The terrible twos… three months early.

The boy is entering a new phase. One that I hope will be over soon. Our once angelic, blue eyed, golden haired boy has changed to a blue eyed, golden haired tantrum machine. His brand new today thing is to shout ‘ow!’ When you try to move him/strap him into his car seat/ put his shoes on.

To the passer-by it looks as if this poor boy is being mistreated by his witch of a mother. To me (and others experiencing a similar phase) It’s the reason why we drink. Toddlers don’t care how loud they scream or how many people are around when they do it. To be perfectly honest I don’t care that much either but why do they insist on being at their worst with an audience? When I’m trying to get us home and he point blank refuses to get in the car:

‘Come on William, get in the car.’

‘We’re going home to see Daddy and the pussy cats.’

‘Come on in you get!’

*Resist urge to shout GET IN THE FUCKING CAR WILLIAM!!! Go to take his hand to lead him in*

He pulls away crouches in the street screaming. I pick him up to put him in the car, he arches his back screaming ‘No no no!’ Get him into car, try and get him in car seat he starts planking, try to bend child so I can get his seatbelt on. Child. Won’t. Bend. Wonder when my child was replaced by steel girder. Child become less plank like as occupied with hitting Mummy. Use window of flexibility to click in seatbelt. Say in calmest voice can muster ‘We don’t smack’, tighten seatbelt to ensure child safe. Child starts shouting ‘Ow! Ow! Owww!!’

Try and placate child with favourite toy.

Child throws favourite toy.

Clamber out and climb into drivers seat with toddler wailing in the back.

Ignore glares from passers by. Drive off with child still wailing.

Question life choices.

Every time we’ve got in the car today.

Every.

Time.

He’s also doing the fun thing of wanting something (food, toy, seat) then instantly changing his mind when he gets it. This causes a tantrum. We are at the mercy of the whim of a toddler. If you need me, I’ll be hiding in the summerhouse drinking wine.

In other news:

Writing this post was interrupted when the boy broke his ‘splat mat’ the one that only yesterday I insisted to friends was ‘very strong’. The boy thought pouring the water that was in it onto the carpet was lots of fun. I grabbed it off him, chucked it in the sink then started mopping up the puddle on the living room carpet. Whilst I was clearing up, the boy pulled the splat mat out of the sink and started pouring the water on the kitchen floor. Spinning round to ensure full cupboard coverage too. I got mad, he laughed at me.

Captain has been trying to catch bees in the garden. It’s obviously been a while since we’ve had an expensive vet bill.

My two year old niece (for reasons unknown) did a poo in her back garden today.

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Feeling redundant.

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.)

Talk baby to me.

Baby talk. Some love it, some hate it. You’ll find most people have an opinion on it. I had opinions on it too, it then I had a baby and nothing makes you rethink your opinions like having a baby.

I’d never been one for baby talk. In fact I was decidedly awkward around babies, mostly because they ALWAYS cried around me. Some women from a young age are magnetically drawn to babies, and they’re good with then. I was never one of those women.

I went to a hen do a couple of weeks ago. It was the first time I’d left Wills for more than one evening. Although I was dreading being away from him in the run up, I had the most lovely time, and I didn’t miss him as much as I thought I would. (Enter mum guilt.) Some of the women there had said they absolutely do not do baby talk. And I have no problem with that, how other people talk to babies and children is not my business. I don’t feel there is a better way and if I did what makes what I think right? (I’m not always right. Although don’t tell hubs that…)

Anyway, through the miracle of FaceTime, I was able to see my little boy who was decidedly confused as to why mummy was now in the square thingy and not nanny. On the morning we were saying our goodbyes, my phone trilled signifying daddy was true to his word and keeping in touch. I pressed ‘accept’ and the small screen was filled with the face of my son. My beautiful baby. And my voice went high pitched ‘Good morning pookie! Have you been a good boy?!’ William is only 10 months old (well he was nine months when this happened) he doesn’t understand most of what I say, so it’s not what I say, it’s how I say it. He smiled at me and I felt an ache, I wanted to cuddle him, I wanted to hold him close and take in the scent of his hair. But I couldn’t so out poured torrents of baby talk, and his little face broke into a massive, adorable grin. And he clapped. ‘Yay! Who’s a clever boy?’

And that’s when I heard a friend say ‘What is it about babies that makes people talk like retards?’

Wow.

Not only is that far from politically correct, it was upsetting.

Not so long ago I probably would have cringed hearing myself. But I absolutely delight in William, I feel genuine excitement when I see him, sometimes that bursts out of me in the form of baby talk. Kind of like what seeing puppies does to people, gives them a warm fuzzy feeling that sends them into a mini meltdown. Was there any need to make such a comment? Is that the reason I’m now trying to justify how I speak to my child right now? Well I’m nipping that in the bud right now!

I talk baby talk. If you don’t like it that’s your problem, not mine.

In other news:

Wills is once again a little snot factory, he doesn’t seem bothered, he seems to enjoy licking it off his face.

We are off to a wedding on Saturday. I’m hoping to get a nice family photo before Wills gets filthy and daddy gets drunk.

Our garden continues to be the place all the cats get together in for a scrap.

Swimming

 

I took William swimming on Tuesday.

 

I have always found public swimming pools traumatic. The hygiene in the changing rooms is usually questionable. The walk from the changing room to the pool is always just a little longer than comfortable for walking around with very little on. And the pool itself is essentially a bath you share with people you have never met. A bath that has the occasional plaster floating about in it…

 

*Shudders*

 

Anyway in my mission to do absolutely everything I possibly can with Wills so he doesn’t forget me when I go back to work, I figured swimming is a fairly cheap but fun thing to do.

