep them all forever. It's like trying to keep water in my hands, I can't stop it slipping away but I'm just not ready to let it go. My baby is a boy. </p><p>On Wednesday, he got his very first freckles, just five or so, round the smiley crinkles of his eyes. I was delighted. I'm covered in freckles and so is HID, I've always thought they are so beautiful. When I was a little girl, my granddad told me the sun had given me special kisses.</p><p>On the same day, he said "yes" for the very first time. For almost a year, he'd used a waving hand (like a nodding hand) for yes, which then turned into a pirate-like "Aye", then for a few weeks into "hurrah", and finally yer. Not "yeah" but a clear and beautiful yes.</p><p>He gets on my last nerve sometimes, but other times, I have to squeeze him just a little too tight while I still can.</p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><span class="blsp-spelling-corrected"></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-59052301278883903992010-02-18T20:23:00.005+00:002010-03-09T20:45:13.975+00:00Sibling Love<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tE706TeDysQxLxIYt1sBD2Q-TyaIWupWSJTbMdX4KplIgFjelr2u-A5TQAiXLFdFZ9dLpasBqHswhc-M1pVK5iREgwnhZdMMOfb9xQOjkAOiwf8f9eWewxJsFHqyGHduF5R3HQ/s1600-h/blog+share.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446734107450712258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4tE706TeDysQxLxIYt1sBD2Q-TyaIWupWSJTbMdX4KplIgFjelr2u-A5TQAiXLFdFZ9dLpasBqHswhc-M1pVK5iREgwnhZdMMOfb9xQOjkAOiwf8f9eWewxJsFHqyGHduF5R3HQ/s320/blog+share.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>I love how he loves her. How she HAS to be the first person he sees when he wakes. How she is the ONLY person who can pacify him when his shoulders heave with tears of frustration. How his eyes dance with joy when he's reunited with her. How I now play second fiddle to the new lady in his life.<br /><br /><br /><br />I love how she loves him. How she squeals with delight when he gives her his undivided attention. How she traces his beloved face with her tiny, thoughtful fingers. How she can be brought from the blackest of moods with just one of his tender kisses.<br /><br /><br /><br />I love how they are together. The way they already, after five months together, have little in jokes that I just don't get and know nothing about the reasons for their fits of giggles. When I am driving my car and he mimics her babbles and squeals. until they are both laughing so hard they can hardly breathe. I love that I don't need to think of ways for each child to be entertained while I just get dressed, for they entertain each other.<br /><br />I know now that having a second child doesn't halve the love you feel for your first. I love him in so many more new ways as he fills his role as a big brother. Not only does he have somebody new in his life to love, but she loves him back so fiercely, I sometimes almost don't believe it. Two children doubles the love. At least.</div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-88410224331840861462010-02-15T15:24:00.004+00:002010-02-15T20:39:32.508+00:00How do you eat yours??This is my Valentines Day story. A few weeks ago, a very lovely friend read my <a href="http://allgrownup06.blogspot.com/2010/01/social-life-you-can-keep-it.html">blog post </a>about me not wanting to leave <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Missis</span> just yet, especially with a carer that didn't want to use a sling. As a seasoned, and pregnant, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">babywearer</span>, she offered her services to reap some apparently "much needed" practice. (As if, this girl <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">babywears</span> like she invented slings!). This was via text. I couldn't think of any reason to have a babysitter (she just comes along with us) besides sex. Co-sleeping with your baby is a wonderful experience, but when your sofa is the £100 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">ikea</span> one that's too narrow to lie on your back and not long enough to stretch out (and I'm only 5ft), unless you're feeling very energetic, sex has to be a very quiet and rushed affair, and on balance of waking a slumbering, light-sleeping baby, often isn't worth the trouble. A <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">lightbulb</span> went on in my head.<br /><br /><br /><br />"Well, it might be nice to have sex again before my virginity grows back!" I replied.<br /><br /><br /><br />So, before you know it, I had a babysitter for an hour of afternoon delight on the Saturday of Valentines weekend. Another few quick texts, and Boy was off to the local soft-play centre with his Auntie and Nana under the guise of HID and I "going out for lunch" and having "quality time" for Valentines day.<br /><br /><br /><br />The day was much anticipated. I even shaved my legs the day before! Poor HID was so desperate that upon enjoying an Easter-themed desert one night after tea, I was practically growled at and told the way I eat a creme egg is almost sexual. I can assure you, the way I eat a creme egg is gross. I wouldn't do it in public, that's for sure.<br /><br />Saturday came and we exchanged gifts early, we had both bought each other chocolates from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Thorntons</span>, fantastic, and HID had also splashed out on some lovely <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">smellies</span> from Lush, my favourite. Boy was taken out, and my friend arrived for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Missis</span>, and just like that, we were alone in our house for the first time in a very long time. With all that planning and anticipation, something was bound to go wrong, wasn't it?<br /><br />Well, less than an hour later, HID was tucked up in bed nursing a bleeding member. I sort of accidentally bit him. I swear it wasn't my fault, or anything especially kinky! He just got a little over excited during oral sex (can you blame him?) and it was a particularly bad angle, I knew it was going to happen, but I had no way of warning him! I did not expect all the blood though, that was quite alarming, and if we hadn't been going pretty much without sex for the past six months, admittedly would have been a turn off.<br /><br />Me, eyeing the injury: "Are you going to be <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ok</span>?" (as in, to finish the job?)<br />Him: "I'll have to be!" (interpreted by me as a desperately horny [and brave] statement, but I found out later he was worrying about the physiological fact that all the blood was rushing towards the injured area due to his current state of arousal, and the only way to stop it was to actually go through with it, pain or not)<br /><br />As much as I love sex, doing it to a schedule doesn't really work for me. I was paranoid that we were short of time (and, shamefully, kept checking), and that my mum and sister would bring Boy back early, when they had no idea what we were up to! Or that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Missis</span> wouldn't settle, and my friend had brought her back and was sitting directly beneath us in the sitting room. (A distant dog barking can sound remarkably like a baby's cry). Then I started worrying that the baby monitor was on, and a collection of people (mum, sister, friend, toddler, baby etc) were all listening to our amorous groaning! Needless to say, I couldn't concentrate. I certainly enjoyed myself, but between the blood on the sheets and my over active imagination, it didn't quite go to plan.<br /><br />That night HID went to the cinema with his friend, on what I can only describe as a "man-date". Well, it was Valentine's eve, they went to see a romantic comedy, and his friend even dressed up nicely for him. For some reason (possibly missing his nap and a very busy day) Boy did not settle all evening, and at 10pm, I invited him downstairs to watch cartoons, lest his crying wake his sleeping sister while I was on my own and couldn't see to two of them at once. I was so lucky that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Missis</span> slept well (a rarity) but I still only got to bed at midnight, just before HID came home (after eventually switching his phone on and getting my texts asking him to hurry back). So when at 6am, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Missis</span> was awake, no longer wanting fed (all is usual but <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">unfortunate</span> after a late night), I felt perfectly justified in asking for a Valentines lie in. (But I did have to ask) I convinced HID to get up with her, and he also got Boy up when he woke, only bringing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Missis</span> back to me at 8.30 for a feed (which turned into a nap) so I didn't get up til after 9! Which was better than chocolate, and on a par with sex<br />:-)<br /><br />That night, HID rented a film, and FORCED me to watch it. That is, watch it without the laptop on, or while folding nappies, or doing physio <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">exercises</span>, or any of the other million jobs I could have done. At first I was a bit panicky about having to relax properly (without sleeping), but as I felt a little unwell, I went with it. I really enjoyed myself, more than I had in ages! We watched "Nick and Norah's Infinite <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Playlist</span>" and it was great.<br /><br />I love my husband. And he's feeling much better now, thank you ;-) (it was just a bruise.)allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-59789847625608517642010-02-11T20:51:00.012+00:002010-03-03T16:09:52.939+00:00Baby Killer<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDjGT9-uTuwhcHbx8y8T0UzTvy4HGYzBb_y87ni6i_5qvLNILp9Q8mf4bIPv43RMlAdMML56D99ir-dnfU75IxdPAMB9fNgMkGYySpvCNKbnf8x8MdbSSK3CWceFCxasBVR4IPQ/s1600-h/nestle2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444034593834309858" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 106px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 128px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSDjGT9-uTuwhcHbx8y8T0UzTvy4HGYzBb_y87ni6i_5qvLNILp9Q8mf4bIPv43RMlAdMML56D99ir-dnfU75IxdPAMB9fNgMkGYySpvCNKbnf8x8MdbSSK3CWceFCxasBVR4IPQ/s320/nestle2.jpg" border="0" /></a> Every day, 4000 babies die from unsafe bottle feeding. