I’ve been rather alarmed by my growing waistline. The final straw came on Friday. The boy and I were changing the bedding. This is mostly arsing about, pretending the duvet is trying to eat him, putting the fitted sheet over him and exclaiming ‘where’s the baby?’, etc. Half way through the process we were rolling around on the bed doing our ‘Oh no I’ve fallen over and I can’t get up’ routine, when the boy clocked my belly. He was mesmerised by it. Pressing his hands into it and wiggling them about, slapping it and watching it ripple and finally (which nearly tipped me over the edge) grabbing handfuls of it. (Yes. HANDFULS) As much as I’m all for anything that keeps him amused I’m drawing the line at my belly.
I’ve not been taking care of myself recently. I’ve been leaving that up to the various pharmaceuticals I’m on. But I need to take responsibility for my own health, I need to help it along and as much as I enjoy sharing an Easter egg with hubs I’m certainly not blessed with a metabolism that lets me get away with that. And I’ve said it before my clothes size is closely linked with my self esteem.
Today I exercised. I’d downloaded an app that gives me a little routine to follow. William found this fascinating, which caused a problem. When I was planking he decided to lay on me and exclaim ‘ahhhh’, when I did a wall sit, he tried to climb on my lap with a book and when I did crunches, he straddled me, bounced up and down squealing and slapped my tum like it was his tambourine. Thankfully hubs removed him before I was winded.
Will this health kick last? Probably not, but I’ll make the most of the enthusiasm I currently feel.
In other news:
The boy has started going to Nursery half a day a week. He’s not too happy about this.
Cat/bald kitten relations are going very well. (If you ignore Marms) although Captain wasn’t too sure what to do when he had a sippy cup thrust in his face.
It seems I am the current favourite parent, and although I’m enjoying being flavour of the month I know how upsetting some of the rejection is for hubs. (Although he’s pretty stoked that I get the pleasure of reading the sodding alphabet book eleventy billion times a day.)
Mostly, today has been a good day, I’ve been to work and met mum and Wills at the shops for a bit of retail therapy.
Will was not in the mood for retail therapy so opted for arching his back, fighting against the restraints of the push chair shouting ‘NO!’ at the top of his lungs. I got looks from the shop assistants, clearly appalled at my wayward child. Not that I care, one year olds can’t help being arseholes from time to time. Anyway after our noisy shopping trip we returned home and in the small amount of time we’ve been here he has wreaked havoc, willingly assisted by Captain.
He has thrown a box of cards all over the floor, Captain then sat on them to show them who’s boss. He pulled my knitting off the needles and unravelled it (it’s beyond popping back on the needles). Cat and boy then indulged in chasing (and getting tangled) balls off wool. Captain then decided my slipper was a threat and started batting it with his paw. Will decided to play ‘wingman’ and took over showing the slipper what for in a decidedly less elegant manner than the cat. Had to wrestle a knitting needle off Will after he started smacking the cat with it. The cat didn’t seem to mind this. Boy pulled apart a toy car, Captain ran round the living room with toy car parts poking out of his mouth. I ran round after the cat retrieving car parts from his mouth. Boy wandered in with the filter from the tumble dryer after depositing all the fluff on the clothes he’d pulled out of it and scattered on the kitchen floor.
‘Why not intervene?’ I hear you cry, well I just ain’t got it in me this afternoon. I made him a brew (don’t judge it’s caffeine free and keeps him quiet AND means I can drink mine in peace providing I finish mine before he finishes his…) and some toast. Captain decided to drag a little round the room and lick the butter off it.
And now I’m sat surrounded by wool, cards and car parts with a toddler who’s thrusting his now empty sippy cup at me demanding ‘MORE!’ impatiently whilst I decide whether or not hubs is coming home to carnage or a clean room, (Probably carnage), and wonder what is the earliest socially acceptable bed time.
In other news;
The boy has a delightful new habit of pooing just before we get him out of his cot. He did a mega poop this morning and I believe is in the process of another as I type.
We brought a new pushchair, on seeing it Will pushed it round whilst screaming at it. We’re still not sure if this means he’s happy with it or not.
Captain has been getting hugs today! I asked for a cuddle earlier and got a smack in the face. Pretty sure that means ‘No thank you Mummy.’
I’ve completed my first week back at work (well two and a half days…) and it’s safe to say it’s nearly killed me!
My son continues to shun my affections and on Wednesday instead of giving me a kiss goodnight he shouted ‘No!’ and smacked me in the face. I felt my eyes well, hubs said not to take in personally (easy words from the favourite…) but I’ve decided, instead of getting upset I’ll wait until he’s a teenager and wants a fiver or a lift somewhere, I’ll refuse. That’ll learn him.
