Toddler to English Dictionary: revised edition

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.

So here are his latest in terms of favourite words. My favourites, that is....

Or-Tock: octopus

ash-ash: apple

sic-sic: chicken

didit: biscuit

Iya: phone, as in, Mummy's Iya

wot-wot: yoghurt

sassas: pasta

Dean: green

Right: white

Dick-cock: clock (*smirk*)

Dan: dance (accompanied by a shoulder wiggle)

Car Dan: a car with music playing on the stereo

Weak: drink, water

Meak: Milk

Mummy Meak: Mummy's milks.... you know, boobs!

Ahh: name for his sister. Everyone who meets her says "Ahhh".

Daddy dike: Daddy's bike (motorcycle). This applies to all motor bikes and leather gear.

Oh tie-ee: all tidy. Not that this happens often!

Night night: his "night night" comfort blanket

Nan nigh: saying goodnight

Miss: kiss. Also to mean dummy. It's a tedious link.

Dad: granddad.

Cheerios: cereal. Any type. (Including supermarket-own brand O's, not Nestle!)

No, dada, no! : I've finished my meal, thank you. (Ignore this warning and it's going on the floor)

Or-Oss: Awesome! (we watch an American children's music show. Listening and dancing to music iiiiis....AWESOME!)

Dillian: Brilliant (listening and dancing to music is also brilliant)

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.

Ma-mo: banana

Ossh: off

Tenny: penny

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.

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 raspberry 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.

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.

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.

He gets on my last nerve sometimes, but other times, I have to squeeze him just a little too tight while I still can.

Slinging praises

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.

Missis 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 stretchy wrap. (a MAM eco babywearing set, with matching hat and booties, so cute, borrowed from slingmeet in orange, see above, 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 describe 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 Missis (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 mins 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 mins while I chat to her through the glass door.

All this being said, I find it unbelievable to remember that I only borrowed my first sling when Boy was FOUR MONTHS OLD, the age Missis is now, who has spent hours upon hours in the sling. And Boy was even MORE high need than Missis. Well, perhaps Missis is just as high need as Boy was, but it's much less noticeable 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.

I love helping out at my local slingmeet 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, demonstrations and wanting to borrow slings. We lent out 2 wraps, 3 mai-tais and a pouch! Missis 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 pleasantly surprised I could still do it after a 6 months break!

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 :-)

Here is what we have been doing while staying with Nana...

Playing with Granddad's toys.




Lots of playing in the huge garden. Even in the wet. Even in my pajamas.





Choosing my very own clothes to wear.


Enjoying the rain.


Learning keyborad and mouse skills.


Turning into a beautiful big boy, right before Mummy's eyes.

Missing my baby

I miss my son terribly. Every morning, stiff from sleep, I am unable to pick him up for the cuddle we both need to start our days. I am well enough to either pour out his cereal or sit up at the table to eat breakfast with him. I am currently expected to do both. So after breakfast, I spend time lying on the sofa recovering, unable to interact with him in a normal way. I am too distracted by pain. He watches more TV than we ever would in our own home. It is something I am able to do with him, but I'd rather he play, even if it is not with me. When he has his morning sleep, I am not resting, but using the time to dress and wash with agonizing slowness. Then I take more painkillers and try to rest before he wakes, having been soothed to sleep not by me but by his grandmother. He has stopped coming to me. Mummy can't play, get food or give cuddles, so what use is she? All his affection is reserved for Nana, who is doing everything I passionately wish I could. I sobbed today when he voluntarily came to give me a goodbye kiss and wave when heading out of the door on yet another outing I cannot accompany him on.

He is eating lots of food we wouldn't normally have at home, such as tinned meals, biscuits and bread often more than twice a day. The only vegetables he eats are the ones in the individual portions of homecooked food I made from scratch months ago, to have healthy ready meals for him for after the new baby arrives. My supply continues to dwindle, and I can't even be sure that I am well enough each day to stand and defrost the meal and then heat it. And it seems others are unwilling when there are tins of ravioli to be served. He is allowed snacks very close to meal times, when I would normally just try to get the meal ready a little earlier. Instead, he has to wait, and fill up on snacks while such-and-such a job just needs to be finished. His meals are often eaten alone, something I try to avoid. After all, how will he learn to use cutlery if he has no frame of reference? He is often spoon-fed, often in front of the TV. He often eats too much as the TV distracts him enough to miss his full-up signal. He is then praised for finishing a meal. I don't mind if he doesn't eat much of his meals, as he is learning how much he needs, and only he can be the judge of his own hunger. But while we are here, he is learning that people find clean plates a cause for celebration, something which I feel founds my own over-eating. I wish I could avoid this. He is scolded for experimenting with the feel and texture of foods with his hand. He is only learning, and wants to see. Yet....