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Aggressive</span>, and illegal, advertising is the root cause of this. Companies are supposed to stick to the International Baby Food Action Network (<a href="http://www.ibfan.org/site2005/Pages/article.php?art_id=5&iui=1" target="_blank"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">IBFAN</span></a>) code for infant feeding (this includes baby purees and other baby foods advertised as suitable from anytime before six months, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">breast milk</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">substitutes</span>) so that breastfeeding is not undermined, especially to vulnerable women in poor <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">communities</span>, where bottle feeding can be, and often is, deadly. As part of my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"><a href="http://www.breastfeedingnetwork.org.uk/">BfN</a></span> training, I saw a <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y4lxuiCazL0&feature=PlayList&p=A1881DE76171BFBB&playnext=1&playnext_from=PL&index=3">television <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">advertisement</span> </a>that was (possibly still is? I shudder to think) shown in a developing country, showing a gifted child playing a violin solo to a crowded concert hall, and then that same child drinking the brand's formula milk from a glass. It implies, to a culture where many people get much of their information about the wider world from shared televisions, that drinking formula milks makes children gifted. Even without TV, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">companies</span> bombard health workers with bribes and freebies to promote their brand, with midwives asking new mothers not "Are you <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">bottle feeding</span>?" but "Which brand do you use? Oh, no, you must buy this, more expensive milk!". The companies provide a few free samples to mother in hospitals, getting them "hooked", compromising their milk supply and by the time they leave hospital, all the artificial milk is gone, and the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">breast milk</span> may well be gone too, and the women have no idea how to re-lactate. Imagine then, a family spending almost all their wage on artificial milks because it is "best for baby". Imagine an even poorer family, who travel many miles daily for water. Not just to make up a feed, but to boil to sterilise (expensive) bottles and teats, to wash their hands before making and giving each feed. Using up precious fuel to boil precious water 6-8 times daily (and we all know babies who like to feed more often). Without English as a first language, deciphering labels instructions on how to prepare feeds. At night, preparing feeds by candlelight. Is it any wonder babies end up <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">malnourished</span> from "weak" formula, stretched to make it to payday? Die of diarrhoea because their mother's hands are not clean enough and the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">equipment</span> was not properly sterilised? Not got a TV nearby? Don't worry, you're sure to see a billboard, portraying a smiling Western child, and the west is best, or so people believe. These companies prey on babies whose very survival is dependant on the life-giving infection-fighting <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">breast milk</span> their mothers make all by themselves. All for a profit. These companies, albeit indirectly, kill babies.<br /><br /><div><div><div><br />Even in the USA, where <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">bottle feeding</span> is considered safe, 750 babies under 12 months die every year due to not being breastfed.<br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444034380188853810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 90px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 128px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq3cA9ghF8nld3u4WN8mLNjnICPB2sd1lcxCbj5Te95xHxVUfg7aoSC56zU2lPzLS5qa8uZXcVO_wNe0KidPtBla2qSb51AwtNe8819w0NlX6rezaTebJsmUM25KxmAGd3PmnNNA/s320/nestle3.jpg" border="0" /> <a href="http://www.babymilkaction.org/resources/yqsanswered/yqacode01.html">According to UNICEF</a>: "Improved breastfeeding practices and reduction of artificial feeding could save an estimated 1.5 million children a year." Yet baby food companies continue to market artificial foods in ways that undermine breastfeeding. The people responsible have names and addresses - call on them to market products ethically.<br /><br /><div>The main offender is Nestle. Nestle is among the most boycotted companies on the planet, and is top in the UK. I'm asking you to join me in my <a href="http://www.babymilkaction.org/pages/boycott.html">boycott</a> of them. Stop buying all Nestle products in support of the boycott. What they are doing is not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">OK</span>. They are responsible for baby deaths. Show your support, please. Ask your family and friends. Nestle make all kinds of products, please read labels carefully. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Nescafe</span> is the main one (many coffee machines are Nestle), along with chocolate, cereals, but less obvious products such as bottled water, pet foods and cosmetics. For an extensive list, please see the <a href="http://www.babymilkaction.org/">Baby Milk Action website</a>.</div><div> </div><div>I'm sure you and your families will be buying lots of eggs this Easter, please remember to choose alternative brands. I'm going as far as to say to family and friends that we will not be able to accept any Nestle eggs. Some of you may have seen that Nestle has a fair trade <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">kitkat</span> out at the moment. Please do not be fooled by this PR move. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">kitkat</span> contains 1% of the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">chocolate</span> the company makes. Only this is fair trade. The other 99%, Nestle uses questionable methods, even child labour, to obtain. Nestle has not changed.</div><div> </div><div>This is not a new issue, the boycott has been around for years. I'm a newcomer to the issue and wanted to share it with you all. It's not about this awful "breast verses bottle" thing that has been going round, I am not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">naive</span>, I know some babies do need to be bottle fed. But those babies deserve for the milk that they <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">receive</span> to be safe. Please take part in the boycott.<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444034386975108594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 128px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 76px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjY2RPwVvnQQxEGIsgsXcHui4Nuk0fSngvrDqCSsgj-2xbWwM0fQ7YUURsN51ZpIYmXJsW0tzpDRocom_e1iQXLA4OQ4t42JFew1xVMKDGlnEAN9OD3X2bdHJbnVEl-ElKsVL7zg/s320/nestle.jpg" border="0" /><br />Because this is such an important issue, no matter how you feed your child (every child has the right to basic health and safety), I'm making this post into a tagging post! Boycotting Nestle will be great for your waistline :-)<br /></div><p>So here are the rules:<br /><br /></p><br /><p>1.) Go to the <a href="http://www.babymilkaction.org/">Baby Milk Action</a> website and find out more & start boycotting.<br /></p><p>2.) Sign up to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">receive</span> the <a href="http://www.babymilkaction.org/pages/boycott.html">boycott brief</a>, and if you can afford to, sign up to be a member or purchase some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">merchandise</span>. A mug or magnet would make a great gift for a new mum or mum to be.<br /></p><p>3.) Tell Nestle what you think of them. Here is a <a href="http://www.babymilkaction.org/pages/letter.html">sample letter</a>. Post it via snail mail or email as you wish!<br /><br /></p><br /><p>4.) Tell family and friends. Link to this post, or the Baby Milk Action <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">website</span>, in an email or via <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_24">facebook</span> or similar.<br /></p><br /><p>5.) Tag 15 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_25">bloggers</span> to do the same, and write you own post, or copy and paste this one, on the issue. </p><br /><p></p><br /><p>Here are my 15, please take part guys, it's such an important issue. Nestle is causing millions of baby deaths. You can do something to help.</p><p>1. Susanna at <a href="http://amodernmother.com/">a modern mother</a></p><p>2. Josie at <a href="http://www.sleepisfortheweak.org.uk/">Sleep is for the Weak</a></p>3. <a href="http://cavemother.blogspot.com/">Cave Mother</a></div><div> </div><div>4. Claire at <a href="http://omgip.blogspot.com/">The Good, the Bad and the Ugly</a></div><div> </div><div>5. Emily at <a href="http://emilybassin.blogspot.com/">Maternal Tales from the South Coast</a></div><div> </div><div>6. Crafty Creative at <a href="http://fromrattopositiveparent.blogspot.com/">From Rat Racer to Positive Parent</a></div><div> </div><div>7. Stephanie at <a href="http://www.adventuresinbabywearing.com/">Adventures in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_26">Babywearing</span><br /></a></div><div>8. Amy at <a href="http://and1moremeansfour.blogspot.com/">and 1 more means 4</a></div><div> </div><div>9. Sandy at <a href="http://sandycalico.blogspot.com/">Baby Baby</a></div><div> </div><div>10. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_27">Zooarchaeologist</span> at <a href="http://www.beingamummy.co.uk/">Being a Mummy</a></div><div> </div><div>11. <a href="http://midwifemuse.wordpress.com/">A Midwife's Muse</a></div><p>12. