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.

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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!

Being pregnant and suffering with anxiety.

I have deliberately used the term ‘suffering’. Everyone gets anxious it is arguably a useful human emotion, we need it to an extent. But I suffer from it. It is beyond a useful tool to ensure I get to work on time, and pay my bills. It is the reason I can’t sleep at night. It is the fear that grips me during a car journey when I become convinced that I will die in a crash before I get home. It is the paranoia that people have noticed that I am an appalling excuse for a human being.

Before I became pregnant I was taking medication for my anxiety. And it was working. No panic attacks, the ability to both fall and stay asleep. The ever increasing periods of positivity and dealing with issues that previously would have affected me for weeks.

Then that little blue line appeared on the test window and all medication stopped. And will remain so. I will not risk harm to my baby.

On ceasing the medication I found suddenly how effective it had been. I think my anxiety stems from my failed teaching career. The enormous amount of stress and personal turmoil that caused has never and probably will never be addressed. I feel such a crushing feeling of failure and loss about it that I don’t see me ever fully ‘getting over it’. I’ve said before I have nightmares about it. I’m in the classroom, teaching, enjoying myself. The children start to get noisy and I start loosing control, I try all the tricks that worked in the classroom, they are ineffective. So I start shouting, nothing. I target one child, try to bring them to heel. Nothing. I get angry shout louder, knowing its exactly NOT what I should be doing. And then I wake up, sweating, heart racing, on the verge of tears.

Last night I had that dream again. I tried the clapping pattern I used to do in the classroom to refocus the attention. Nothing, so I clapped harder and harder again and again. Perhaps I really was clapping, my hands were hurting me and I’ve been told you can’t feel pain in a dream. It was different this time, the walls at the back of the classroom lifted and the children went to their parents, still talking, still completely ignoring every effort on my part to regain control. I turned and saw my sister and best friend from childhood standing in the classroom by the door and I burst into tears. Children and parents still milling about, and now my own din was added to the noise. Uncontrollable sobbing.

I’ve never cried during this dream before. I’ve felt like it, but always remained strong enough to refrain. I don’t know why last night was different. All I can do it hope that’s the last time I ever have my sleep invaded by that absolute horror show. But I know it won’t be.

Pregnancy is an anxious time for anyone. Even the second time around. I spent the first few weeks convinced I’d miscarry. There is no medical reason for me worry, nothing about my history that makes it likely. But that’s not how my anxiety works. Every day is a battle between my rational and anxious self. Sometimes rational wins sometimes the anxious. The same anxious side that told me, when the sonographer ran that plastic thingy over the cold, clear jelly on my tummy I would see a dead baby on screen.

My hope is when I start to feel movement these anxieties will subside. At the same time imagine I shall be a thorn in the side of the NHS. And I know, ‘worry can effect the baby’, that is simply another source of anxiety for me.

So it’s different this time, I feel all the wonderful emotions I felt last time. But they’re tainted, with the unshakable feeling that something awful will happen, to the baby, to me or to someone I love. And that’s just something I’ve got to live with for a while.

…and I’m broken.

The day started with the boy sat in a puddle of his own urine, and nappy so heavy with the stuff it could have been used to anchor a cruise ship.

We’ve played with the play-doh (two colours only, which I’m pleased to say have not been mixed) watched a few episodes the Twirly Woos (as many as I can watch before I want to slit my own throat. This number is rapidly decreasing.)

Then we went out. Our fridge is empty. Not empty but I could easily whip up two meals… it’s empty empty.

Knowing never to shop on an empty stomach I took the boy into M&S for some lunch. Will decided he wanted to sit on my lap, as that was the best place to be to wipe pasta sauce all over my clothes. Refusing to eat most of his pasta but giving all my food a good fingering I gave up on the whole lunch idea and headed to Tesco. I had the pushchair but Will was not strapped in, he was walking beside it. That way if he gets tired it’s there but I can also put my shopping basket in it and avoid the whole trolley tantrum scenario.

As we neared Next I decided to pop in and check the sale for boy’s sandals. The smell coming off his is quite frankly a health hazzard but due to the fashion season all I can get in the shops now are wellies and winter boots (just in time for August!) crocs and croc like shoes are available but no way in hell am I putting my boy in them. It’s bad enough pretending I don’t know my own mum when she insists on wearing them on holiday.

We got to the entrance and Will stopped in the doorway. He kept saying ‘bus’ I assume he meant the both shit and astronomically expensive kiddy ride outside Tesco. (A quid?! You can fuck right off!)

He wouldn’t move. And started to cry. No biggie. I tried the old walkin’ away trick. He moved closer but then started wailing so I decided the best course of action was to put him in his pushchair. That was a mistake.

He unleashed the demon.

And I burst into tears. In a shop. In public. I tried to power through. The boy was still screaming and I received a filthy look from a woman with a perhaps nine year old boy, obviously suffering from memory loss. Either that or her son was a robot.

Turns out I was unable to power through. Instead of buying much needed groceries we went to the car. Will looked confused as he was strapped into his car seat by a blubbering mess. The mess that sat in the car park for five minutes (crying) before driving home (still crying).

We got into the house, the boy had clearly forgotten his tantrum and tucked his Hey Duggee ‘Happy’ soft toy under my arm. (No, the irony was not lost on me.)

I’m not cross with the boy. He’s just being two. But I’m furious with myself for letting his tantrum get to me, and putting on such a spectacular public show of how not to parent. Or even adult. Surely I should have this down by now? To to be perfectly honest he’s done worse and that hasn’t made me spend the afternoon crying on and off.

I think I’m getting a migraine. Icing and cake much?

In other news:

Apparently when will yells ‘Fanny’ he means ‘rain’.

The boy pulled my dress up when I was getting off the loo, pointed at my lady parts and said ‘yuk’ earlier today. Do I top myself now or later?

The cats are taking advantage of the wet weather to get filthy and leave footprints all over the duvet. A hobby they’ve not had the opportunity to indulge in for quite some time.

Is it bed time yet?

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.’