I Babu

As we hurtle towards the two year mark I have a mix of emotions regarding Toddler B. On one hand I am tearing my hair out as she forms opinions, thoughts and 'character' - you may think a toddler cannot possibly have an opinion, well you're wrong.

When asked if she wants to do something? eat something? if she likes something? she very definitely tells us "Noooooo" with a firm head shake. If she really doesn't want to do something she expresses her opinion in the form of rolling around the floor making a sound not too unlike a dying hyena. These are the bad points, the stressful points, the inevitable points of her approaching the "terrible two" stage. Yet, on the other hand I am adoring how she is forming opinions, thoughts and 'character'. I love how we can sit at opposite ends of the sofa drinking a cup of tea each whilst 'talking' about the latest episode of Waybuloo. I grin as I watch her pull open her bedroom drawer and select her outfit for the day, which, although doesn't always match, is definitely always creative. I almost cry every time her little voice shouts "Mama, I babu" which to other people probably sounds like utter babbledygook but I know she's saying "Mama, I Love you" because she points to her eye, her heart, then to me as she says it.

It's confusing to one minute feel like crying because she's having the hugest hissy fit known to man but then the next minute (after she's been sat on the naughty step) I feel like crying because she is covering my face in 'I'm Sorry' kisses. I am regularly struggling with the conflicting thoughts of a/ wondering whether it's appropriate to keep her in the garden shed and b/ not wanting to discipline her because I don't want to be the one that makes her cry.

I know that all of these emotions I feel are going to continue for the rest of our lives which in a strange way is actually quite comforting. It doesn't matter how many little clumps of hair I pull out or how many tissues are soaked with my tears, none of it matters because 'I Babu'

Lets Just Book It....

I fear my blog may take a slightly different course in the coming months because my lovely boyfriend, Mr B, is soon(ish) to be my HUSBAND! Yes, we have decided to stop living in sin and become man and wife so the wedding is booked for 2012... I did say it was soonish.

You may ask what wonderfully romantic or inventive way I was proposed to, were there candles, flowers and music? was he on bended knee? did he hire aeroplanes to write his message across the sky? well the answer is no, instead of the traditional methods of proposing Mr B opted for the far more unusual approach of saying, and I quote:

"I don't really see the point in asking you because I know you'll say yes so lets just book it"

and as I am a fairly low maintenance lass I agreed and we did just that.

From the moment we booked the wedding I have been Internet window shopping for dresses, table centres & cakes, I have joined wedding forums and discovered I now need an ice sculpture, a magician, edible rose petals and some pre-wedding boudoir photographs to tantalise my husband to be. My initial ideas of a low key intimate ceremony followed by a nice dinner are quickly evaporating into thin air as I read descriptions of £20,000 extravaganzas involving hundreds of guests and designer dresses. My 'ideas' list grows everyday as I 'Google' images of elaborate wedding cakes and favours. The fact we have set ourselves a budget of around £2,500 for the whole thing does not enter my head as I drool over some Christian Louboutin diamond encrusted wedding shoes to go underneath my custom made Oscar De La Renta gown....

But once I have wiped away the eager trail of saliva from my laptop screen I remember that it makes no difference if our wedding costs £200 or £20,000, if we have diy invites instead of luxurious hand woven 18ct gold leaf invites (I wonder if you get these?) because what matters to me is that I have my closest family and friends at my side to see me become Mrs B because this is all I actually want.

Who looks after me?

A problem I hadn't really thought of arose in our house today, I was sick. I have, obviously, been ill since Toddler B was born but we had family and friends around to help out but now we have uprooted ourselves to the country life we are a good hour away from family and don't think I could expect the friends I've made up here to mop my fevered brow after knowing me for all of five minutes. So today I was left being sick with one very giddy toddler to entertain and it made me think - Who looks after me?!



If Toddler B ever got ill (so far we've only had one throat infection and teething to deal with) then of course I would be on hand fussing with warm drinks, snuggles, medicine and plenty of cbeebies to help the patient along and if Mr B got ill I would allow him to lie in bed for the day and provide plenty of care of attention for the 'dying' patient (he's a man, of course he would be dying) but who looks after me when I get sick? Mr B had to go to work and as much as I may try to get Toddler B to fetch me a duvet and some hot water the most she managed was a cuddle and kiss for me., which, lovely as it was, was not the kind of medical attention I was seeking.



