You’re still my baby.

As it’s 1.08 am, we’re actually on Wednesday I can now say my baby is due tomorrow.

We’ve just had a small wee related incident. All in bed, lights off. Hubs is sort of asleep. I hear the boy’s door open. Decide to head him off before he renders hubs definitely awake. Get to him at our bedroom door, he’s clutching Miaow Miaow we cuddle and I tell him gently he needs to go back to bed. We pad along the landing to his room, as he climbs into bed he’s mutters ‘Sorry Mummy’

(I get a flashback of Vinegar gate, but since that we have no vinegar left after that incident and I can’t smell it, is he sorry he got up?)

‘You have nothing to be sorry for darling, into bed’

‘All wet mummy’

And then I notice. Great big wet patch on the bed. And his pyjamas are soaked, top and bottoms, so is his vest and socks. We’ve had a leaky nappy. I strip him down, put new nappy and clothes on, hubs is now definitely awake and comes to change the bed and in around five minutes the Bald Kitten is tucked up in a clean, dry bed with his teddies.

But what I can’t get out of my head is just how tiny he seemed. Tired, disoriented and tiny. Our baby.

He seemed tiny to me on Monday too. Although perfectly capable of drinking from a cup, every time he’s given one now he just throws the contents about with gay abandon. I had to change him as he was covered head to toe in squash. And I was really bloody cross. And I told him. ‘You’ve made mummy really cross that was a very silly thing to do.’ (I get that you’re behaviour made Mummy cross is what I should have said, but hopefully this one incident of not making that clear hasn’t scarred him for life…)

He didn’t say much, but he did pick up his felt shopping basket and start squeezing the felt pepper that was inside. And in an instant I felt awful. Watching his little hand and chubby wrist as he explored the toys almost absentmindedly. Was I too hard? Am I expecting too much? Does he know how much I love him? Was I in the wrong for getting so annoyed about it?

The Bald Kitten is tall for his age. According to the Health Visitor, and various other people not using a graph to come to that conclusion. Some assume he’s older than his two and a half years. Am I a little guilty of the same?

Very soon (Well hopefully very bloody soon, I’ve been pregnant for like EVAH!) he’ll have a little brother or sister and they will seem bloody tiny compared to him, overnight he’ll seem so much bigger and more advanced. I’m so frightened that I will expect more from him than is fair. I’ll expect him to be more than two and a half.

How much is he going to understand? I don’t want him to feel pushed out, I get that it will be hard for him, he’ll have to share us. He’ll have to share everyone he knows and loves. Can he handle that? How do I make sure that he knows he is loved as much as he ever was, that he’s still our little prince that every day we marvel at him, that we made something so perfect and beautiful and funny, that we are so bloody proud of him we could burst?

So to you, darling boy, there’s going to be some changes around here. And we hope we’ve prepared you for them. We promise to remind ourselves that you are little and still have a lot to learn about the world and your place in it. We promise to be calm when you get cross with the baby. We promise we’ll understand when you inevitably tell us you’d like the baby to go back. We promise that you will still have the same room in our hearts that you’ve always had.

And son, your sibling is so lucky to have you as a big brother.



36 weeks pregnant and thinking all things boob.

Four weeks until B-day! I’ve been to see the midwife this morning. Apparently I’ve put on 4kg since the beginning of my pregnancy. That meant sod all to me so I used a converter and have put on just over half a stone. This is definitely less than last time. But last time I had a penchant for fast food. (And I didn’t feel sick for 17 plus sodding weeks.)

Blood pressure is fine, size of tum fine so basically we’re just waiting. Baby is not yet engaged but pointing the right way and tomorrow the Feeding Team are coming to visit me.

The Feeding Team promote breastfeeding and they’ll give me some tips on how to get started and answer any questions. I’m hoping they have a ‘there’s no such thing as a silly question’ policy.

I didn’t breastfeed the Bald Kitten. I had decided to try and not put pressure on myself. For lots of reasons it’s not something I continued with. This time round I am putting the pressure on. I want this, and seeing as when Little Pea is born my uterus will be closed for business, this is the only chance I have to experience this. I can’t help but remember the toe curling agony I felt last time and being confused by the conflicting advice:

‘breastfeeding should NEVER hurt’


‘There may be some pain during the initial latch’

I remember sobbing behind the curtain every time he latched on (or sort of but not quite latched on) and starting to cry every time he did thinking ‘please god not again, don’t hurt me again’. And I also remember beginning to resent him. The new postpartum mother is a hormonal one and I actually believed he was hurting me on purpose because he didn’t like me. It seems to me that by a hugely ironic twist of fate that just after having a baby is not a time to start breastfeeding! Or at least not for me.