I am considering taking the little scamp out for a walk today, but reluctant after the new years day shenanigans. And if it’s only me with him and he kicks off I can’t walk away and pretend he’s not mine. It’s safe to say the festive season has taken its toll on my waistline, hubs and I have resolved to walk more (even if it means carrying a bawling toddler all the way round). On Tuesday evening we did a belly comparison, Will walked into the kitchen to see us pressing our bellies together and was furious. There was shouting and arm waving involved. I guess either he didn’t like the fact I was touching daddy or he knows the midriff is a dangerous area to carry extra weight and he’s concerned for our health…
Before any of that though, I must give the boy a bath. It seems he’s a little under the weather. It could be his teeth, it could be something that’s going round. All I know for is whatever the issue is he ‘sharted’ as some point last night (a fart with poo) so a bubbly bath should freshen him up a treat.
In other news:
The cats are at loggerheads again. The season of peace and goodwill is most definitely over.
Hubs and I attempted to learn how to whistle last night, fingers in mouth whistling. All we managed was loud blowing. Must. keep. practicing.
Two sleeps until my 32nd birthday.
It has indeed been a while since my last post, I’ve been going through some things, maybe it’s a mid/quarter life crisis. The most upsetting thing I’ve been trying to handle is the unshakable feeling that my son doesn’t love me anymore.
Sounds a tad dramatic, so was calling my sister last Sunday in floods of tears declaring ‘He hates me! I love him so much but he hates me!’ She tried to calm me down and I tried not to choke on my own snot.
I’ll explain. It’s been gradual, my decline in his esteem. It started as a running joke when he preferred to be cuddled and put to bed by his dad. Wrapping his little arms around hub’s legs, hugging him and exclaiming ‘Ahhhhhhhh’, but not cuddling me. Despite the fact that I would put myself in his way giving him lots of opportunity to do the same to me. Like a silly schoolgirl going out of her way to be around her crush. The thing that pushed me over the edge was trying to kiss him when he was in his dad’s arms and he pulled away from me, swiped at me with the little arms, (that I grew, inside me) and burst into tears.
Hurts much. I excused myself sharpish, not wanting to ball in front of the boy and proceeded to alarm my sister by wailing like a dying moose down the phone.
In company I’d joke about it, and relish the days when I was at home and hubs was at work being the only adult around meant I would get affection from my son. Hubs is still the clear favourite, but waking up on the sofa, with my son’s favourite monkey teddy wedged in the crook of my arm was all the proof I needed that actually… he quite likes me.
In other news:
The new year is upon us and in lieu of a resolution I won’t keep, I’ve accepted I’ll be the same train wreck of a person I’ve always been.
My sister gave birth to my new niece in October and has confirmed birth the second time round is a walk in the park. (That’s definitely NOT what she said but I spoke to her on the phone afterwards and she had the same care-free tone as someone who’d just popped out for a coffee)
If I have to read Meg and Mog one more time, I may kill myself.
The boy is becoming more of a ‘character’ every day. He’s beginning to really communicate what he does and doesn’t want.
Which would be great if 9 times out of 10 it’s me and hubs that he doesn’t want.
It’s a wonderful feeling when you pick your child up and they scream and squirm because they don’t want you. He’ll happily snog the cat, but heaven forbid mummy and daddy get a kiss.
Daddy is also firm favourite this week, if he goes upstairs Wills will stand at the baby gate wailing, then smack at me if I try and comfort him. This smarts, I ruined my vagina and got a daddy’s boy. ‘Triffic.
Luckily the Captain is extremely needy.
In other news:
The path leading from our front door to our drive has turned into ‘massive spiderweb land’, i just love starting the day sticky.
Marms seems to have rememberd that she is, in actual fact, our cat and is home a lot more. There are now daily cat squabbles. If a cat squabble causes me or hubs to shout, Wills will start to cry. Hysterically.
No the boy is picking up language at an alarming rate I really must stop swearing. (But that’s hard when your cats are arseholes.)
Now I’m not sure if the saying is ‘a’ village or ‘the’ village but what I do know is I don’t agree.
You see support is a wonderful thing, no question. Offers to babysit/look after the little one are great. Advice, when it’s asked for delivered in a non-judgemental way in truely invaluable, but the village…. no thank you.
You see raising a baby is hard enough but it’s even harder when everyone has slightly different ideas on the right way to do things. It’s even harder when people take you ignoring their advice and doing your own thing personally. What do you do if that happens? Let ’em be upset, don’t try and justify how you’re choosing to raise your child or you’ll spend the next 18 years apologising!
It’s also worth bearing in mind that all of these villagers were once exactly where you are now, no matter how authoritative their advice no-one is born knowing exactly what to do with a tiny human in all situations.
In other news:
The boy has a cold. So. Much. Snot.
The cats appear to have called a truce.
The winter wardrobe is out the loft.