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_28">Stickhead</span> at <a href="http://slightlysouthofsanity.blogspot.com/">Slightly South of Sanity</a></p><p>13. Kat at <a href="http://www.slugsontherefrigerator.com/home/">Slugs on the Refrigerator</a></p><p>14. Tasha at <a href="http://wahm-bam.blogspot.com/"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_29">Wahm</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_30">Bam</span></a></p><p>15. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_31">JK</span> at <a href="http://westofthepennines.blogspot.com/">West of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_32">Pennines</span><br /></a></p><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_33">Breastmilk</span> is a life saver to all children. Babies under 6 months who are not breastfed are five times more likely to die from pneumonia and seven times more from diarrhoea. When <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_34">reserachers</span> looked at all the possible means of preventing infant and young child death they found that improving breastfeeding practices could prevent more deaths than any other single strategy; even more than such key benefits as the provision of safe water, sanitation, immunisation and medical <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_35">servies</span>. (Taken from Palmer's "The Politics of Breastfeeding"). Nestle are partly responsible to a decline in breastfeeding. It's almost as if human development is taking a step backwards, all for money!</div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-9037260181619126902010-02-11T20:45:00.002+00:002010-02-11T20:51:27.335+00:00Recent findings...This week, I found a (very old, at least three months) children's portion of vacuum packed (thank god) <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cheddar</span> cheese in the side pocket of my nappy bag, along with one of two borrowed <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">essential</span> oils (<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">lavender</span>, presumably to combat the cheese smell) from a friend to help me through my cesarean. My baby is 5 months old, and they didn't even allow me to use it in theatre, this should have been returned long ago! Last week, on the way home from slings group, I found one of the children's centre's jigsaw <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">pieces</span> in Boy's coat hood (how???), and this week after slings group, there was a large googly eye stuck to the hem of his trousers. Clearly, he is collecting materials form some sort of craft project. As long as it's not a traffic cone when he's 18, eh?allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-66448572576936055382010-02-08T20:05:00.003+00:002010-02-08T20:37:57.782+00:00Breastfeeding and returning to work.I've recently trained as a breastfeeding helper with the Breastfeeding Network, and they are looking to produce a leaflet for mums who are returning to work, full of mum's experiences and tips. The trouble is, although we get asked about this a lot, once the women have returned to work, we often don't hear anything more from them, so we don't really know what worked, what didn't work, and how the story worked out. So I'm putting out a plea on the internet for mum's tips and expriences around the subject of returning to work and breastfeeding.<br /><br />How did you broach the subject with your employer? Were they accomodating?<br />How did your baby react/cope?<br />Did you have any issues with other colleagues?<br />Were nursery/childminders keen to help?<br />Did you hand express/use a breastpump? (for comfort? for baby?)<br />How long did you breastfeed while working?<br />What happens at weekends?<br />Does mixed feeding work for you?<br />Why did you want to keep breastfeeding? (health benefits, keep close with baby etc)<br /><br />Or anything else you can think of! Too long for the comments box? Drop me an email; <a href="mailto:allgrownup06@hotmail.com">allgrownup06@hotmail.com</a><br /><br />Here is one mum's experience to get you going:<br /><br />“I was really worried about going back to work fulltime and the prospect of still being able to breastfeed was a serious concern. I had originally thought that I would keep up breastfeeding at night and when I was at home but introduce formula for a feed during the day when I was at work. But things never go to plan! C was found to be allergic to milk but can tolerate my milk. I returned to work when she was five and a half months, and was advised to start weaning her although I really wanted to do the baby led weaning approach as we had discussed at the group. We started weaning her on purees which she really liked.<br /><br />On returning to work I had to make sure I had the provision to express, which in my busy job as a primary school teacher would be hard. I thought I would have to lock myself in my stock cupboard!! No nice first aid rooms in our school with fridges and so on, my deputy was great and let me use her office she got me a key so I could lock myself in there.<br /><br />Breastfeeding really does have its advantages... I can stay in bed a little longer I have to get up at 7 to get ready for work so we set our alarm for 6:15 when my husband goes and gets C and brings her into bed for her feed until 7 when the alarm goes off again, if I was bottle feeding then I would have to get up!<br /><br />I now only express at lunch time it takes me about 10-15 mins to express about 2-3 ozs, I keep all my equipment in a cool bag with an ice pack which I just take home everyday I use a hand pump. The milk is given to C next day around lunchtime. <br /><br />Initially I was very engorged so wore loose tops where you couldn't tell, I needed to express at playime (about 10:30) then at lunchtime and at the end of the school day (3:30) if I wasn’t going straight home to feed her. This lasted for about 3 weeks. I now find at 8 months my body seems to know when it is weekend I feed on demand which is much more than during the week. During the week I feed her first thing, express at lunchtime, when I get home about 5ish, then any number of times until bedtime which ranges from 8-10 O'Clock so she is getting at least 4 good feeds a day from me and perhaps a 2oz bottle of expressed milk.<br /><br />School holidays I feed her on demand as at weekends but have found that when I return to work I am engorged for the first day but its really not that bad and I still only need to express at lunchtime. C's has only had one cold in her 9 months!!! which is quite an achievement as I bring home all sorts of bugs from the children at school. I really didn't think I would still be breastfeeding now 9 months down the line.”<br /><br />Please be aware that we will need your permission to use the tips/info you provide for the leaflet. Thanks for your help!allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-37034673527086132682010-02-01T14:33:00.005+00:002010-02-01T21:13:20.818+00:00Top tips for a toddler party<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDH2xuPhldEdM3SBtI9y6FBciTuVFZ-2g20Xdr0oL3YEA0xxA73e4iBisGlqT5ajFdMl9LfoyLX-fXu3HmLwXNgw5-Fxpo0Ao49lIWAGmzdrFU4J28mAmD-STDBRWekS5mEyNFQ/s1600-h/blog+whizzy.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433331472080992610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBDH2xuPhldEdM3SBtI9y6FBciTuVFZ-2g20Xdr0oL3YEA0xxA73e4iBisGlqT5ajFdMl9LfoyLX-fXu3HmLwXNgw5-Fxpo0Ao49lIWAGmzdrFU4J28mAmD-STDBRWekS5mEyNFQ/s320/blog+whizzy.JPG" border="0" /></a> Here is Boy at his 2nd birthday party. The event took place over the weekend, even though he's been two for over a month now! His birthday is on Christmas eve, so we thought it would be nice to postpone his party, and make a proper fuss of him, rather than his big day being forgotten in the rush of Christmas.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZGiPsdlF5-YDt2-v-FUU-jv70-54wmCBNsPzmwmIoh2FGJDzwTG51A8XUZcl2r5lJqG8wUL2jAxzTbuScKPGk6TjSKOua-OhAbd4oE8TZ0nhKEQL0Lk-hIH5Y7JjmH3qQJ5xmQ/s1600-h/blogride2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433331460892630258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZGiPsdlF5-YDt2-v-FUU-jv70-54wmCBNsPzmwmIoh2FGJDzwTG51A8XUZcl2r5lJqG8wUL2jAxzTbuScKPGk6TjSKOua-OhAbd4oE8TZ0nhKEQL0Lk-hIH5Y7JjmH3qQJ5xmQ/s320/blogride2.JPG" border="0" /></a> I avoided having to pass Missis round like a parcel to all my well meaning relatives by carrying here everywhere, and she was so happy to see what was going on. She the type of baby that smiles for strangers, but as soon as I appear, the tears start in a "Mummy, thank goodness, I can show my ture feelings" kind of way.<br /><br /><div> </div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAmgWV_YrpifosZm9noMFf8ImuGxMPsFysnn7p2POdHsVk2wNhHPdFyeoMXuPWTo51UrZR0RlR7SLVIXGp4Ef9nGiLwxcHk38zKChjVNG1papEqQi5t6OtEBNx1KRfRy5nLYkPew/s1600-h/blog+tall.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433331459724352658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAmgWV_YrpifosZm9noMFf8ImuGxMPsFysnn7p2POdHsVk2wNhHPdFyeoMXuPWTo51UrZR0RlR7SLVIXGp4Ef9nGiLwxcHk38zKChjVNG1papEqQi5t6OtEBNx1KRfRy5nLYkPew/s320/blog+tall.JPG" border="0" /></a> He looks so tall in this photo! Maybe I need to turn those turn-ups down again.<br />We stole a fabulous idea for a toddler part from a friend: hire out a hall and take all your child's large toys (the ones in the shed and under the stairs and in his Nanna's garage) and let the kids go wild. It's cheap, you can invite everyone, and the mess isn't at your house.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-5VF-Ph05ITyys0cezD-QCv1idMji_zCr0WyyD8QNrdUrGH_jx424C7iLXhmLRYxKY3mwaRswVbbHnA9NVhlEO8556Y9h4_tIAPt2tKLC9mFTUsJ_pQawX9r_tmda-mt8QNqGw/s1600-h/blog+party+scene.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433284132507850306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-5VF-Ph05ITyys0cezD-QCv1idMji_zCr0WyyD8QNrdUrGH_jx424C7iLXhmLRYxKY3mwaRswVbbHnA9NVhlEO8556Y9h4_tIAPt2tKLC9mFTUsJ_pQawX9r_tmda-mt8QNqGw/s320/blog+party+scene.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />But you do still have to clean up the mess.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEw0e6-4nmU7bCzyasxdKWnhDg-LNZL6sf9s6WVeWTGEWtXGm7S8MbTjGiDhsyIpuc21-o0adM8i3W2MoQDTITsSuP_pPXhJsjRLluBBGNo1aAa5DgEwg5bkiod7MQWL19z8ofw/s1600-h/blog+blur.