I remember that sodding yellow breastfeeding guide I kept getting given every time I asked for help, I could recite it word for sodding word but couldn’t seem to get the hang of feeding.

Except I think that maybe I did have it. But what I didn’t get was honesty. All I needed to be told was ‘This might feel a bit shit for a bit, but stick with it. It’s normal for babies to want to be on the boob very frequently, you won’t be like a fully fledged dairy cow for a few weeks. Your baby is not starving.’

I’m not blaming anyone ultimately I made the choice to bottle feed. (And I have absolutely no regrets about that.) I thought I could just pump milk from day one and put boobie milk in a bottle. (It is not recommended to pump straight away. Again something I wish I knew.) But in it’s admirable mission to get more women breastfeeding, it seems to me NHS staff are very cautious about what they do and don’t say. Like they’re scared they’ll put us off. Being told it’s shit but it will get better was what I needed to hear, but I imagine it wasn’t on the list of stuff they could say, should it look like they’re not promoting it. I’m not saying everyone struggles, I can’t speak for all women. My bestie took to it like a milky duck to a dairy pond!

What I have done to encourage le boobie feeding this time round is not got any formula, perfect prep machine or bottles. (Will still has some for his bedtime milk) I’ve got nothing to fall back on. I know that it means hubs can’t help with night feeds (he did pretty much ALL the night feeds on paternity leave so I could sleep) but, my anxiety has me wanting to control everything so actually even though I probably won’t enjoy them, I need to be doing the feeds.

I’ve also asked hubs if we can go to a coffee shop when he’s on paternity leave so I can experience feeding in public with someone there. To be honest that’s one of my biggest fears. Public feeding but I’ll be buggered if we’re staying in all the time. There is also the financial side. Formula is expensive! Boobs are free, mine used to get drinks paid for, now they’ll be providing them!

In other news:

On Monday the Mothership and I will be getting the last bits for my hospital bag. Baby’s is sorted.

I’m trying to find good snacks for labour, I’d completely forgot about including them and apparently a quarter pounder with cheese meal, is NOT classed as an appropriate snack.

Word on the street is the baby has found the bike it’s getting for big brother…

My Birth Plan.

I few nights ago hubs and I settled down with a biro and an NHS birth plan template.

I was a little reluctant to bother as NOTHING went to plan last time. The birthing pool with the twinkly lights, the skin to skin, the no epidural. All went to shit.

Due to reduced movements, the birthing pool with the twinkly lights was off limits, hubs had the skin to skin whilst I got stitched up, and I had to have an epidural to get stitched up. And I was induced so my daydreams about waking hubs in the early hours and telling him baby was on the way wasn’t a thing either.

As my water birth is a no and so is the twinkly light birthing suit, labour ward is the way forward, I’m hoping to labour in a pool, but there is only one on labour ward so if it’s being used, tough.

I suppose with having a child already I should really be accepting of the fact that things don’t go to plan. But part of the plan really got to me. It asked ‘Do you want your birthing partner/partners present of you have and episiotomy?’ And then there was a box for me to write my feelings about an episiotomy. I saw it and burst into tears. Whilst I am an emotional person, spontaneous blarting is unusual for me.

What do I think? I’d rather have a fucking hole in my head. That’s what I think. Now I know it’s better that tearing, more controlled etc. But the thought of someone holding a big pair of fucking scissors and telling me they’re going to cut my fanny is the actual stuff of nightmares for me. Nightmares. To the point I might request that they ask hubs for the green light because I think I’d simultaneously puke and run away is I get the slightest whiff of episiotomy scissors.

This sounds a tad dramatic, I’m aware of that. But I am genuinely frightened. When I tore with William, I didn’t know it was happening. I knew when they told me. The biggest fear of my first birth was having a poo half way through, for all to see.

That’s not my fear this time. It’s those bloody scissors. And the thing is I can plan as much as I want but I have absolutely no control over what happens, I don’t even know when it will happen!

So although I’m super excited to meet Little Pea, I’m nervous as hell about it!

