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.

I could pop on a white coat

We had a relativley 'easy' first six months with Baby B, she slept all night long from around 5 weeks, didn't really cry, wasn't particularly ill and was, as I say, a pretty easy baby then we hit the six month mark and teething began and all of sudden it got hard and now she is almost ten months it just gets harder!



Don't get me wrong am I still, and always will be, totally besotted with her, the word love doesn't even begin to sum up how I feel about her but it is tiring, draining, bloody hard work. I cannot remember the last time we had a full nights sleep, sometimes she wakes up crying, sometimes just wanting to play. The other night at half past midnight we were kicking a football around the living room for her, never in my wildest imagination did I think I would be playing football with my nine month old daughter in the middle of the night. Other nights she wakes up in horrible pain with her teeth, this is when I pretend to be a doctor; I get my syringe filled with Calpol and I administer the medicine into her mouth, usually missing her mouth completely and getting the pink sticky liquid all over my arms which I don't realise I've done and I then put my hand in my hair so my hair is then covered in the sugary tar-like substance which means I then have to fumble around for the baby wipes pulling out about 10 at once and trying to wipe the mess away before returning to my doctor duties. Once the medicine is correctly given, out comes my digital thermometer which goes into Baby B's ear and I look all serious as I check the reading. At these times I swear I actually think I could pop on a white coat and do the rounds of A&E.



It's not just the lack of sleep that is difficult though, oh no, Baby B is well and truly on the move, she can crawl at the speed of light, cruise around the furniture and now can race around with her 1st step walker, so there is no getting away from her, she has perfected the 'cling-onto-mummy's-legs-at-all-times' posistion and likes to put it into practice everytime I have a cup of tea, pan of water, or something equally as dangerous in my hands so I'm left trying to very carefully place said item down without so much of drop spilling then I have to try and remove the, suprisingly strong grip of a nine month old girl, from my left leg which once achieved results in an almighty tantrum of 'Vicks first Defence - Supermarket lady' proportions and I'm left with a cold cup of tea and a face full of snot and tears to clean up (and sometimes I have to wipe Baby B's face too...) It is challenging in every sense of the word.



There are times during these nights and tantrums when I wonder how the hell I will get through the next eighteen years in one piece, I already have grey hairs sprouting up all over my head and of course if I tried to actually dye it one day Baby B would be clinging to me so much that she would end up with some very suspicious looking patches all over her skin... And just as I think I can't do it anymore, that I can't listen to another cry or cope with another minute of clawing fingers she turns round and shouts Hiya and plants big sloppy kiss right on my lips and all my worries go away.

Bandage Babies.

I was reading my usual 'high-class' literature (read New! magazine) the other day and in the problem pages (because lets face it these are usually the best bits to read!) there was a letter from a girl of 27 who was having problems with her husband and so she was thinking of getting pregnant to bring them closer together and it made me wonder, how many people actually do this? How many fighting struggling couples decide that bringing a tiny third person into their lives will save their relationship? because I'm pretty sure it would never work!

When I fell pregnant I was, in this order, shocked (I was lead to believe I could not have children), terrified, excited, worried, happy. She wasn't planned but I, no, we had faith in our, relatively short relationship of just over one year, to know we could do it. I think if we hadn't been 100% sure of each other, the pregnancy would have ended us let alone actually having the baby. With my mood swings and irrational requests, Mr B had to have the patience of a very mild-mannered Saint on Prozac and had to love me more then he ever thought possible in order for us to survive. Then of course once Baby B arrived a whole new set of challenges awaited, no matter how much of an angel your little one is, you are bound to feel irritable and exhausted, you have a whole batch of new hormones to deal with and if you're like me then you believe nobody else in the whole world can look after your new little bundle like you do, no one puts their nappy on properly, feeds them right, holds them the way they like, not even your beloved other half does it right. Then you have the endless list of decisions that now face you: when does baby move into own room? when do you start weaning? who minds baby when you are lucky enough to go out? what socks does baby wear today? every single decision becomes a joint one and how hard must that be if 9 months ago you would have rather eaten a horses hoof than agree with your husband?