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433284122387832226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizEw0e6-4nmU7bCzyasxdKWnhDg-LNZL6sf9s6WVeWTGEWtXGm7S8MbTjGiDhsyIpuc21-o0adM8i3W2MoQDTITsSuP_pPXhJsjRLluBBGNo1aAa5DgEwg5bkiod7MQWL19z8ofw/s320/blog+blur.JPG" border="0" /></a> We also put on a huge fancy dress box. It was great seeing the children running round in tu-tus and suchlike, even the boys!<br /><br />A wonderful, but crazy, time was had by all. It was early bedtimes all round.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVU63IDgDmaSSnyU7wytTnYb0iTeQIXnlNIBs0EB8pn0d5RnRjbqtODziNyfXLcvwmexhyphenhyphen_fXO61k6ClAwsF0TEsrvLN3yfvDrZw4Qav5eEfJiE1dKon53U3cdxZYqUtR_5zSH_Q/s1600-h/blog+birthday+boy.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433284117646586386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVU63IDgDmaSSnyU7wytTnYb0iTeQIXnlNIBs0EB8pn0d5RnRjbqtODziNyfXLcvwmexhyphenhyphen_fXO61k6ClAwsF0TEsrvLN3yfvDrZw4Qav5eEfJiE1dKon53U3cdxZYqUtR_5zSH_Q/s320/blog+birthday+boy.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My big boy doing what he does best: tearing round like a loon, eating and socialising.</div><div>I was really impressed at how many dads came to the party, I'd expected just mums really, but I was happily introduced to many of my mum friend's partners. Great to see all the dads!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GYY5v7L5Lt5H7arKNqR4LX3F98tRcALND4x9yWe1BrHs4qYN-UYb83TYy4Jv8rAeJDwXqGmutYLHRJpR9arPY16cV-9axjnbL081N80aM____aCxMTxw4E9a4w5x63wQGZWE5w/s1600-h/blog+balloon+2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433284115228806642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GYY5v7L5Lt5H7arKNqR4LX3F98tRcALND4x9yWe1BrHs4qYN-UYb83TYy4Jv8rAeJDwXqGmutYLHRJpR9arPY16cV-9axjnbL081N80aM____aCxMTxw4E9a4w5x63wQGZWE5w/s320/blog+balloon+2.JPG" border="0" /></a> I had the idea of giving out helieum ballons instead of naff party bags as gifts....as you can see, it didn't go exactly to plan.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1M-ZH45eQOvWkjNMxVPZw_v9DKtXWkHNRSuq4WM24o9cfBVSW33Y5pLRv0PqRcvDI5mNN9fZ1uJ_rXzO-UbRn9X1K2ul4OeB4Jah_QUJou6O31QiTY0kRg0NNHM0Mf7VkQyfng/s1600-h/blog+balloon.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433284108178440930" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1M-ZH45eQOvWkjNMxVPZw_v9DKtXWkHNRSuq4WM24o9cfBVSW33Y5pLRv0PqRcvDI5mNN9fZ1uJ_rXzO-UbRn9X1K2ul4OeB4Jah_QUJou6O31QiTY0kRg0NNHM0Mf7VkQyfng/s320/blog+balloon.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />The balloons were a big hit though. Before they hit the ceiling.</div><div> </div><div>So here are some tips for a successful toddler party:</div><div> </div><div>Do: set aside an organised place for guests to put gifts.</div><div>Don't: end up with a jumble of presents in bags and a Mr Potato Head and a Yo Gabba Gabba doll that you really don't know where they came from to text a quick thank you message.</div><div> </div><div>Do: plan pleanty of time to set up the room on the day, and allow for some guests to show up 15 mins early.</div><div>Don't: think half an hour is enough and be up to your eyeballs in play tent pegs when your first guests arrive.</div><div> </div><div>Do: give guests attention while keeping a watchful eye on the birthday boy/girl</div><div>Don't: get so busy catching up with your friends that hubby has to inform you your son has been stuck on a ride on tractor for at least 3 minutes (according to the photos he took) shouting "duck, Mimi, duck!"</div><div> </div><div>Do: put the left over cake where parents can help themselves.</div><div>Don't: leave it within reach of Boy, you will come back in 5 mins to find all the decorating dolly mixtures gone. Then in 10, all the icing. I counted 7 slices of cake that I saw him eat. (16% of his RDA sugar for an adult per slice. The word is "wooops")</div><div> </div><div>Do: ask people without children to help on the day.</div><div>Don't: let your oldest friends get treated like staff by parents. Sorry girls xx (they must have made 50 cups of tea!)</div><div> </div><div>Do: think of something unusual for children to take home from the party, like a balloon on a string.</div><div>Don't: put your mum in charge of providing string. It will be paper streamers which will rip when tied.</div><div> </div><div>Do: Save money by stating on the invitation "games and cake" and holding the party between dinner and teatime.</div><div>Don't: buy so much cake that you will be giving it away all week.</div><div> </div><div>Do: provide healthy snacks and drinks, such as fruit and diluted fresh juice, no one wants a hyper toddler to take home.</div><div>Don't: be surprised when you child has black poo due to all the blueberries he ate.</div><div> </div><div>Do: make sure everyone gets a piece of cake, even if they leave early.</div><div>Don't: let your toddler see you giving out cake before he's had any, unless you like tantrums that is.</div><div> </div><div>Do: buy two cakes: one to cut and wrap the night before so your small guests can have cake the second the candles have gone out.</div><div>Don't: forget to suggest to parents that their child might like to use one of the untouched paper plates, or you will spend much time hoovering.</div><div> </div><div>Do: have a great time!</div><div>Don't: invite 20 children and 40 adults to an event ever again.</div><div> </div><div>Well it's like Christmas all over again here at our house, lots of new toys, we had to invite friends over to play with them yesterday :-)</div><div> </div><div>It's hard to believe how fast time goes, his age is now being counted in years and not months!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-13361891007777124382010-01-28T20:30:00.002+00:002010-01-28T21:03:56.488+00:00Soft Play: a rantMy mum and I took Boy (and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Missis</span>) to a soft play centre this week. It was a different one from the local one we frequent. The equipment was much better, more, cleaner, more imaginative, better split into sections. But halfway through our visit, I asked for a feedback form. I wanted to complain. I never <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">received</span> one, so here is my letter of complaint.<br /><br />Dear Sir/Madam,<br />I am writing this letter following a visit with my two year old son and 4 month old daughter to your soft play centre. I wanted to express my views on the way it was run, from a mother's perspective. I came that day to play with my son, and I assume that is the goal of most parents attending. But on arrival, the staff member at the front desk (which is in the same room as all the exciting equipment, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">separated</span> by a gate) bombarded us with extra charges on our entry fee for "meal deals". My mother, attending with us that day, got very flustered, as did I (my son was very upset at this delay) and paid the extra monies for a drink and biscuit/fruit. We also had thrust upon us a form to fill in for The Body Shop, who were in attendance that day, apparently giving facials. By this point, my son was itching to play and we were finally let inside. Before we had even put our things down or taken our coats off, a lady from The Body Shop came over and pestered us. I was very annoyed at this point and walked away to tend to my son. I did not come to ignore my child and get a makeover, I came to play.<br />Later, the "meal deal" arrived. There was no choice of fruit, and I was shocked to see it was just two and a half slices (not wedges) of orange (not worth the money at all) and a very brightly coloured drink not at all suitable for toddlers. My son got most upset that I would not allow him to drink the juice, which although sugar free, was packed with artificial sweeteners, colours and flavours. I would suggest a carton or 100% apple or orange juice would be more appropriate.<br />I was mostly pleased with the actual play facilities, except the sports area for playing ball games. This could only be accessed via an assault course suitable for quite old children, and although he loves to play with footballs, my son would not cross these barriers to the sports area. The assault course also presents a problem for parents needing to retrieve a child from the area in an emergency, for example, an injury.<br />The cafe on site provided what seemed to be a host of healthy meals for adults, and a selection of junk food for the children. I was glad to have brought a packed lunch for my son, however frowned upon that may be. My main gripe with the food served, other than the rip-off "meal deals", was the deserts counter. It held lots of cakes, chocolates and biscuits, and was at the EXACT eye-level of a toddler. As you can probably tell from what I have written already, I don't believe junk food is appropriate for toddlers and my son rarely has access to that kind of fare. But he knows what it is, and repeatedly went up to the counter and banged on it, getting upset when I said no, and getting under the feet of adults at the counter carrying hot food and drinks above his head.<br />At this pointed I asked for a feedback form. It never arrived.<br />One more issue I had was the extra charge for the go-karts. I must say, I felt very much taken advantage of during my visit, really as though you were out to squeeze very last penny from my purse. The <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">atmosphere</span> was one of making money, not enjoyment. I will not be visiting again. Our local soft-play area, although basic, meets our needs much more <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">efficiently</span>, and does not ram commercialism and consumerism down our throats. On the whole, I think many parents, particularly parents of young children visiting midweek like I did, attend your establishment not to sit <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">around</span> chatting and having coffee while ignoring their children, but to have a nice family day out and enjoy being with their children. I would have appreciated being left alone once I had paid my entry to play with my son.<br />Yours,<br />Grown.