He is being allowed to get away with much more than at home, such as throwing toys. I cannot leap up to stop him, and he has a much larger audience here. Daddy had a plastic cup launched into his face this evening, hitting the bridge of his nose, after his glasses did. And any reprimands that do not come from me are shouted, loudly, something I try to avoid, along with overuse of the word “no”. Boredom whining and frustration tantrums are not met with a “how can we solve this” attitude that I really do try so hard to present at home, but with “oh, stop your moaning”, not something a 20 month old can easily understand. He is bored, he is used to one planned activity outside the home a day, he is a difficult to entertain toddler. But he is now expected to be happy in the house all day. He isn't.

The worst part of the day by far is night time. Daddy usually arrives to put him to bed. Downstairs, I listen to the delighted squealing in the bath, and try not to think about how he cuddles close for his bedtime milk, folding into your body for his last bit of contact before bed. I have not personally witnessed how he rolls away onto his tummy with his blanket and dummy and sleepily dismisses you from the room for over a month now. Later, I go to bed, and HID goes home and leaves me, to fit the new bathroom before the new baby arrives. In the night, as is usual, I hear crying that wakes a mother instantly. I cannot get upstairs to him, even if he was downstairs with me, I am unable to lift him into my arms for comfort, and sway and nurse him like I used to. I wait, listening to his cries escalate in intensity before my mother wakes and tends to him. I lay in bed, considering each night dragging my body up those stairs just to see that he is all right. I would pick him up, I think. I would give him milk. But a tack of a different generation is used. Without the parents and comfort he is used to, in a strange bed in Nana's house, he wakes even more frequently than at home. HID takes on the night shift at weekends and a few nights a week. Who knows, this change could unsettle him even more. This is the part I hate the most. Trapped in my bed, listening to my son scream out in the night for attention and affection, something a child should never be denied, even at 3am. Yes, sometimes my patience wears thin with a child that doesn't sleep through the night. But he is my son, and I'm always prepared to go to him. The sleepless nights make anyone but a mother (and sometimes her too) have a short fuse, even with a delightful and much-loved small boy who just wants to play.

My mother is almost 50, she didn't plan at this age to be getting up three or more times a night to tend to a crying baby. She didn't make the decision to be running around after an energetic toddler all day, coming up with new and exciting things to do each time boredom strikes. She did not expect that I would be so ill in my second pregnancy, no one did, or I would have put it off for much longer. No one has asked her to do all our washing, cook all our meals, change all the nappies and an endless list of other wonderfully caring things she does, completely unasked, and, it must seem, thanklessly. I am so very lucky and grateful to have her. I just wish I was doing it my way. It isn't just the parental-style issue. I miss it. I want it so badly that each time they leave the house, and I am alone, I cry bitterly with the agony of spending all day with a child, but not really being present for him. Daddy must miss him too, he isn't seeing him nearly as much as if we were living at home. But I have totally crumpled. And with each day, the pain increases, and I am doing less and less with him, for him. As a mother, it's killing me.

One thing that struck me today: he learned to walk just as I was losing the ability. So although he has been walking for some months now, and is able to walk distances in the park and so on, I have never seen this. I have never walked with him outside. I haven't had the excitement of seeing a dog in the distance with him, or having a bus drive past us.

I cannot explain how desperate I am to get better. I don't want to be a burden on my mum and husband, and all the friends that are helping us. I don't want to be in pain. I want my son's routine, discipline, eating and sleeping habits to return to normal. But so much above all of that,I want to go back to being the mother I was, and I want to stop missing out on my son's toddlerhood. I want to teach the new words and play the new games. I want to show him the world. Me. Not anyone else. I am missing that so much. I am missing being a mummy so much. I am missing him so much that I ache.

