Mum authority

Mum Authority is a term I’m pretty sure I’ve made up. And it’s something I didn’t feel I had until quite recently.

When we transported Wills home from the hospital it marked the beginning of us being in charge. Occasionally he’d cry (spoiler alert, that can happen a lot) when he cried, visitors would often ask me what was the matter with him. And I wouldn’t have a bloody clue. My standard response was usually, ‘I don’t know, I’ve only had him a week…’ and sometimes I’d feel bad. Does this make me a bad mum? Don’t mums usually know what’s wrong with their children, don’t they sense it? I didn’t  know him well enough to know if he was out of sorts. Does this mean we haven’t bonded, after all I was whipped away so soon after he was born to get my bits sewn back together.

The thing is, there are two things I’d like to point out: 1, when Wills was born he looked like a baby, not me or his dad, just a baby. He could have been anyone’s. Now he’s the spit of his dad, even the postman has told me so (‘must look like his dad because he looks nothing like you…’). And 2, he had no personality. People might think that’s a mean thing to say but how could he? He’d been floating around in a womb for nine months, he’d never experienced anything other than that.

I’d felt him move and he’d heard my voice but we’d never met until that hot afternoon in hospital. And yet here I am, expected to know everything about him. Fast forward nine months and he is rapidly becoming his own little person, and I have developed a ‘mum authority’ I know when he’s not quite right. What he does and doesn’t like, the reactions I’m going to get. And with this new knowledge of my son comes not the feeling that I particularly know best, but that what I say goes.

What I say goes.

I am rapidly building a dislike of him being tickled. A little is fine, but people go too far, do it for too long and I don’t like it. And if I don’t like it, guess what? It’s not happening.

He doesn’t want to kiss you goodbye? Guess what? He’s not kissing you goodbye, my son chooses who he kisses, not me.

If I say he’s had enough of something or I don’t want him to have something…. guess what? (Pretty sure you get the gist)

I’m embracing my newfound mum authority, maybe it was a long time coming. Do I always know what’s best? No. Am I always right? Of course not (don’t tell hubs!) but I think it’s about time the world knows this:

I am mum. What I say goes.

In other news:

Marms has been once again gracing us with her presence, last night she sat next to my feet for a whole tewnty minutes! Some of this time was spent chewing my slipper socks.

Hubs is on a stag do this this weekend (bachelor party to any readers from the U S of A) so I’m solo parenting for a couple of days.

The boy has learnt to clap. We are super proud.

 

 

From tiny baby to tiny person.

In the past two weeks our tiny baby is fast blossoming into a tiny human. He is now 9 months old. He crawls, pulls himself to standing, ‘talks’, we even get hugs now. It’s lovely, he is more like a person than he’s ever been.

But on the other hand…

Our joint naps are now out of the question, he has a penchant for throwing himself off the bed, then scowling at me, because it’s apparently my fault. Hubs had put doors onto our TV cabinet because the DVD player is the most entertaining thing in the house (next to Captain), although ‘No’ gets a reaction, it’s usually just holding your gaze whilst he continues with whatever he was doing. His standing is wobbly at best so we seem to be getting a head injury a day. Laying still whilst having his nappy changed is now a thing of the past. I am more exhausted then I’ve ever been. He is non stop. And as amazing as it is watching him, marvelling at him, I feel that every day, I lose a bit more of my baby.

When he was tiny, I’d spend whole afternoons with him curled on my chest, caressing his fluffy hair with my lips. He’s much too busy for curling up on mummy now.

It seems that parenting is a cruel cycle, before you’ve learned to appreciate what you have it changes, it’s gone and it happens so. bloody. quickly.

In other news:

Mum fail of the month was going out without wipes OR nappies the other day.

Wills has his very first picnic yesterday! I was lovely except he was more interested in eating the grass than anything else.