<br /><br />What do you think? Too harsh? ;-)allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-7288756362124187012010-01-27T12:50:00.003+00:002010-01-28T20:29:59.397+00:00Sky+ Children; a niche marketWouldn't it be great if children were a bit more like Sky+? I could just pause while I nipped for a wee and know that total devastation would not meet me on my return. Like Sky, you couldn't pause forever, while you went out to get your hair done or anything, but three minutes? Like, enough time to make a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">sandwich</span> after sitting and feeding <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Missis</span> to sleep for 40<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">mins</span> (with a grumbling tummy), only for her to wake up as soon as I set foot in the kitchen. While we're at it, fast-forwarding a few of those newborn breastfeeding <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">mammoth</span> sessions would be great. I'm all for staring in adoration at a tiny baby at my breast, but after three hours just out of arms reach of the remote/laptop/mobile/book, it wears a bit thin. Fast-forward tantrums? Yes please. And volume control. I'd love a bit less "BEEP-BEEP! CRASH!" from Boy just as I'm extracting a sleeping <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Missis</span> from my arms.<br />But the best facility my Sky+ children would have is the ability for me to record. To record the squeals that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Missis</span> makes when her brother gives her a good-morning cuddle, the cuteness of chubby little fingers <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">squeezing</span> mine, to not wipe away a funny <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">facefull</span> of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">weetabix</span>, record the way a sleeping baby looks, smells, feels, sounds. When Boy was tiny, I wrote down some notes to him, telling him some of my favourite things about the baby he was then. It makes me so sad that looking back at these scribbles less than two years later, I can't understand them. I can't remember the things I mention. I know <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Missis</span> is my last baby, and I feel like each of her milestones are like dry sand running through my fingers, I want to grasp at everything but I know I'll never remember it all! I just try to enjoy every moment. But I do wish sometimes that children were a bit more like Sky+........allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-4829075798191302112010-01-21T12:39:00.009+00:002010-01-25T21:33:09.995+00:00Slinging praises<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-V-fm8TlEiVFfkgzxwEXpEDGr6-AegQSP76UpCcdUmwwDEaEZ8m8ZN2TumED007QueMtnnuHOxP7l1d9cB87IFVNtz21EcFfzLif8A6A7S9aV_YKQqiGO2YCz_4kJKY7yy7caA/s1600-h/blogsling2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430791912669199682" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-V-fm8TlEiVFfkgzxwEXpEDGr6-AegQSP76UpCcdUmwwDEaEZ8m8ZN2TumED007QueMtnnuHOxP7l1d9cB87IFVNtz21EcFfzLif8A6A7S9aV_YKQqiGO2YCz_4kJKY7yy7caA/s320/blogsling2.JPG" border="0" /></a> I don't often share personal photos on my blog, but I figured what the hell! I love this picture of me and Missis, she will look very different in a few months anyway.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZl6CO7xUWyHqSbWeK-iOt0YW6MxW0AOcJLmuM0LneTxdFmt5mTQS56erai87YR7QWkgoBepsRWMXO1XnfkhAJQljaXwRwmWZbtJAg3fOzHbaFhzMprEttdHhmDWQEOOuTtR7UA/s1600-h/blog+sling.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430791906807721090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWZl6CO7xUWyHqSbWeK-iOt0YW6MxW0AOcJLmuM0LneTxdFmt5mTQS56erai87YR7QWkgoBepsRWMXO1XnfkhAJQljaXwRwmWZbtJAg3fOzHbaFhzMprEttdHhmDWQEOOuTtR7UA/s320/blog+sling.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GyMclBO-hjZPrV3xLfWqdEWrZcstaL8MpbRwOM2RGHinp5ilqxMspRIhpv1DQUsYtgw18aIUJ_woavdzzz2zOzn459qvQjICDOUpOMtNnnYzkHg3HqgK2j-m6I93DnLjK-u2tQ/s1600-h/IMGP6342.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430789632648793058" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7GyMclBO-hjZPrV3xLfWqdEWrZcstaL8MpbRwOM2RGHinp5ilqxMspRIhpv1DQUsYtgw18aIUJ_woavdzzz2zOzn459qvQjICDOUpOMtNnnYzkHg3HqgK2j-m6I93DnLjK-u2tQ/s320/IMGP6342.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Missis</span> is now four months old. She spends about 40% of her time in a sling or being fed, and 40% in our bed with us (being fed!), the other 20% is made up of being held, played with, or playing by herself/with her brother on the floor. She, like her brother before her, ABHORS being put down, unless it is her choice, and it's not one she makes often. So I carry her. I've just learned a few weeks ago how easy it is to put her on my back with a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">stretchy</span> wrap. <a href="http://www.babyarmadillo.com/shop/mam-eco-wrap-set-l-xl.html">(a MAM <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">eco</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">babywearing</span> set</a>, with matching hat and booties, so cute, borrowed from <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><a href="http://www.slingmeet.co.uk/">slingmeet</a> in orange, see above</span>, then bought my very own :-) and dyed it purple, see above!) She loves riding on my back. Sometimes, when I had her on my front, she would push away and want to see what was going on. (I believe a baby should never be carried facing outwards, it puts too much pressure on the pelvis, and I suffer with a pelvic disorder). I was worried she didn't like being carried! But I've since found that a front carry is a sleepy position, and a back carry is for nosy babies. I carry her high, and she peeps over my left shoulder while I chop onions, or bath Boy, or hang out washing. I'm really at a loss to think what exactly I would have done (other than leave her to cry) without the sling while I look after a toddler too. In fact, that applies to looking after myself too. Making myself meals or drinks, brushing me teeth, going to the loo. I really don't know how people manage without slings, especially if they have more than one small child. Surely not all babies that don't get carried in slings are "good"? (Than awful word used to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">describe</span> lethargic, quiet, complacent infants). If I didn't use a sling, Boy would quite possibly have to have all his naps and meals whenever it suited <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Missis</span> (i.e. not very often) and I would have to wait until HID got home from his 12hr working day for me to have a wee or something to drink or eat. Either that or let her cry, something I cannot stomach unless absolutely essential. (i.e. 3 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">mins</span> crying while being carried in the sling while I put Boy down for a nap, then I can feed her. And crying while being held by someone who loves you, and crying in a dark room alone are totally different things). What do people without slings DO with babies? How do they do other things? In the early days, I even used a special sling that I could wear in the shower so I could get clean without putting her down to cry. Now she's happy to sit in a bouncy chair for 5 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">mins</span> while I chat to her through the glass door.<br /></div><div>All this being said, I find it <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">unbelievable</span> to remember that I only borrowed my first sling when Boy was FOUR MONTHS OLD, the age <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Missis</span> is now, who has spent hours upon hours in the sling. And Boy was even MORE high need than <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Missis</span>. Well, perhaps <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Missis</span> is just as high need as Boy was, but it's much less <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">noticeable</span> because we don't try to fight it by putting her down, we just take her with us. I really didn't enjoy Boy's newborn days. It could have been the rocky recovery from the birth, but it could have been the relentless carrying, even at night, and total neglect of my own needs for a baby that, even as 6 months old, woke every 2hours or less. When we started to carry him everywhere, he started to chill out. How did we cope without carrying him when he was tiny? It is really crazy to look back now. I rely on my slings so much.</div><br /><br /><div>I love helping out at my local <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">slingmeet</span> now. The lady that runs it is very pregnant and poorly at the moment, so some of us older members (all of whom either now have new babies or are expecting them within 6 months time) sort of run it when she's not able. Today was particularly busy! Lots of new ladies came needing help, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">demonstrations</span> and wanting to borrow slings. We lent out 2 wraps, 3 <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">mai</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">tais</span> and a pouch! <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Missis</span> was star demo baby, in & out, up & down, back, front and hip. I even popped Boy up on my back to demonstrate how long you can enjoy carrying for. I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">pleasantly</span> surprised I could still do it after a 6 months break!