In other news:

My bladder is now the size of a walnut and I am sick to death of trips to the loo.

My relaxing bath was interrupted by an excited bald kitten who insisted on joining me. To be fair we did have lots of fun with the bath toys.

Tomorrow the Christmas decorations go back up in the loft and all the baby stuff comes down!

Is today over yet?

Someone has stolen my son. They have replaced him with an angry unreasonable demon that I can’t wait to put to bed.

Hubs has popped out for afternoon tea with a friend (how very British!) and I’m stuck with the spawn of Hades. He’s poured squash on the carpet. Tried to pour it in the wheetabix tin. Tried to kick Captain and laughed at me when I told him off, demanded an apple that he’s not frigging eating and had an absolute shit fit when I sat down with some cashew nuts. He didn’t want to share he wanted them all. So stormed out of the living room into the hallway, shut the door only to (frequently) open it and shout ‘That’s mine mummy!’

Can’t a girl eat a bowl of nuts in peace? Can’t she do the ironing without the little sod throwing a ball at her? Can’t her offspring listen when she tells him to stop pouring squash over his trousers?!

Not. Today.

I am in the ‘very to extremely’ pregnant bracket now and tired. I’m so tired I could cry. All I was is a nap and a snack I can eat without being shouted at. That’s not unreasonable is it?

He’s been affectionate at times today, but that’s mostly involved climbing on me and jabbing bump with all his pointy limbs. In fact most of his affection today has been downright painful.

In my head, there are so many things I’d like to do. Like carry on sorting the room THAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A FINISHED NURSERY BY THE END OF OCTOBER!! I need to get the pictures up in the hall. The same pictures I’ve been meaning to do for over a year. I need to dust the light on the landing that has now become a giant spider palace. I need to get that last bookcase out of the ‘nursery’ I need to investigate why the bald kitten from Hades’ teddies smell mouldy and I need to wash them. I need to clean the cupboard by the cooker. It’s truly revolting in there which is weird as it’s mostly got boxes of tea in it.

And I need to get my head around the fact that I’m having a baby in February. Because I haven’t got my head round it yet. Not even close.

But I don’t want to do any of those things.

I. Just. Want. To. Sleep.

That is not an option. So we I’ll try and neutralise the demon with a bubble bath…

In other news:

I’ve been listening to Christmas songs. This will form my daily soundtrack from now until NYE.

90% of my house is sticky.

I think the bald kitten is having a poo as I type. This really is the day that keeps on giving.

Caution! Lurgy house.

The Bald Kitten has tonsillitis. He has been prescribed penicillin for this particular ailment but trying to get that in to him is like tying to wrestle a screaming, crying squid. It’s horrible, hubs and I feel awful administering the meds but he has to have them. Would just get them down him easier if penicillin came in the form of Paw Patrol yoghurts.

As is that wasn’t fun enough, it seems he’s developed conjunctivitis too. I keep wiping bright green slimy nodules out of his eye and trying to mop up the abundance of snot that keeps pouring out of his nose before it gets wiped on his hand/the sofa/me. Or as I noticed earlier he just licks it away.

I’ve cracked out the Dettol. The house is starting to smell like a hospital. But my cleaning mission is being interrupted because the bald kitten needs lots of snugs! I have the fun task of boiling his flannel and pillow case and pretty much anything he’s touched before we’re collectively know as the ‘snotty eye family’ I’ve also been dodging a biscuit the boy keeps trying to shove into my mouth because Zeus only know what germs are lurking on it.

Speaking of food, he’s just not into it. Anything he asks for I give to him. Of the 70 million biscuits I’ve given him today (because he asks for them) he’s only eaten one. The others get locked, nibbled a bit and discarded. I may pick him up a Happy Meal tomorrow, he likes their chicken nuggets and I’m heartbroken to find his little round belly is not to round today.

Safe to say this week has not been fun. The boy gets upset in the very early hours and gets into bed with us. Daddy loses the most sleep because will like to cuddle him then start chatting or demanding he goes downstairs to get him a drink.

Fingers crossed the medicine suddenly works it’s magic and we get our little boy back, with all his exuberance, snacking and general ruling the roost!

In other news:

I have officially started my third trimester today.

The Nursery is still not decorated.

Staying awake all day is something I now rarely achieve.

The Bump Chronicles- 26 weeks and feeling it.