My beautiful bestie has had a beautiful little boy, we’re off for a visit tomorrow, I’m worried what seeing (compared to Wills) a tiny baby will do to my ovaries…

A trip to the vets

I started to write this post a few weeks ago but I didn’t publish it because it started to read a bit like a eulogy, so I abandoned it. In fact the day I wrote it, on my evening trip to the vets I was told that it was highly likely I’d have to prepare to put him down. Thankfully (somewhat miraculously) he started to get better and is now back to full douche bag mode. And I really wouldn’t have him any other way. He steals from the neighbours, slobbers on my face, will jump on your tummy when you least expect it, and frequently comes into the house with poo on him.  But he is very much loved and William is truly delighted by him, and I believe myself to be mummy to Wills and Mother of cats.

The last time we went to the vets, I was HEAVILY pregnant. I was supposed to take both furry little gits, but only managed to catch one (Captain) which was an achievement because I hadn’t seen my feet in weeks.

Anyway Captain has been off his food lately and spent most of his time sitting under the radiator on the landing. We left our bedroom door open last night and he didn’t climb on either of us. Not a good sign.

This morning I got out the shower to find Marms keeping him company, I was very worried when I saw this, these two are mostly recreating the war for Kings Landing.

Catching the cat was fairly easy, he’s too poorly to run away and I don’t have a giant bump getting in the way. Then came packing the car; baby in, changing bag in, cat in. Drove to the vets, which is not in the nicest area of the city, with no car park, so I parked in a nearby street, got out pushchair, got baby, got bag, got cat whilst hoping baby/bag/push chair/car wasn’t stolen.

The vet was a lovely woman, during her examination she commented that he looked rather dishevelled, his mystery illness was clearly affecting him in such a way that made grooming uncomfortable. I had to interject and explain he is in actual fact, a scruffy git and that’s how he always looks…

We are now day three of trips to the vet, after day one, I returned the following morning (me, cat and baby all at the vets for about quarter past nine!) Captain was a little worse, so they kept him in. We picked him up last night, with instructions to bring him back this morning, once again he was kept in. Me a Wills are picking him up later, hopefully he’s more chipper.

So between ferrying cat to and from the vets, I’ve mostly been crying. (Watching Lady and the Tramp was a mistake, I was a mess and the film isn’t even about cats!) When Captain is home, he’s subdued, he hides, he quiet.

Captain is not usually a quiet cat. When Wills is in bed, he curls up on me and hubs (mostly hubs) and we get to cuddle something that doesn’t throw up on us (although he did step in poo then climb on me once). Captain is my nap buddy. Throughout my pregnancy, he would climb under the duvet and curl himself round my bump, his purring would get Wills kicking like a mad thing! When me and Wills nap, he curls up by Williams feet. In the morning Captain will snot on my face and sit on my pillow, gradually spreading himself out until I’m hanging off the side of the bed. He patrols the side of the bath when I’m in it. He fell in once. He thinks nothing of using my tummy as a landing strip. He is astonishingly stupid yet extremely perceptive. If you need a cuddle, he’s your cat. He’s the reason we have red paint on our carpet. He’s the reason our sofa is shredded in places. His name is the most shouted name in the house. (And garden) He likes to get his feet filthy and walk all over the bathroom furniture.

And our house just doesn’t feel quite right at the moment.

 

Working and working at parenting.

I am on my third week back at work. The first two were a breeze. This week, not so much. I put this down to two things:

Firstly- the novelty of being back at work is starting to wear off and I’m realising ‘this is my life now’

Secondly – daylight sodding savings. My alarm clock may have said six thirty this morning but I think we all know it was actually half five. I was present in body only today. I also forget where I work… whilst at work which wasn’t great as I was on reception.

I also had a slight wobble after loading Wills into his dad’s car this morning, as I looked at him through the window, he looked all wide-eyed and sad. I didn’t want to leave him, but I had to, ‘my son looked a bit sad this morning’ is not a valid reason not to go in. So gave him exaggerated smiles and waves as his dad drove off and cried on the journey into work.