<br /><br /></div><br /><div>post-script: while I was dyeing my sling purple, I amazed myself at my own genius by deciding to do the ultimate in recycling Boy's old baby clothes without dressing my gorgeous girl head to toe in blue. I popped a few stripey vests, a white cardigan, some beige cord pants, some blue baby-leg-warmers, and some striped trousers and even a few pairs of socks! Apart from the cardi, which is a dissapointing lilac, the rest look great! I'm so chuffed. Boy had a gorgeous dungaree set with a blue&browm striped vest, which Missis can now wear and look uber funky and girly at the same time!! They are not in the picture as she's wearing them :-)</div><br /><br /><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430792407698940690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEiNFE9OQKIheGzR0hu_2uHRMcAwZQtArw-jUPpT-hHSYbPlpCOnvZ_9V-L8iToMcnNOyPw7Wh9RkyNrmwD4-mLRCflwyhQ-yzu4jOA9AeF-1ksnhyapyywQ9IuKHfFb5UqIi4g/s320/IMGP6345.JPG" border="0" /></div></div></div></div></div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-47774356559669883142010-01-17T20:33:00.003+00:002010-01-19T13:18:39.180+00:00Social life? You can keep it!A while ago, while pregnant, I posted about my<a href="http://allgrownup06.blogspot.com/2009/06/great-expectations-on-newborns.html"> invite to HID's work's Christmas do</a>. I assumed Missis would be "high need" like Boy, I assumed correctly, and tried to convince the relevant people at HID's company to allow me to bring her in a sling. Needless to say, in our baby-unfriendly western world, they refused. Missis was born and the date loomed. We were co-sleeping (still are- we put her name-plaque on our bedroom door, we foresee her in with us for quite some time yet) so the idea of me staying overnight in a hotel away from her was laughable, there was no way she'd sleep in a cot for my mother. So maybe I'd go for an evening out. Missis fed every hour as a newborn...and this continued for many weeks. I began to express milk two months in advance, as I find expressing very hard work, yielding very little for my efforts. I began to realise that all the frozen breast milk in the world could not compare to the comfort of a breastfeed, and besides, she would need to be syringe or cup fed due to a total refusal of the bottle. (Much to my mother's horror, who had never heard of such a thing as a baby refusing the bottle).<br /><br /><br /><br />Weeks passed and Missis smiled, fed and slept in my arms only. She allowed HID to hold her for short periods in the sling, a parenting method that my mother will not be a party to, even after explanations that is was the one surefire settling tool she could use, besides spontaneous lactation! I started to feel more and more uneasy about leaving her. Perhaps I'd stay just for the meal....<br /><br /><br /><br />A few days before the party was my 25th birthday. Missis was three months old. My sister offered to babysit so that we could eat out. She isn't especially confident with babies, she was really trying to be nice. I didn't really want to be apart from Missis, but everyone seemed to think I'd enjoy it, and it was the perfect trial run for the party, so I said yes. We were out for two hours and I felt awkward the whole time. After half an hour, I really wasn't enjoying myself, but continued as I didn't want HID or anyone else to think I was crackers. I didn't feel this way last time, I was desperate to get away, I was depressed. So this was all new and surprising to me. My sister called me to hurry home, I gladly did. Apparently Missis had cried so much she'd had called my mother (but not me) over to settle her down. I was really upset by this news and decided not to go to the party at all.<br /><br /><br /><br />The boss' wife text me when she heard I wasn't going. She said perhaps, if I left her in the room, Missis could come after all, and she would see if the hotel offered a baby listening service. There were a few things wrong with this suggestion (as well as the hypocrisy). One, bar twice in her life falling asleep in the car and sleeping in her carseat for two hours, she has never slept unaided, i.e. without my body touching her in some way (sling/breast/family bed). Two, even if we were lucky and Missis slept like a baby (whoever invented that saying ought to be shot) the idea of someone me and my baby didn't know listening out for her? How long would they let her cry before the came to get me? How long would it take to find me? How long would it take for me to get to the room? No way. It turns out no such service was available anyway.<br /><br />I decided, maybe if we took the baby monitor that I could keep on the table, if we were lucky, she may sleep long enough for me to socialise a little. And if not, maybe ordering room service and charging it to the company and a huge bed and TV weren't the worst things in the world! And if I wasn't happy, I could turn straight round and come home. Then I found out it was over an hours drive away! Hmmm, perhaps the trip wasn't worth it. The boss' wife had insisted that the room was less than 30 seconds away from the function room, which sounded good. HID gave me the hotel's number to call and confirm this. It was a complete fabrication, the receptionist informed me our room was at the other side of the building, there was no way our monitor would work to cover that distance. She could only move our room to the closest one within our party (and that was only with the boss' wife's express permission) and even that wasn't close. The snow started to fall and the driving conditions worsened.<br /><br />Needless to say, I didn't go in the end. And I'm still not ready to leave her now. People think this is very strange. HID made up a little story about her being unwell, he did not feel comfortable telling people his wife refuses to be separated from her new baby. Even I am a little surprised by feeling this way. After a difficult birth that resulted in two separate (6hr in total) surgeries and permanent nerve damage I still suffer with today with my first baby, I almost couldn't wait to be rid of Boy, (who was just as difficult, but not breastfed and slept in a cot. I say slept...for 2hrs at a time til 6m, and only when very settled) and we left him overnight and two days with my mother when he was 3m old and went away for the weekend, 2hrs away. I know now it was PND, and I feel terrible about it. But I could not leave Missis. How strange that they are having such different starts in life.allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-9456639276903914832010-01-13T09:31:00.003+00:002010-01-13T09:46:07.615+00:00A Classic ArgumentMy cousin's current facebook status:<br /><br />X wants to know whether standing on an upturned plug with bare feet is more or less painful than being hit in the nuts?<br /><br />some misguided replies:<br /><br />try it! bloody kills!<br />06 January at 19:29<br /><br />its a close call. upturned plugs are a nightmare<br />06 January at 19:30<br /><br />less id say mate depends on size of nuts pmsl<br />06 January at 19:32<br /><br />Wot about bein hit in the nuts by an upturnd plug?<br />06 January at 21:01<br /><br />My reply:<br /><br />in that case the eternal argument of whether childbirth or getting hit in the nuts is more painful is over. Standing on a plug is like being kissed by a fairy compared to childbirth you bloody wuss!<br /><br />What would you have replied?allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-43254722196273034702010-01-12T16:56:00.009+00:002010-01-13T20:19:08.552+00:00Christmas.Here are some of our Christmassy photos! Sorry for the delay, things are only just returning to nomal around here, the house still looks like toys 'r' us.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5_qxEqBS_4kGP4uB0thOhhEmIrwdtIXoOSxLxz5Tfg6YjAXLxfJccQmYfxmezOzFJ7ljS7-T0lAy6ViMqqNgpKX__ZyVEsy51trE0aAxT-HcgmiNVDVor5i94-cKlfrBrVy97jA/s1600-h/snow13.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425960395037180674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5_qxEqBS_4kGP4uB0thOhhEmIrwdtIXoOSxLxz5Tfg6YjAXLxfJccQmYfxmezOzFJ7ljS7-T0lAy6ViMqqNgpKX__ZyVEsy51trE0aAxT-HcgmiNVDVor5i94-cKlfrBrVy97jA/s320/snow13.JPG" border="0" /></a> At the park enjoying the pre-Christmas snow.<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg60KyEBPoWVWOc46jaJ5gNq6iJFdKy-7l8vwS66jwubuv1bk9yPTMQkiCFtc6FkwzAcDHbu_l6qrL2kXRIorj6byUMe0d9hpMHBzaJ7hYirSf3re8gnpE3sSM1qhbSPp-p6GyCfA/s1600-h/snow21.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425959864810605218" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg60KyEBPoWVWOc46jaJ5gNq6iJFdKy-7l8vwS66jwubuv1bk9yPTMQkiCFtc6FkwzAcDHbu_l6qrL2kXRIorj6byUMe0d9hpMHBzaJ7hYirSf3re8gnpE3sSM1qhbSPp-p6GyCfA/s320/snow21.JPG" border="0" /></a> Feeding the cold ducks in the snow.<br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLN7OjR9h5nWfTJKnsWx_vBHa-Cn0sJAmtEbWSRxzHdyA8NKXRUB5LxSBk3HSAcsd8bcn-uuPAkR2rpGTsk5M66VyWspvsFwUNeHoIezzmQeWoalgWTp0R7d53ALafLVAp2Zumsg/s1600-h/IMGP5951.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425959858316166290" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLN7OjR9h5nWfTJKnsWx_vBHa-Cn0sJAmtEbWSRxzHdyA8NKXRUB5LxSBk3HSAcsd8bcn-uuPAkR2rpGTsk5M66VyWspvsFwUNeHoIezzmQeWoalgWTp0R7d53ALafLVAp2Zumsg/s320/IMGP5951.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />" Mi-mi? Cooooorld!"<br /><br /><div><div><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBMz0QMGaAzqmXKkG_8ypkF81RC1UuWqP2dZOA3i624i-b3sYNse6T7xVjHpiGP37MWbmZlBzOIorIkDr-5JEnhtAtcdQUa6WB_2CKEw_leHD49bWABY-4pScdDna1oUQ9vO1Rg/s1600-h/IMGP6072.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425956157929428482" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcBMz0QMGaAzqmXKkG_8ypkF81RC1UuWqP2dZOA3i624i-b3sYNse6T7xVjHpiGP37MWbmZlBzOIorIkDr-5JEnhtAtcdQUa6WB_2CKEw_leHD49bWABY-4pScdDna1oUQ9vO1Rg/s320/IMGP6072.JPG" border="0" /></a> Wrapping paper hand made out of used parcel paper by Boy.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiJuggDOjDLaB5XV1P0MsO1SQrPyUML3bEfWvneiWCZhyphenhyphenjvR2XrouGynxwHj4eU4Y80xWy_UWFwfZY5btKKhtt7TfneVwrFDovlIKHrealA2fcRYjyC9PRGPCyFaakyLr89Y75g/s1600-h/IMGP6069.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5425956148565825378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 213px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSiJuggDOjDLaB5XV1P0MsO1SQrPyUML3bEfWvneiWCZhyphenhyphenjvR2XrouGynxwHj4eU4Y80xWy_UWFwfZY5btKKhtt7TfneVwrFDovlIKHrealA2fcRYjyC9PRGPCyFaakyLr89Y75g/s320/IMGP6069.JPG" border="0" /></a> Homemade gingerbread tree decorations made by Boy and I. Great gifts for the grandparents.<br /><br />Looks like we had a great time! Well the day itself didn't run so smoothly. Let me explain why.