In my, quite possibly wrong, opinion, a baby shouldn't be used as a bandage to a failing relationship. Turning your marriage into a threesome will not save your relationship (unless the third person is not a baby but perhaps someone called Fabio or Candy....) Children are a precious gift they are not a first aid pack filled with magical remedies.

Ralph will know what to do.

I am having one of those days where I am so desperate for 2 minutes peace that I would happily hand Baby B over to Ralph, the next door neighbours dog, for the night! before you ring social services, I am clearly joking. Their cat is far more responsible. She has been a little monster today and has needed constant attention and woe betide me if I haven't given it to her.

First, We had a journey to find a non-existent computer fixing centre, for the second time in a week, and it's true it really doesn't exist even the second time round wonder whether I'll try a third time? baby B chose this time to perfect her "even-more-annoying-than-a-never-ending-car-alarm-squeal" (catchy title I know) the journey was an hour round trip so by the end of it I wanted to gaffa tape her dummy to her mouth. After just about surviving this trip, We met my mum and grandad for lunch, baby B was all good and smiley while she was being fed and then as soon it was my turn to eat she decided she hadn't quite perfected the squeal from earlier and decided it needed a bit more volume, a few more tears and random, whatever she could reach, items to be banged along with it, this noise alone would have been difficult to cope with but paired with a story from Army Camp about a Polish man, reading glasses and a dry cleaners suit bag from a 92 year old and I was sizing up the dishwasher in the open kitchen to see if it would house a 7 month old baby... and possibly a 92 year old as well.

We got home and then my precious little bundle decided it would be fun to empty her changing bag and pull out every single baby wipe from the new packet I had just put in while rehearsing, the newly learnt, bang and squeal, she had nowhere near as much fun as I did clearing it up.
Anyway we got through the rest of the tantrum/squeal filled day without me measuring up any other pieces of kitchen equipment, until bedtime when instead of falling asleep like a nice baby she, well, just didn't, as soon as her head touched her mattress her eyes would spring wide open and the yelling would begin. I looked like a Cbeebies presenter on drugs bobbing my head wildly around while singing "the sun has got his hat on" (the only method that actually stops tears) and then finally, one hour later, she was asleep and I looked into her cot and saw her tiny little fingers curled up around her bear and decided Ralph could have a night off from babysitting.

Spot the Difference.

When Mum gets baby ready to go out;

She will look out the window to check the weather, if it's not glaringly obvious through the window she will open the door to double check the temperature. Once deciding on the weather she will make her way to the wardrobe (or pile of clothes that I'm yet to put away if I'm talking about myself...) and spend several minutes picking out a top/dress/bottoms/socks/tights that all match. Once that is sorted she will look out the window once again to decide whether a vest is necessary under the selected items. She will then begin to dress baby, including changing nappy and washing face, once baby is dressed she will then pick out a 'nice' bib that is stain free just in case it's needed.

She will then pick up changing bag and check there is enough nappies, then add one more in case, check there is 2-3 clean bibs, a bottle, a dummy, sun lotion (even if its not sunny because you never know!) wipes, sudocrem (or the equivalent), nappy sacks, spare clothes, a toy, the camera, her purse. then spend another minute re-checking the bag and making sure everything fits in nicely.

On leaving the house she will then feel baby's hands/face/feet several times to check that baby is the right temperature.


When Dad gets baby ready to go out;

He will go to the nearest pile of washed clothes and pick out the top item oblivious to the temperature, leave nappy on unless it smells really bad, dress baby, remember he's forgot the socks so put the nearest ones on regardless of their colour or whether they are a pair. He will glance in the change bag and see there is at least one nappy in there. Leave house. remember they need a bib, return to house and pick up the same bib that was used for breakfast, food stains and all. Leave house again.


And even though baby survives completely fine when Dad does it we will never change our way.

I didn't die, I had a baby.

After another weekend alone, watching X-factor and playing bejewelled while waiting for Mr B to get home from another 14 hour shift at work, I wondered where all my pre-baby friends had gone? I'm pretty sure before I was mum I didn't spend as many weekends doing this, don't get me wrong I wasn't stocking up on red emulsion at B&Q to paint the town with on a very regular basis but I did get out a lot more but since the arrival of baby B some of my 'friends' seemed to have made a sharpish exit from my life.