Wordless Wednesdays

Thought I'd jump on the bandwagon, sorry for the lazy post! Yesterday, I panicked when I realised I was 30 weeks pregnant, and read somewhere I should have a hospital bag packed by 36 weeks...so I went out and treated myself to a new holdall, and hunted out all of Boy's old newborn things to pop in it. He was 7lb13 but needed early baby clothes as he was so tiny. The picture depicts a babygro he currently wears, and one that was too big when he was born. How did my baby get so big?! *Sob*!

Also: check out "and 1 more means 4", there's a great giveaway!! Always worth an entry right?? For even more chances for this stay at Alton Towers, try Perfectly Happy Mum too!

What shall we do today?

We had a playday today, here are some of the things we enjoyed:Getting creative at messy playgroup: first time Boy has used a paintbrush willingly, alone! Boy's current favourite garden game: running through washing. Yes, he is wearing a babygro and shoes at 4pm in the afternoon... Cheeky cheerio: Having a snack on the kitchen floor

Giving thanks

I moan a lot. Just ask HID, he'll tell you. I like a good moan, people feeling sorry for me, woe is me. Yes, I'm hobbling on crutches while 22wks pregnant and looking after a bouncing 17m old mostly by myself 6am-6pm. But it's not really that bad is it?

With my Boy, I had a horrible pregnancy (morning sickness BPT [before pregnancy test] up until 7 months gestation, SPD,which ended in me being housebound for 2months, from 6 months til Boy was a month old), a terrible labour and birth (26 hours of "back labour" followed by 3rd degree tearing and 4 hrs in surgery), a horrible post-partum (surgeons eventually realised I'd been stitched up "wrong" when I could still barely walk months after giving birth and was "cut open" to "start again", and sat on a rubber ring til Boy was 6m, couldn't leave the house til he was 4m, plus breastfeeding issues meant Boy was boarderline dangerously underweight in the early days, there are skeletal photos I've just had to destroy). And of course, probably due to all of this, Boy was by no means contented, or an "easy" baby until he was at LEAST 6 months old.

But other than the weight issues (which were my fault, and stemmed from being hopelessly determined to breastfeed), at no point was there ever any health problems with my son, and nor has there been since really. I may have felt like shit while pregnant, but there was never any risk to baby. I may have been in pain during and after labour, but my Boy wasn't.

I have a healthy, happy and perfect little boy, and I am truly the luckiest Mummy alive. He can smile and laugh. He can make a joke. He can run about. He can eat, he can swim.

So when people are horrified when they find out I am pregnant again, so soon, after my "terrible time", I tell them; this is how you get babies. There is no other way.

So I might be hobbling til baby arrives, and a c-section is major surgery, I won't bounce back. But, if I'm very lucky, I'll have another healthy child to love, to welcome into our busy, happy home.

Boys and Girls

I often wonder where my Boy learned to act so much like a little boy. One of his first noises that made sense was "brumming" a toy car. From a very early age he figured out pull-back-and-let-go cars and push-along cars. He is also surprisingly accurate at throwing a ball for an under-two, and takes great delight in doing so (and applying his throwing skills to unfortunate objects such as stones,and unfortunate targets, such as the cat). After two and a half weeks of walking, he could convincingly dribble a football. He also stares at any TV that is turned on (to any channel) like a zombie, exactly like his Daddy, not only that, he can figure out how to turn on most televisions he comes across (a worrying prospect), and on ours, if left for a few minuets while I clear away breakfast things, he can open the TV cabinet, turn on the set, the sky, and find and play a recording of "In The Night Garden". His boyish gadget talents extend to finding music to dance to on Daddy's phone, and being able to fuck up ANY cycle on any dishwasher or washing machine by pressing pretty buttons (yes, that's right folks, he's buggered up other people's washing too....). Toys which "do" anything are not played with, but turned over to discover how they work. If something can be destroyed, he will have a go; he cannot abide blocks and towers more than one high,and simply must bash them all down in the most violent manner possible. He is also a total foodie, and eats vast amounts like many men (but not his Daddy) do. A recent breakfast consisted of a banana, a yogurt, and three wheetabix....you could fit him in a wheetabix box! On a similar vein, he is a very messy eater (even by baby-led weaning standards, I can assure you) and is only very gradually growing out of this. Friends have said how much of a "boy" trait this is, although I just think that kids who enjoy food are messy.