With gallons of coffee and fizzy drink I made it through my working day, (and three bags of crisps), popped to the shop for nappies and got home, to put the dinner on. After tea hubs and I prep for tomorrow. Then Wills goes to bed and we vege out on the sofa. Tonight Wills decided sleep was definitely not on the agenda. When his wailing showed no sign of abating I retrieved him for some cuddles on the sofa. This was going swimmingly until he smacked me in the face with his monitor. I’m still not sure whether this was an accident or his way of voicing his disquiet about the sudden life upheaval he’s experiencing. What I do know is the inside of my mouth is swollen and my tooth is now moving.

William has very recently started crawling. It is quite literally amazing how they go from crawling a few tentative paces to all over the sodding place. Naturally he finds the most dangerous things to crawl to.  And his new found mobility has meant a huge rise in bumps, usually gained at the exact moment you take your eyes off him. It’s also meant he can indulge in his favourite hobby of following Captain around. I’m okay with this as it helps both of them burn off some extra energy. I’m not okay with William eating cat biscuits so the pursuit often involves Captain, Wills and Mummy.

Hubs and I are slowly getting into this new phase, our parenting has to be different now, all the rules and routines have had to adapt with him and now we’ve thrown working into the mix. We now need to consider childcare, dropping off and picking up, making enough food to send with him (he doesn’t stop eating!) I’ve said it before, every time we think we have this parenting malarky down, he changes and we are back to square one.

In other news:

Captain continues to steal things from the neighbours house, his latest crime was witnessed by said neighbour.

Marms has eaten a couple of meals at our house, but she growled at me when I stroked her. (The cow.)

My first Mother’s Day was lovely! Flowers, a mug and the promise of a night out for cocktails.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The witching hour.

Wills is in bed, his chunky form has been securely zipped into his sleeping bag, he has been lowered gently and silently into his cot, his tiny chest rising and falling with each sleepy breath, floppy rabbit placed near him, a comfort should he wake. Peace.

Until the shitbagging cat marched in for an impromptu, (full volume), miaow-a-thon. At least Wills was delighted to be woken and find a cat in his room. Mummy was decidedly less impressed. Thankfully he was two feet into the land of nod and settled quickly. I now find myself in the witching hour, the time the house takes on a silence it never seemed to have before Wills. The time when I try to cram in resting/catching up on hobbies/ self maintenance/drinking wine.

As hubs is out enjoying himself at a beer festival I decided to cook myself a Chinese, thank you, Mr Gok Wan. I can’t tell you how much I’d rather have ordered one but I’m yet to find a nice one close by and just ordering for one doesn’t qualify for delivery and picking it up is not really an option with a baby. So far I have managed to burn the rice, something I seem to do with alarming regularity at the moment. But I did buy a huge bag of prawn crackers so I won’t starve.

I did intend to sit in my clean and tidy living room and enjoy an evening by myself but after an earlier emotional crisis and a couple of hours spent sulking in bed I’ve managed to hoover. That’s it. The sofa is covered in ironing, the carpet in biscuit. Wills’ toys remain scattered about and the draining board is stacked with washing up. Luckily I’m too exhausted to care, I’m sat on the floor, the cat on the sofa (he’s in my spot).

So it’s ten to nine, I’m sat on the carpet drinking wine, in a messy house, starving but thoroughly enjoying my witching hour!

In other news:

The boy crawled today, it turns out Captain was all the motivation he needed.

Hubs has assembled a work bench today, he now feel like a fully fledged dad.

Wills noisy habit of blowing raspberries for hours on end has returned with a vengeance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Where has our baby gone?

Okay, so that’s a bit dramatic, and just to be clear we haven’t lost him.

I’ve been growing increasingly annoyed at the state of William’s room so have just spent the last hour or so ‘sorting’.

Shortly after we brought Wills home from the hospital we had a lot of visitors (none of which brought food, apart from my little sister, if people try to visit you without food, don’t let them in! I am serious; no food = NO ENTRY). Many came bearing gifts (of the non-edible variety) we had some beautiful clothes in size three to six months, I remember holding them up thinking ‘Shit! This is MASSIVE it’s never going to fit him!’

Well they did fit him, for about five minutes and now….

they are too small.

Too small.

He’s growing so fast he’s eating solids, he’s sitting up, he does a sort of crawl (sort of) he giggles, turns when he hears his name, splashes in the bath, smiles and reaches out to other babies.