 

After having a baby I needed to buy a new, larger swimming costume. I remember being very upset when the one I bought, that looked massive stretched out on the hanger in Sports Direct, not only fit, it was a bit tight. I seemed to have acquired new fat bits after pregnancy including two weird lumps on the top of my thighs.

 

Why do most swimsuits have such high legs? The kind an 80’s aerobics instructor would be proud of. Even my maternity one was high legged, why in the name of arse? When I bought it I hadn’t seen my bikini line in months and I was going to a hen do. Not wanting to be known and forever after referred to as ‘ the one with all the pubes’ I had to rope hubs into sorting it. (If someone is popping your offspring out of their vagina, a bit of bikini maintenance is the VERY LEAST you can do.)

 

Anyway, bikini line acceptable (from a distance) I tucked my saggy belly into my new costume. Surveying the damage in the mirror, the belly was not my biggest problem. I think my new nickname is probably going to be ‘back fat’, unfortunately I couldn’t reach those bits to do any tucking. After getting dressed I chucked a few swim nappies in a bag along with Wills’ swim body warmer thingy. As I purchased it form Amazon I keep getting emails ‘Can you answer this question..’ it’s usually size related but the last one was ‘is it a swimsuit as well as a floatation aid?’ I felt it was my moral duty to reply swiftly and make it absolutely clear that although it is described as ‘swim vest’ it in no way aids floatation in any way. Its sole purpose is to keep a baby warm. I had images of a poor baby being chucked into a pool at Centre Parcs whilst it’s parents disappear to the bar ‘It’s a floatation vest love,  he’ll bob back up to the surface, voddy and coke?’

 

That’s my good deed done.

 

Anyway we arrived in the changing rooms and they were as grim as I remember. Didn’t particularly want to put William down anywhere and the mass of clothes left in plain sight signalled a school was in for a swimming lesson.

 

 I covered a grotty changing table with a mat and got Wills ready took my clothes off to reveal new trusty one piece and made my way to the ‘learner pool’.

 

The learner pool was nice and warm, Wills seemed immediately delighted and spent the whole time we were in there squealing and smacking the water. (We were the people other people were avoiding.) The boy made a pretty impressive splash zone. We poured brightly coloured watering cans (Will tried to drink from them) and swan after footballs (Will tired to eat them), Wills found a squirty crab (tried to eat that too) and it was lovely. The sheer delight on his face kept me grinning like a mad woman! I saw two women with a baby girl, both in bikinis, both with gorgeous tummys, I’m sure one of the slender tummed women was a mamma, and I felt pure unbridled envy at such a lovely tum, which was interrupted by Wills pulling the front of my swimsuit out as far as it would go. I spotted a couple of mums in the same swimming suit as me, I couldn’t decide if that made me like it more or less.

 

We exited the pool, I swaddled William in a towel and carried him past several bored looking lifeguards into the changing room, which was freezing. So I wrapped him in my towel too. I took him into a cubicle with a changing table and removed my suit. He took the opportunity to squeal and smack my boobs. Not that there is ever a good time for a fire alarm, this would have been a really, really bad time. By the time I’d got him dressed I was pretty much dry. I tried not to feel too much dismay at my now pendulous boobs and saggy belly as I tried to stuff myself back into my clothes. Although on the bright side, the tum isn’t always saggy. Whenever I have a postpartum monster period, it fills up, so it’s a big roundy belly that leaves people wandering if I’m expecting or not…

 

Will fell fast asleep in the car and I put him straight to bed when we got home. Any activity that makes him nap is good in my books.

 

When I went to retrieve him some time later, he was licking the bars of his cot. Make of that what you will.

 

In other news:

 

It snowed for the first time in William’s life yesterday. I excitedly picked him up and took him to the window. I don’t think he could have been less bothered.

 

We’ve had some lovely pictures of William taken today. So I’ll be busy getting them put on to mugs, mouse mats, magnets, clocks, cushions, wallpaper, curtains etc.

 

We’re off out to celebrate hubs’ cousins birthday tonight, and I’m not driving… see you all in hangover town…

 

 

 

Interactive baby toys – because sleepless nights and regularly getting vomited on aren’t punishment enough.

Having hit the ‘magical’ age, Wills is now age appropriate for a whole host of interactive toys.

Oh what fresh hell is this?

Why do they have to be so sodding irritating? And another thing, all that bull crap on the packaging that states your child will learn about shapes and colours.

No they won’t.

Because they don’t leave enough time between jabbing the assorted buttons to hear the shape, colour or number in it’s entirety. And who needs to hear colours when you can just make it moo repeatedly?

One thing I will say for them they seem pretty indestructible, Wills seems at his most content when he’s smacking something, preferable with something else. The more it hurts my eardrums the better. I’m unsure if this is a phase or he’s a thug, I suppose time will tell. In the meantime, I encourage the cats to keep their distance!

So our living room often  looks like we’ve ram-raided Toys R Us and hearing the creepy child-like voices emanating from bright plastic toys, accompanied by seizure inducing light shows has led me to some pretty dark thoughts:

What if the toys met with some sort of accident?

I’m not sure I’d get away with it, he may only be six months old but I’m quite sure he has some sort of inventory stashed away somewhere, maybe under his mattress.

In other news:

I’m not sure my house will ever be tidy again. Ever.

The recent Cat-War shows no signs of a peace treaty.

Wills and I have had our passport photos taken. Wills looks cute as a button, I look less like a serial killer but very much like I haven’t had a decent rest since July.