He seems so different from the little girls we come into contact with via parent-toddler groups! They seem dainty to his tearing around elephant-style. Don't get me wrong, he loves quietly reading books too, but I wish he could perhaps be slightly neater or cleaner. No matter how often I clean them, his ears are always mucky, and he almost always looks vaguely half-dressed due to dirtying one or more items of clothing. He is also the least clingy child to ever walk the earth, which makes it hard to comfort him when he gets hurt,as he pushes me away with all his strength, while still crying heartbreaking tears. It also sometimes makes me wonder if he loves me as much as his Nana, or as much as other children love their parents! He will smile at/be picked up by/"talk" to anyone, even if he can't see me close by. He hasn't yet learned how to kiss and cuddle, these things are unimportant to him, I almost adore it when he is ill, and he actually wants to sit on my lap to snuggle.

Where did he learn to be a little boy? Surely I haven't already thrust gender roles before him and said "Here, son, be a boy,"? He does have a little doll, but she isn't as well loved as his cars/trains/blocks. I'm coming around to the thought that perhaps little boys just are more likely to pick up toy cars than anything else in the toy box, something in their little male brains draws them to it, something that was there long before I uttered the words "What's wrong with a doll? I'm having no gender stereotypes in this house!". Perhaps it's his uber-masculine Daddy, who's first word was "car", believe it or not. But what I love most about my manly man is that he doesn't feel any need to be masculine. Football? Boring drivel. A beer? Oh maybe a few, but you can't force me to drink my weight in Bud and have my blood replaced at A & E. Periods? Yes love, you're due in a week, I think. A true man is one who is himself, and slave to no man. I hope my Boy grows up to be just like Daddy.

"Everybody loves jumping in muddy puddles"

To get pictures for my "Springtime" post, my Boy and I embarked on a morning stroll in the woods near to our house, an excellent way to fill the time between morning naptime and lunch time. He enjoyed himself immensely, we saw two dogs for him to woof at, and heard many birds singing, which prompts my clever boy to look indiscriminately upwards, squeezing his chubby fists in his version of the sign for "bird" (which incidentally, is the same as his sign for duck and milk. It can get confusing around our house). He also, much to my dismay, discovered the childhood joy of jumping in muddy puddles, á la Peppa Pig. But not just jumping, "fishing" for debris at the bottom with his hands, and simply sitting in them.

Our twenty minute wander in the woods warranted the following, massive amount of housework:
Our pile of washing:
My Boy's things: coat, dungarees, shoes, t-shirt (the sleeves got muddy from picking up handfuls of mud), vest, nappy, (he sat in puddles. Repeatedly), socks, shoes.
My things: top, jeans, shoes (managed to save the socks), coat, sling.
Other things: muslin cloth (found, thankfully, in the car, the only thing, aside from a very small plastic sandwich bag I found, protecting the car seat.), inside of car and car seat, the bath, the bathmat, and the hallway rug could do with a hoover too, to be honest.

The irony of it is that he does own an all-in-one waterproof and super-tiny wellington boots in his size, with extra short calf length for tiny boys, and extra wide calf width for chubby baby legs. Of course, these items were safely tucked away at home.

Twenty minutes of fun for Boy and tongue-biting (don't spoil his fun, the clothes will wash, he's not hurting anybody) for me yielded at least double that amount of time in a huge clean-up operation. But at least Boy enjoyed his bath.

Haircut

My baby angel is having his delectable sandy waves cut tomorrow. I'm really not sure if I want it to happen, but he is beginning to look like nobody owns him, so needs must. I won't even be there! My mum is taking him while I go to an ante-natal exercise class. He does know the hairdresser though, she's a family friend. Here he is before his haircut, isn't it gorgeous!? Will post an after shot too I think.

Update: Here is my Boy's new haircut, granted, he's just woken in the picture,so it is a bit fluffy with bed-head. And his head is tilted,so it's much straighter than it looks. I think it's really smart! He apparently had to be bribed with a biscuit in order to sit still, not something I would have done....