What seems like only five minutes ago, he ate and slept.

I’m not sure how I feel about this, I’m not used to being a mum yet. There are so many things I’m unsure of, I feel like I’ve gotten a job I wasn’t quite qualified for and soon people will start to notice that I have no bloody clue what I’m doing or what I should be doing. I feel everyone has something to say about how we parent, apparently paranoia is a big part of it. Nothing quite damages your self esteem like bringing up a human.

And nothing makes time go by so quickly. People told me to enjoy every second and although some seconds are far from enjoyable, they’re right.

And when time has left us older, wiser and saggier, and our little boy is all grown up and we are left with a gaping void to fill….. we’re getting a puppy.

In other news:

Captain has been stalking a spider that seems to be residing in the living room. The spider, being both superior in leg and brain power, has continued to outsmart him.

Marms is still seen only fleetingly.

I’ve just completed my first week back at work.

 

 

The greatest adventure you’ll ever have.

When I was heavily pregnant and resembling a space hopper on legs hubs and I went for a coffee. This isn’t unusual for us and I have to say it was a much easier thing to do without a baby in tow. As we drank our coffees (caffeine free for me) an old lady, who was sitting on the next table, watched us rather intently with a half smile on her face. As we got up to leave she touched my arm, asked if this was our first, and told me ‘This will be the greatest adventure you will ever have, enjoy every second, there is no feeling quite like the one you get when you are a parent.’

Naturally this made me blub, and it took an awful lot of self control not to have a full on pregnancy hormone induced meltdown in the middle of Costa’s.

Thinking about what she said to me I’m left wondering ‘When will it feel like that?’

Mostly as well as tired, lonely, guilty, fed up, inept I feel like I’m already failing our son. I have no idea what sort of parent I’m supposed to be, but having said that I’ve got to 31 and I’m not sure exactly what sort of adult I am. As I type this, one of my hands is blue because I came into contact with a leaky pen, I had hoped I’d be a much more presentable person. Not much chance of that as one of my favourite t-shirts has a cartoon picture of Little Red Riding Hood kicking the Big Bad Wolf in the nuts on the front. I was distraught when the key ring with the same image broke last week.

So where is my adventure? Is this it? Yesterday I had to stop Wills eating biscuit crumbs off the carpet. I also had to intervene when the threw up on the carpet and proceeded to play with it. This is a new thing, if he doesn’t keep it in his mouth to chew to it, he plays with it. (I would like to take this opportunity to point out he has lots of toys, but apparently sick is much more appealing.) All in all, day to day life doesn’t feel very adventurous.

But perhaps I’ve hit a slump. I’m faced with returning to work next week and although I crave adult interactions and not being at the beck and call of a tiny human, I am dreading it. I don’t feel I’m ready. I don’t think I’ve prepared William yet. (Although how I’d do that, I have no idea!) I don’t feel I’ve got this mothering thing down, so how can I go back to work when I’m not a ‘proper mum’ yet? And also, why don’t I feel like a proper mum? What the deuce is one of those anyway?

And then I think about the old lady in a coffee shop. She’s been there, I imagine her children ate biscuit off the carpet, she craved a cup of tea in peace and cried often. But there she was, smiling, genuinely excited for me.

So maybe I need to think a bit deeper.

How about the first time I heard him cry? When hubs told me we had a boy, our first shopping trip, first walk on a beach? (Well carry, mummy was walking), our first swim, first night in his cot? First solid food? First time he reacted to his name? The absolute joy those moments have brought.

So maybe it’s a lot of tiny adventures that are ever so easily overlooked by overtired parents.

And maybe, one day, I’ll be an old lady in a coffee shop smiling at a ginormous space hopper lady and her husband.

In other news:

I fear that Marms has abandoned ship, to pursue a life with the neighbours. Heart is officially broken and I still call the furry little traitor every night.

The remaining loyal cat is becoming more interested in interacting with the tiny human. These moments are usually extremely cute.

Three more sleeps and I’m back at work.