<br /></div><div><div>I wish I'd been brave this year and stayed at home with my little family. Instead, I went to my mums and had to play by other people's rules. Two days before Christmas, my mum informed me that her Christmas dinner guests (her included? not sure) did not want me to breastfeed in front of them. (As we all know, breastfeeding is a shameful secret and should be hidden away. Want to give your child the best possible start to life? By god, shush, don't tell anyone.) With one guest in particular to be avoided at all costs. And pay? Gosh did I. I sat with a tiny three month old baby in a freezing conservatory in the snow on her very first Christmas, each wearing a coat and wrapped in blankets. Then a huge sheet of ice crashed down on to the roof, making us both jump (I did actually fear the roof would cave in), and as a result, Missis screamed for half an hour. (The crash was that loud. And very frightening even for me, who knew and understood what it was.) So next feed, I attempted to balance myself and my baby on an uncomfortable dining chair, with my feet on tip-toes to lift her, and my shoulders hunched to reach her. Comfy! Each time I was alone, listening to laughter and merriment going on in the next room, missing out on my son playing with his new toys. So finally, after everyone had enjoyed their dinner (mine was a bit hurried as GOD FORBID I fed the baby while people were EATING, how DISGUSTING) I went into the comfy livingroom to feed the baby and play with Boy. Next, the family member who I was told to stay away from or face the concequences, actually came and sought me out to have a go at me (while he faced the wall as he couldn't even bear to look in my direction, but god he milked it). I couldn't get up and leave because I was feeding, and the more he went on, the more I could literally feel my let-down reflex slowing down, I'd be there all day. Great. Eventually he left the room (no, no-one came to rescue me) and I started to cry. No matter, Missis with have another first Christmas next year. Oh no, wait, she won't, will she?<br /></div><div>If mum had only given me a bit of notice, I'd have cooked for us and stayed at home. Thank goodness she warned me though, if I hadn't been expecting, well, something, I'd have been a lot more upset.</div><br /><div>We were supposed to be attending said family member's house for their annual Boxing Day party the following day. Needless to say, I would rather have peeled off my own toenails than be humiliated like that again. (Plus, I was forbidden from breastfeeding in his house, never mind in the same room as him.) Even my mum's tipsy begging couldn't change my mind. But HID asked if he could go and take Boy, which I thought would be a good idea to prevent people from lying about why I wasn't there (oh, she couldn't come, baby is ill). I asked him what he planned to say when people asked where<em> </em>was. He said; "I'm proud of what you are doing. I'll say 'she's at home feeding the baby'." I love him.<br /></div><div>Instead, we spent time with the other side of the family and attended a different gathering. I fed the baby surrounded by family. An eight year old girl sat next to me and stroked </div></div></div>Missis' head as I fed her. And a lady looked at us fondly and said "god, I miss breastfeeding." It was her daughter sat beside me, who she fed for years, not months.</div></div></div></div>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-17084673866708326042009-12-18T20:42:00.005+00:002009-12-20T22:26:51.536+00:00apologies! update:First, I'd like to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">apologise</span> for neglecting you all! I'm in awe if all you <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bloggers</span> still managing to regularly post in the run up to Christmas, I'm finding it impossible! December is sort of busy for us at the best of times (both mine and Boy's birthdays, plus HID and my anniversary) then throw into the mix two under twos, one of which is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">attached</span> to the breast 90% of the time, and then a scary hospital stay with said littlest one, it's been <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">blogland</span> to the back burner! I've only just got the Christmas decorations up, latest ever I think. Thank you to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">everyone</span> who sent get well wishes to <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Missis</span>, she is doing fairly well, still coughing, it's a slow thing.<br /><br /><br /><br />Avid readers may be aware that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Missis</span> is exceptionally tiny, I'm well used to strangers asking me if she was premature when they find out her age, and looking bemused when they discover she was average weight at birth. Well, I had her weighed just before she fell ill (well, she had her mild cold at that point) and she was 8lb7, and I was told to return in two weeks, to be on the safe side. I would usually refuse, but she is tiny, and better safe than sorry. But then she got ill, and didn't feed as much. Well, I didn't need the health visitor telling me she'd lost, most babies do <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">during</span> illness, she seemed fine, so I put it off for three weeks to give her a chance to catch up.<br /><br /><br /><br />I took her this week, and was a little unsettled to find my friendly breastfeeding volunteer not present; she would have been my back up person when the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">hv's</span> started on their weight/formula rant.....so before I'd even got <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Missis</span> undressed, I'm making my excuses: "she had a cold, it was a chest infection, antibiotics, hospital two nights, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">nebuliser</span>, x-rays, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">bronchioloitis</span>, she will have lost probably..." on and on I blabbed. Well, the scales told a different story, a story I knew, in reality, to be true, one of a healthy, happy <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Missis</span>. She had put on a whole pound! She hadn't even wavered off her curve. She's almost four months old now, and many babies weigh more than her 9lb7 when they are born. I decided to get out Boy's little red (childhood development) book and have a look at his weight at that age.<br /><br />I know I can't make direct <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">comparisons</span>, as in our area, there are new weight charts now, with the curves based on breastfed and not formula fed babies, which works for us. Plus, even brothers and sisters, no matter how alike they seem, are not the same person. At the same age, Boy weighed 13lb4, so a lot heavier, bear in mind he was combine fed from 4 weeks, and exclusively formula fed at 4 months. But looking at the newborn stage, Boy dropped so much weight, he fell through four <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">centiles</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Missis</span> only ever fell one. Yes, it took her ages to regain her <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">birthweight</span>, but now she's doing so well. I've been asked to return again in two or three weeks, but I'm not sure if I will. I know what a healthy baby looks like. I don't have a lot of time on my hands now I have two under twos, and it's such a hassle dragging two tots to the health centre. She will grow at her own pace, she's a little dot, but she's perfect.<br /><br />In other news, I turned 25 a few days ago. I was ready to let it pass by unnoticed. It's not that I mind getting older, I really don't have much <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">opinion</span> on the matter, it's just that I have no interest in birthdays now I have children. People ask me what I want, I only want things for them. And it's so close to Christmas, my head is filled with making their <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Christmases</span> great. But my mum wanted to do something.<br /><br />She had a great idea, taking the children to a soft play area! She invited my cousin who has a 6m old, and I invited some friends I'd made via Boy, who both handily have children Boy's age. Mum and I took turns holding a sleeping <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">Missis</span>, and running round playing and having fun with Boy and his little friends. It was a different kind of birthday, but the mother I am today loved it, it was my idea of a fun afternoon. Plus, it snowed! Can't ask for more on your birthday eh?allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-82379181475501824052009-12-17T08:21:00.000+00:002009-12-17T08:22:54.730+00:00Shhhh!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.enjoytheride.co.uk/discoveryhunt/yamsaqr"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 103px; height: 121px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_0iItJLmU2ydqdcXME71Us0KwA5-Xn6M4Bg4blVUv0pMeEy87lAdh0785Ig7Jm9M3lGgoYDbOpKrZD1XMz1hjrZUNnw-eEY4Qn9bUk4tu_Cv2UP9xegYXAasaId8Vx_x99HNOg/s320/honeypot_clear.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5416117535019998866" border="0" /></a>allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-60851964361702857202009-12-03T20:12:00.003+00:002009-12-03T21:59:39.026+00:00Sick ChildMy twelve week old daughter has had a cold for three weeks. Last week, on Sunday morning, the emergency doctor said she had a chest infection, the antibiotics for which ended a week later. Within 24hrs, her breathing had deteriorated, and while at a lecture with her in a sling on my chest, I was no longer happy and called the emergency doctor again. This was 10pm, and by 11pm I was struggling to keep my voice steady as a friendly red-headed doctor at the local children's ward told me my tiny baby needed an x-ray to rule out pneumonia. HID was at home with Boy, I was all alone, and frightened for her and terrified of my own responsibility.<br /><br />Her chest concaved under her ribs with every laboured breath. Her paler-than-usual skin was mottled and her eyes were red with huge dark circles. I looked at her and cursed myself for not bringing her sooner. The main reason I started to worry was that she'd stopped fighting. Not crying when she was put down, or during nappy changes, or putting on her coat, it just wasn't like her!