Tag Archives: O


It finally got us.

Well, not us.  We are immune.  The adults I mean.  But it got the children.

She was spotty for the whole of last week but wasn’t too bothered by them.  They were worst in the nappy region.  They’re surprisingly few and mostly healed up.

He has the fever that arrives a day or two before the outbreak. 

OH has been at home looking after the sickly babies while I have been taking the easy route of going to work. 

We’re hoping O has them as mildly as she did.


For my benefit.

L was a screamy baby.  She could scream for hours.  It made no difference who she was with or what she was doing.  If she wanted to scream, she would.

O is less screamy.  He’s easily consoled by mummy cuddles. But this is the problem.  The mummy cuddles.

On Monday they did their first session with the new childminder.  It was the first time O was away from me for more than a few hours. I dropped them off at 8.30am. I was expecting a phonecall to come and get him at about 11am.

You see, on a Thursday when he’s here with his Nanny then his father he gets hysterical.  On Friday when he was at home with Grandma he refused formula and cried himself to sleep. When I’m here with him he cries if I leave the room, if I put him in his travel cot and if I don’t feed him when he expects it.

We have been trying to give him formula through the day but he won’t touch it. 

All of this I thought would amount to an awful first day for him.


He cried twice. He napped easily.  He took the formula.  He ate the food. He’s a little shitbag.

I say this because yesterday when I was running on low tolerance he cried each time I left the room.  He cried when I changed him after he expected a feed.  He cried in the pushchair.  He cried in the highchair.  He completely refused the formula and cried.

I am devastated that he’s behaving this way for me.  It breaks my heart to think that someone else is already getting the best of him.

Breastfed babies cry more

Awesome words of encouragement there.

I firmly believe that it is far more important that a baby is fed than how it is fed. However, because I am human and a walking contradiction, I also believe that breast is indeed best and that even the first feed can make a whole world of difference.  I feel saddened if I see the words “couldn’t be bothered” with regards to breastfeeding.

There have been quite a few articles thrown around the internet lately about the frequency and duration of crying in babies relating to the method of feeding, the most recent one being on the BBC website and beginning with the headline “Breastfed babies cry more”

I know, I know, that article is supposed to be encouragement to make breastfeeding mothers aware that breastfeeding babies nurse for various reasons, so therefore will cry more in order to gain attention from mum.  I know.

But, from a personal point of view, if I were a new mum and I was having the breast vs battle debate with myself, I would be completely put off by being told they cry more.

I think this is because we see crying as a negative thing.  If your baby cries, it means you’re doing something wrong. In fact, if your baby cries, it just means they need you.   They need Mum.  Not a dummy.  Not a bottle. Mum.

We have had two vastly different experiences with babies.  My first screamed.  Constantly.  Or at let it felt that way.  She was about 9 months old when it stopped.  She wold scream all day and night regardless of who held her or what was going on.  It was a nightmare.

My second cries if he wants me. That’s it.  If he cries, I know he wants me.  I have had compliments on how quiet he is.

Both babies were breast fed.  In fact, my daughter was combine fed and she cried more. 

Sweeping generalisations do more harm than good….generally.

Maybe I’m becoming a hippy.  Maybe doing it second time round with a calmer baby has made me believe that we should all have unmedicated births and breastfeed our babies well into toddlerhood (oh if only everything were that perfect.) But I don’t believe saying that babies cry more is a sympathetic view. 

“Oh, it’s OK he’s up all night howling, he’s breastfed.” 

(Most likely followed in the next breath by “Just give him a bottle.”)

I’m hurting

Today I’m going to interrupt the theme and darken the mood because today, quite frankly, I feel like shit.  Awful stinky curry shit. Kebab shit.

Once again, for those of you who do not like negativity or feel you may be triggered by someone whinging, please look away now.



Yes you. The only one left reading.  Get a cuppa and then lend me your eyes and some sympathy while I feel sorry for myself.

I’m hurting because I’m exhausted.

I’m hurting because of the injustice I have been served in a pathetic situation which is not even my fucking problem.

I’m hurting because I’m reminded every time one of my kids misbehaves and I tell them off how close I am to having Social Services on my case FOR A CRIME I DID NOT COMMIT!

I’m hurting because my organisation has failed and the house is once again looking like we have been burgled.

I’m hurting because once again work gave me renewed hope and havent even bothered to inform me I haven’t been successful so I am left in limbo.

I’m hurting because my coccyx injury is twinging and it makes me feel sick.

I’m hurting because I pretty much constantly feel sick anyway.

I’m hurting because playgroup didn’t hold the door open for me so I had to struggle out with L clinging to one hand and a car seat, bookbag and artwork in the other.

I’m hurting because every driving error is my fault.

I’m hurting because an idiotic man swore at me as he almost ran over my kids (we were walking back to the car in the carpark and he was going forwards!!)

I’m hurting because the fucking roadworks are a headache and chore every single day.

I’m hurting because every car journey has a screaming sound track.  Every night has the same tune. Someone change the record already.

I’m hurting because she starfished in the carseat in the carpark and I screamed.  I’m fully waiting a telling off.

I’m hurting because even though they are both asleep I know I won’t be able to sleep.

I’m hurting because I can’t do more.

I’m hurting because I want to be likeable and pleasant and positive but I mostly feel anti-social, bitchy, and negative.

I’m just hurting.

Looking backwards

2011 was overall a good year, despite my constant whining on here.

Here’s a run down.

I got to watch my little girl blossom from the last days of baby to a cheeky, stubborn yet gorgeous and hilarious toddler.

I became part of a community of very special people who I have never met but have provided more support than they’ll ever realise.

I rediscovered blogging/journalling which has helped keep me sane.

I gave birth to my son; an experience which has changed my life.

I began my massage course, and learned about becoming a doula and realised that I want to help other women have empowered positive birth experiences.

I completed NaNoWriMo.

I took the time to get to know OHs sister who has a huge heart and a chaotic life.  I have no idea how she does it.  Even on the tough days she gets up and runs about and still finds time to help others.

Wednesday club was formed. Madness with many children, knitting and cake.

So, as 2011 draws to a close, I plan to take the good things with me.


I’m finding it amazing the lengths parents are going to prove Santa really has been.

I’m lucky.  L doesn’t really understand and O doesn’t care as long he gets boob.

I suppose I never really stopped believing in the magic of Christmas as mum always made it special with her treasure hunts and string trails and present hiding.  To this day she still does a Santa’s sack of bits for me.  The magic was there.  At 29 I could still imagine the fat man squeezingin our house and dropping off at least some of this stuff.

Now my eldest is aware of Santa.  She might not understand but she’s aware.  She knows that something massive is going to happen in the morning and that she wants a piece of it.

So now my illusions are totally shattered.

The requests for whiskey, mince pies and carrots all came from us.  I had to wrap all the presents.  I had to pay for all the presents.  No elves were involved at all. 

I feel empty knowing that when I go to bed tonight after leaving their sacks in the front room and a present in the bedroom that nothing else will appear.  No more parcels will magically arrive.

I don’t like being Santa.

Christmas eve

I’m going to join everyone else and write a quick blog about Christmas eve.

We are almost ready.  Well, we are pretty ready.

Father Christmas finished wrapping all the presents tonight, and tomorrow night we are going to my mums too eat Brie and nibbles.

Now I can’t wait.

I cannot wait to see her beaming face when she opens the noisey presents she has been bought.

I cannot wait for her to be hyper on too much chocolate.

I just absolutely cannot wait for the whole day to overwhelm my kids.

I love how Christmas with kids brings out the big kid in us.