I feel during this self indulgent post I should point out that I am a rubbish sick person, I'm the kind of person who wants to take to my bed as soon as the first sniffle of a cold appears so lo and behold if anything more sinister than a cold presents itself and despite numerous attempts at eating healthy, taking vitamins and general immune system boosting I seem to be susceptible to all manner of virus's within a ten mile radius which means I spend a large portion of my time just wanting to lie wrapped up in quilt being fed grapes an having dollops of sympathy poured all over my aching limbs so imagine my horror today when I got that horrible nauseous feeling in my stomach and realised I had to carry on living... I had to feed, clothe, play with and unfortunately nappy change a toddler regardless of how I was feeling. After about three hours of this I wanted to pick up the phone and call in sick but I had a feeling no one would answer?



I am now thankfully starting to feel a little better but I'm just about to head off to Google to see if there some kind of Nurse I can hire for days like today... either this or I simply cannot get ill again but if this is the case I will definitely miss the grapes.

It's Frowned Upon...

On my way to the shop today I overheard a mum gossiping to her friend about how their mutual friend was raising her child 'completely wrong' they were 'discussing' (read bitching) how she doesn't do anything by the book with her baby and at first it made me feel a bit guilty because they could genuinely have been talking about me but then it made me think that I've done a fair few things that are frowned upon by the professionals and it doesn't seem to have caused Toddler B any harm so I decided to list them in the hope it makes you feel better for any 'awful' things you have done:

• I Didn't breastfeed her
• I Moved her into her own bedroom at 15 weeks and we didn't use a baby monitor. I lay awake all night long trying to listen to the gentle sound of her breathing from across the hall which I couldn't hear so then I would get up and down to check on her all night.*
• Weaned her before 6 months which means her digestive system will probably fail her by the time she is 5.**
• Allowed her to co-sleep because quite frankly we were too tired to fight with her and I like cuddles.
• Allowed her to fall asleep on me. I presume she will now not be able to self settle until she is married and then she will need to sit on her husbands knee and have her hair stroked before she can nod off.***
• We bought a forward facing strolling when she was 4 months old so obviously she will be years behind in her social development as a result.****
• I picked her up when she was crying. Now she cried whenever she needs my attention.*****

I understand that some of you may read this and be truly horrified at what an awful mother I am but I also know that many of you will read it and feel a whole lot better that you are not the only one....

And for those who didn't get the sarcastic tone of my admissions:

*I slept perfectly fine as did she

** her digestive system is in perfect order

*** she goes to bed of her own accord at 6pm every night and sleeps for 13 hours or more.

**** her social development is not hindered at all. She is a lovely average 17 month old.

***** If she cries for my attention she does not get it so she stops and watches Cbeebies instead.

A Move Away from Stepford.

I will admit I have been very neglectful of my blog, I have been very busy recently but essentially it's down to the fact I have a short attention span and an awful memory but lets gloss over this and just welcome me back with gusto.

As I mentioned I have been very busy, this is largely due to the fact that we have moved house and not in the normal moving a few roads away house move, no, we moved two counties away and into the countryside. In doing so I have unearthed a whole new me... I am, and say this unbelievably with pride, a housewife! Those of you who have read My blog before will know I have been a stay at home mum since Toddler B was born (I can't hold onto her baby stage any longer, she is fully fledged toddler now) but I have never partook in any household activity such as cleaning or cooking, I was the epitome of the undomesticated goddess but since moving to the country and into my quaint little cottage I am a changed woman, not only in the fact I have sprouted a few more grey hairs and turned 27, but I have made myself a 'cleaning timetable' (ok the pride slightly dwindles when I admit I have a cleaning timetable...) I allocate times of the day to cleaning, I have tea ready for Mr B when he gets home from work, I get annoyed when I see dust and I have made Toddler B learn the 'put away' game, ok so this is a game I obviously made up to get her to put her toys away but it works.

Aside from me being a move away from the village of Stepford, my little bundle of joy has also changed. She is now, as mentioned briefly, a toddler and comes complete with sound effects, tantrums and cheekiness. On one hand I absolutely adore seeing her develop a sense of humour and honing her communication skills yet on the other hand when she is demonstrating her communication skill in the form of a high pitched scream similar to that of a chimpanzee in pain and accompanying it with hitting and biting I could quite happily return to Ormskirk Hospital, Ward 5 and ask for a refund.

So anyway, this is where we are up to in our lives. I am now 27 (I can see that big 3-0 looming in the not so distant future now) and a country bumpkin housewife and Toddler b is 17 months and a handful, if my hands were the size of the lovable BFG's that is and I promise I will make a very concerned effort to let my attention wane and to continue with these posts.