<br /><br />Monday night: I held her and fed her while she endured test after test, finally at 3am, they showed us to a side room, it could be contagious bronchilolitis (not bronchitis, my Boy had it a few times, once at 6m old which warranted an overnight stay in hospital). They put her tiny, wheezing body into a huge metal cot and put up a parents' bed for me. Again, she failed to complain, up til now, the strong willed little lady had only ever slept alone (with no one touching her, i.e. not in a sling or right beside me in bed) for twenty minutes, and never knowingly. For the next three hours, I lept up at every cough, stir and constant beep of her sats monitoring machine which went off every time her heart rate peaked or her oxygen levels dipped. Beep, beep, beep, all night. I comforted her the best way I knew how, I put her to the breast. Oddly, the staff began to record whenever I fed her, and duration or each feed.<br /><br />The x-ray showed a shadow on her lung, a partial lung collapse. The doctor found a heart murmur too, apparently minor, but horrible to hear. She needed nebulisers every 8hrs, a scary and loud oxygen mask with inhaler-type drugs to widen her airways. I tried to ensure she was deeply sleeping or on the breast, with her big blue eyes wide in surprise at the loud noise next to her ear. It wasn't easy to feed her with a wire attached to her foot, or change her nappy, and I couldn't even walk around the small room swaying her as I would comfort her at home, and putting her in the sling wasn't an option either. I think I needed the sling more than she did. I hated holding her over my arm while she coughed until she was sick. <br /><br />On Tuesday morning, I congratulated myself for keeping an emergency bag in the boot of my car with a selection of nappies, vests and babygrows, for both babies. I didn't however have such emergency items for myself, so I rang HID and asked him to bring a few things, a breastpump included, as Missis wasn't taking as much as usual and I had a few blocked milk ducts. The last thing I needed was mastitis, and the nurses didn't seem to understand why I needed to express, they were talking about supplementing Missis with the expressed milk. I was more than happy with the way she was feeding, which was almost as normal, pretty good considering she was struggling to breathe, but they still insisted in recording every feed (well, every one they saw, I certainly wasn't wasting my time writing down feeds when I could have been sleeping.)<br /><br />The hospital's feeding specialist arrived with a breastpump just before HID did and cut to the chase.<br /><br />"I don't know what people have been telling you, but you just need to breastfeed your daughter. The doctors sometimes get nervous when they can't see how much is going in, but you need to ignore them, you know best."<br /><br />This woman and I were on the same page. I explained about my mastitis worries, and she showed me how the pump worked, apologising that none of the equipment was sterile, meaning we would have to throw the milk away. I saved it in a sippy cup for Boy, who is old enough not to worry about sterile stuff. The specialist and I laughed at the irony of expressing into a cow&gate glass bottle, since the medela one had gone missing, and joking "it's as bad as eating a nestle chocolate bar!", she really was great.<br /><br />While she was there, HID arrived with Boy in a sling on his back. I was pretty sure that no visitors other than parents were allowed, the nurses must have missed him up on Daddy's back, but gosh was I glad to see a little ray on sunshine in that dark and sad room. He spent half an hour cheerfully shouting "beeeee!" whenever Missis' heart and oxygen monitor went off, tripping over wires, jumping on my bed, pointing to my elongated nipple in my breast pump, and drawing on the sheets with a rogue crayon in the nappy bag.<br /><br />Soon after, they left owing to small boys and confined spaces and the things that happen. I busied myself with basic tasks whenever Missis didn't need me, which wasn't often, like eating, or brushing my teeth, or, heartbreakingly, nipping to the loo. This involved leaving her to power walk as fast as possible off the ward to the parent's toilets, weeing at breakneck speed, and then the agonising wait at the intercom while the nurses find time to let you back on to the secure ward, all the while, hoping she wasn't awake, crying, in distress, or god forbid, had taken a turn for the worse in my short-as-possible absence.<br /><br />That night, bronchiolitis was the confirmed diagnosis, and we were moved out of our private room to a contagious bronchi-ward, with three other sick babies. They were all much older, much sicker, and much louder. But the mums were the loudest. All I wanted to do at 7pm was sleep, but the mums just chatted and chatted. I suppose after 9 days (which is long they had been in) they had become institutionalised to a certain extent, it was like being in university halls. I didn't fit in there either. I was amazed how often their sick and crying babies were scolded and told things like "stop being silly now!" and left in their cots to cry. I hated putting Missis down even for a second, even when she was sleeping or contented. They all watched their individual tv's, and looked at me strangely for not wanting mine on.<br /><br />It was here I learned from another mum I was receiving free hospital meals because I was breastfeeding, god bless the nhs. That night, I ignored the cot and fed Missis in bed with me and slept with her, having to sit up to feed from my left side as her wires would not stretch that far. The nurses tried to make me put her down, but she was getting better and was having none of it. I was too tired to sit in the chair to feed, I was afraid I'd drop her. But the nurses were convinced her high heart rate was due to bedsharing, even though each time I put her down, it rocketed and her oxygen levels dipped. We both got much more sleep on Tuesday night.<br /><br />I was convinced we'd be allowed home, the other mums kept talking about their babies being "off oxygen" for however many hours was the key to going home, Missis had never needed any! Sure enough, we were discharged by 3pm with an inhaler.<br /><br />At 9pm last night, I was re-packing my bag as she seemed to deteriorate, but it was a false alarm, and now her only symptom is a cough that will last a month. The relief is indescribable. And I caught up on my sleep no problem. The worst thing about the whole experience was not having HID with me. He had to care for Boy in my absense. But when Boy was laying in that hospital cot, all those months ago, I had HID by my side to make me strong, and this week I had to find that strength all by myself. I missed him so much.allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-56373499271112853832009-11-25T13:19:00.002+00:002009-11-25T13:26:29.103+00:00Bargain BinIt's always worth riffling through the "reduced" section in supermarkets. Yesterday, I sent HID to the local establishment for milk and he came home with the following:<br />a packet of expensive shortbread biscuits<br />a Christmas tin of Cadbury's biscuits<br />a Christmas tin of Fox's biscuits<br />a box of Ferrero Rochers<br />all of which were in quite battered packaging, but crucially, not in the least bit battered inside, even the shortbreads.<br />Guess how much???<br />15p!<br />Fifteen of your finest pence each. He will be getting sent out for milk more often.allgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37337796.post-20197497564917284282009-11-23T20:40:00.002+00:002009-11-23T21:14:24.968+00:00Toddler:English DictionaryAfter my previous post, I'm pleased to report that things are improving and I'm able to spend more time "mothering" my Boy, as Missis feeds less often and for less time, and is even getting better at sleeping on her own for short (30 mins) periods of time. I'm hoping it's a developmental milestone and not the chest infection she currently has. So today, we finger painted on brown parcel paper (used) to make Christmas wrapping paper, and played dress up, and "watered" the plants in the garden, not that they need it. Yesterday we baked, made dens and played rough and tumble together. It's been pretty special for me, I haven't done much of this fun stuff in ages. My little boy is growing so fast, I want to remember everything he does. So here is our toddler-to-English dictionary, it's taken me a while to get to this stage, I'm usually the last one to notice the jibberish he just uttered was a string of words!<br /><br />Mi-mi: my favourite; "Mummy"<br />Ooooo, eeets daaa: oooh, it's dark (this applies if someone switches a light off. Or on for that matter)<br />(shouted) BUBU!: bubbles!<br />boooo!: either as in peekaboo, or as in poo, stinky socks/shoes<br />sheeese: cheese<br />sheeeese: please<br />ishhhhh: fish<br />shoooow: soap<br />aaaah: hands, as in, wash hands<br />eye: ice, while pointing to his eye. Which is apparently in the back of his head.<br />bee bee: car horn noise<br />um: humph, that loveable little monster on nick jr<br />ba ba: peppa, as in peppa pig. This used to be "peppa". Not sure why we regressed.<br />AAAAH!: meaning dinasaur, monster, tiger, lion or other scary things.<br />ow, ow: can we go out? can I get out of my highchair/bath/cot?<br />pop!: popping bubbles<br />row row: round and round, said while spinning to make himself dizzy, or singing wheels on the bus.<br />mo-mo: I want more. Of the food I was having, drink I was drinking, song we were singing, game we were playing.<br />No: meaning no<br />No: meaning I'm in the mood to say no and I haven't listened. Even when you say "would you like some chocolate?"<br />Di-Di: digger or similar<br />*kissing noise*: I want my dummy<br />*patting the side of my head* (tired sign): I want my blanket <br />*waving my right hand*: sign for yes; he made this up, I'd prefer just a nod!<br />*pointing to my mouth while going "Eeee! Eeee!"* : I want something to eat.<br />*fist bashed on my chin* : please or thank youallgrownuphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15558724767417950811noreply@blogger.com4