I can’t remember being this knackered last time round. I have just made myself a caffeinated coffee because it’s half ten in the morning and I’m not sure how much longer I can stay awake. It can’t be an iron deficiency because I’m taking supplements. Can the doctor sign me off on the grounds I need to be unconscious for at least half the day (and all of the night…)

Wednesday was an experience, little pea seemed to stretch out, I had limbs poking either side. It made shopping rather uncomfortable. Then I tried to pack my shopping into a car I don’t own. I made the mistake of waddling down the booze aisle looking at all the Christmas tipples I won’t be enjoying this year. No snowballs, no port, no fizz. But that wasn’t as depressing as going into a clothes shop and seeing all the lovely clothes I’m too fat for. I don’t want to buy any more maternity clothes I’ll only have them for a three and a bit months but I never like what I’m wearing. Hubs and I are going to Birmingham on Monday, I love seeing how people are dressed. In the big cites (I full on gawp in London, so many stylish people!) And I always like to make an effort especially as we’re going to wander round Selfridges and have lunch. Our last date before baby! (I’ll soon be flopped on then sofa like Jabba the Hutt demanding snacks and not bothering to get dressed, lucky hubs.) But I will have to wear what fits on Monday. I’m going to feel a little uncomfortable all day. But we’re hoping to buy Little Pea a teddy. A special first teddy. If Little Pea is anything like the bald kitten, the teddy will be ignored and some sort of lanky jungle animal brought by the grandparents will be the firm, rather smelly favourite!

I’m also at the fun stage of needing to wee every 24 seconds. I forgot how exhausting that is. I may just sit on the toilet now. Until baby comes.

The bald kitten still has absolutely no idea he’s got a sibling on the way, I suspect he just thinks I’m fat. We keep talking to him about it but I guess it’s a lot to take in.

I really should be cleaning but tiredness is kicking nesting’s arse at the moment. My nesting didn’t kick in until late last time. On the day I was booked in to be induced I was scrubbing all the doors upstairs. Hubs was stuck, he wanted to intervene but knows manic cleaning mode wifey can be snappy. I was also shitting myself because I knew in a few hours I’d be having a baby. That would come home to a house with mucky doors.

This continued when we brought our little prince home. Today he’s dropped all his grapes on the floor and then eaten them. I actually helped him pick them up. How times have changed!)

When I got back from the hospital, my mother and sister in law had put helium balloons and banners in the house, it was lovely to come home to! I was so out of it for the next week or so I’m not sure if I thanked them?

I’ve got about 14 weeks left. And I’m nervous. We’re going to have two babies. Then Kev is going to go back to work and I’ve got to hold the fort. Ohgodohgodohgodohgod. I predict a train wreck for at least the first four months. Bear with me kiddos.

In other news:

When the boy isn’t watching Paw Patrol, he’s telling me all about it. Captain Turbot has made ‘the list’.

I’ve got a hen weekend in Brighton coming up, can’t wait for some girly time and a weekend with Twinothy.

The boy’s new favourite thing is feeding the cats treats. Pretty sure they’re both going to be obese soon.

The plague strikes again.

The Warwick household has been hit with illness! Hubs has shingles and we suspect that William might now have chicken pox.

The boy could give the human torch a run for his money he’s that hot. Naturally getting him to take his medicine is a battle, heaven forbid he just take it and feel better.

Seeing my baby boy poorly does unusual things to me. I feel I’m now stuck in fight mode and will kill ANYONE if it helps my boy feel better. Even though he currently wants nothing to do with me, and is snuggled with his dad. This is also killing me, as I can’t shake ‘I’m the Mummy, I make him feel better’ mentality.

As for Bump, Bump is totally safe as I’ve had chicken pox before. Although the thoughtful foetus made he feel bloody awful yesterday so I don’t feel left out of the poorly club.

Usually possessing the organisational skills that allow me to get up on time(ish) and nothing more, I now have detailed records of temperature, food eaten, drinks drank, medicine taken and appearance at various points throughout the day. This will continue until he is back to full health.

Much to our relief he’s finally drinking but I expect we have a couple of days of blankets, tv and cuddles.

The Bump Chronicles

The time has come to but bigger pants, I have a permanent wedgie.

I have started knitting a blanket for baby, if my track record is anything to go by, it should be ready by the time bump starts school.

I am 15 weeks today!