I'm sure it's called the "Terrible Twos"

I'm sure I've heard it called the "terrible twos" so why when Boddler B is just 13 months old am I finding myself having to deal with monumental tantrums of Nikki Grahame proportions? (yes I do mean the ex-Big Brother contestant and yes I am aware I need my references bringing up to date)

I wouldn't be too phased if the strops where for a reason that, well, required a bit of an attitude but when it happens because I've taken a spoon off her or taken too long to button up her pyjamas I can almost pull my own hair out. I can see the tantrum approaching like a tornado, first the bottom lip begins to quiver, the hands come up to the head and then the loud ear-piercing scream is sounded once this initial bit has happened it can evolve into anything from just a lot of shouting and crying to a full on roll around the floor, foot stamping, attempting to hit me (but nearly always missing...) and basically throwing herself into any object that may be in her way. To be honest I sometimes watch these displays of bratish behaviour and think she should be on stage as she clearly has an aptitude for the dramatic arts, other times I sit and think is it just me that has a child like this? I am at a bit of loss of how to deal with these moments to though, she is too young for the naughty step or to listen to reasoning but I feel like I shouldn't really just ignore her either maybe I'll write to Jo Frost and ask her to pop round with her Supernanny skills one afternoon.

I think I should be able to sue someone for trade descriptions or something for calling it the "terrible two's" because I wasn't prepared for it this early or maybe once she hits two she will become worse and this is nothing! If this is the case I'm going to seriously consider finding a boarding nursery for Boddler B next year...

The next one...

When is the best time to have baby number two? Now that I’ve survived my first year as a mum without too much scarring I’ve been thinking about the “next one” and when would I want it to arrive?

I don’t think I could cope emotionally or financially with another one just yet but then again I don’t want Boddler B to be heading off to university when I decide it’s time for a new addition either. I have friends who have a variety of age gaps in-between their precious bundles varying from 1 year to 7 years and all of them have good and bad things to say about their gaps so what is best? I think I would prefer to have 3-4 years between Boddler B and any new baby, this way I can train her to fetch and carry anything I need and surely by 4 she will be fully capable of babysitting…. However since I was very lucky to fall pregnant in the first instance maybe I shouldn’t even think about another baby and just let fate take its course as it did first time round. If I was to have another baby next year would I really want double the amount of nappies to change and not to mention buy and in the same breath I think if I waited another 3 or 4 years would I want to start all over again with night feeding, colic and ice cube trays?

In my mind I have always thought I wanted two children and I think this is still true, maybe just maybe if I win the lottery I would possibly want a third, but otherwise two is the ideal number for me. The gender of the children has never really been a issue so if I had another girl I wouldn’t ‘try again’ to get a boy I would just celebrate having very pink palace.

I’m sure some university of whatsnots of come up with a wonderful scientific theory on the ‘perfect gap’ but I’m not even gracing their nonsensical studies with a Google search, whenever I have the pleasure of having that next wonderful little person I’m sure I will think it’s the perfect time.

I made that!

Do you ever have a moment when you suddenly feel like a mum. I know I am a mum but occasionally I have 'Mummy moments' where it hits me that I actually am a real proper mum an not just filling in for someone Today, for instance, Baby B (who incidentally shall now be renamed Boddler B as she's fast becoming a little lady) and I where walking up to our house from the road and instead of being in my arms as usual she was walking, yes actual walking, holding my hand and I had a flash of pride and an overwhelming feeling of being a mummy. Please tell me you know what I mean? that when you do those little things that only mum's do like lick your finger to wipe snot and banana off their faces (I think I'm becoming my own mum!), or hold their hands while they walk that you get a nice warm feeling just knowing that you made them.

With Boddler B being a big one year old now I'm starting to see my, erm, wisdom transferring onto her. When I hear her little voice trying to say a new word or see her pure concentration when she tries to take another step or when I ask her where her nose is and she actually shows me I feel an overwhelming sense of pride and I'll admit I may shed a tear or two. I am her mum and I taught her those things, gosh I'm clever. Before I had Boddler B the best thing I ever made was quite frankly a mess and now I have made this little perfect being who knows where her head and nose are, I am clearly destined for great things if I can achieve this. Sometimes when we're in a supermarket and I see a kind old lady smile at her while squeezing the potatoes in the veg aisle, by the way why do people squeeze potatoes, aren't they just always hard?, I want to shout "I made that....see that gorgeous perfect girl you're smiling at, I made her, yes me!" and to be honest I wouldn't surprise myself If I actually did say it one day....