I don't think I've changed very much, I still have the same, slightly twisted, sense of humour, I still enjoy a pint or three of cider (the words classy and bird spring to mind...), I still like to shake my thing, all be it around my front room these days, to Girls Aloud and I would still like to be acknowledged. I'm not talking about my very bestest friend because she has held my hand through every step of pregnancy, almost every step of labour (she provided gingerbread when required, this isn't a euphemism, I do mean actual gingerbread men complete smartie buttons and chocolate feet from Greggs but then left when things really began to take pace.. .) and for the last 7 months, she has been an absolute angel and I'm not sure I could have done this without her at my side.

I am, however, talking about other 'friends' of mine. here is one common example; I am one of four girls who have known each other for a few years, we haved shared many of lifes milestones with one another from first kisses to weddings and one of them has seen my daughter the grand total of... one time! once in 7 and half months, if it were the other way round I'm quite certain I would have been round at her house providing tea and extra hands every week. She seems to avoid seeing me these days and makes some very dodgy excuses not to meet up and I'm really not too sure why? does she thinking having a baby is catching, like the common cold, because if she does wouldn't we all look silly walking round with condoms over our noses to prevent it.

I must point out, I'm not lonely, I have made some very good new mummy friends since the arrival of baby B and I adore their company and regular chit chat, with these new friends conversation can rapidly change from milk feeds and dirty nappies to anal sex and unusual use of a champagne bottle! They understand where I'm coming from when I've had a really crappy day and they know the right things to tell me to help me see the light but this does not mean I don't want to hang out with my old friends.

I have thought about this over the weekend and decided my 'friend', who I think I shall call Florence, is not the right friend for me anymore. Florence has a 'partner', owns a blackberry and I'm pretty sure she eats supper, Florence has money to spend on labels like Stella McCartney and Prada while I have money to spend on labels like SMA and Pampers. We are headed in different directions and maybe this is why she, and others, now avoid me. Maybe they stare at their blackberries and high heels and realise they will never provide the joy that my perfect designer accessory does.

My First Blog...

Before I begin my musings/thoughts/rants of modern day motherhood & all things related, I should really introduce myself. I shall go by the name of Elle J and I am 26 year old a first time mum of a beautiful 7 month old girl. I am unmarried but I do live my boyfriend (yes boyfriend, not partner... we do not do business together, well we do do 'the business' but not the suit wearing, briefcase carrying, blackberry tapping business. so he is my boyfriend) we have been together for around 2.5 years and for the purposes of this blog he shall be known as Mr B. I like many things in life and I am unable to describe myself in a short 'off the cuff' way because I am a complex character who likes to digress a lot... be warned! So I shall continue:

So, who makes these rules that us mums are supposed to adhere to? I am always hearing about new research and studies that tell me to 'wean my baby at X months', 'don't feed my baby X food', don't cuddle my baby too much', 'make sure my baby gets enough cuddles','don't pick baby up too much when crying', 'don't use controlled crying', 'don't allow my baby to tightrope walk whilst juggling batons of fire' (I'm sure there has been some kind of university of boresville study into this last one) it drives me completely mad. I created my beautiful daughter, I carried her in my highly expanding womb for 41 weeks and 4 days and I shall decide what she eats, where she sleeps and what she plays with. Except I can't do any of this because if one day I decided I'd had enough of boiling, chopping, blending, and painstakingly scooping food into tiny little ice cube trays and bought a jar of food (yes I heard the audible gasps at the mere mention of jar food!) for my little angel that would be bad enough but if I were to open up that jar in public I would face aghast glances and looks of horror from other mothers, I would hear the whispers off "she uses jar food!, that's not giving her little one the best of starts is it..." even if everyone around me was silent I would hear it, because its my head.

We have been exposed to so many magazines, newspapers and headlines telling us what is bad for our babies that we have become our own worst enemy. We feel guilty if we go to work and guilty if we don't, guilty if we buy baby food, guilty if we don't breastfeed, guilty if on the sixth night sleepless night in a row we pick our babies up and put them in our bed. Why can't these rule-makers just let us make our own decisions about our children and why can't I stop worrying about what everyone else thinks about me as a mother?