However, while I am busy singing my own praises for being the most amazing mother that ever lived (did you not see that Boddler B knows where her nose is?) I realised that she is busy teaching me, as one of my favourite quotes goes "while we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about" and never a truer word is spoken.

I need a lawn mower.

I'm sure there was a time when I looked sexy? maybe I'm disillusioned and peering through those rose tinted spectacles that hang around my neck like a noose but I'm pretty sure that in the not so distant past I looked, well, sexy.

I fear this time has gone and is never to return. I have just glanced at myself in the mirror and this is what I see: I'm wearing one of Mr B's football shirts which has a nice splattering of yoghurt over the front and a wonderful addition of slobber just above my left boob, the top is teamed with some very fetching and super comfortable chef trousers (also Mr B's) which have a nice patch of wee on the right leg that Baby B kindly left before going to bed. My hair is in need of a wash, I have no make up on and my legs need an industrial lawn mower on them. Isn't Mr B going to feel like a lucky man when he gets in!

I will admit I don't always look quite this slovenly, I do generally get dressed in my clothes, wash but maybe not brush my hair and have a small amount of make up on but I never look sexy anymore. I much prefer over sized cotton knickers to teeny tiny lacy thongs and rather than slipping into silky nighties, I'm much happier pulling on a mismatched pair of snuggly pj's and this made me wonder, is this a mum thing, an age thing or just a lazy cow thing?

Do other women (god I wish I could write 'girls' instead) look such a mess when they are sat at home or is it just me? Do some mum's sit at home in tight fitting jeans with perfect hair while filing their nails or is this only on Desperate Housewives? I'm sure I could get up an hour earlier each day and spend it shaving my legs, trowling on the make up and straightening my unruly hair so its unrecognisable to its natural state but if I'm truly honest I don't think I'm really bothered what I look like at home, Baby B couldn't care less if mummy is sexy and I know for certain Mr B prefers it when I wear a football shirt.. only he would prefer me to leave the pants off.

Don't Say Yes...

So over the festive season I have been sidetracked (read lazy) and have abandoned my beloved blog but I am back now and hopefully I haven't lost any of my wonderful wit and flair for the written word.

Baby B turned 11 months today which means she is 1 in a months time this combined with the beginning of a new decade has made me think about the past few years. I can see myself partying away on the turn of the millennium, aged 16 with (not that I knew it at the time) a pretty good figure, single and happy. It seems like a lifetime ago. Since that night I have moved out of my parents house and into a flat, got a mortgage on a proper house, had several jobs, lost somebody truly amazing, been engaged to the wrong man, moved out of the house I owned, lived like a student with some lovely boys, met the man of my dreams, moved to a wonderful part of the world, got pregnant, moved back near the parents, had a baby and I'm now a SAHM. Wow! when I see it written down like that it seems an awful to have done in 10 years! Yet in some ways I still feel like that hot 16 year old skinny girl (it makes me feel good to say I was skinny and hot no matter how untrue it is) I look at my beautiful baby girl and I wonder how I can possibly look after her because I'm too young. On Christmas day, amidst the piles of torn wrapping paper, empty cardboard boxes and those silly little plastic tag things they insist on putting on ALL toys to make the rush of opening presents impossible, I suddenly wondered where my toast was? I was so used to my mum rushing around forcing us to eat something during the excitement, yes even when I was 25 she did this, that I hadn't realised I was the Mum... it was up to me to make us all eat. It felt very surreal.

I would love to return to that Millennium night and tell myself some things that I think would help me. I think they would be:

• Don't make yourself a life plan, you wont stick to it and you'll be disappointed. Just enjoy what comes your way and don't fret about what doesn't.
• You are NOT fat.
• Drink water, it's the best beauty product around.
• Don't do things just to please other people. You need to please yourself first.
• Listen to your heart. It knows the truth.
• Having a baby is amazing and you will have one when the time is right.
• Don't say yes.
• Treasure every moment you can with the ones you love, you never know when they'll end.
• Study hard and work harder. Don't be a dropout, you'll regret it for the rest of your life.
• Put down that tub of ice cream.
• You are beautiful, don't let anyone tell you you're not.

Would I take my own advice I wonder? Probably not because I've always been a stubborn cow.