18 weeks – feels remarkably like all the other weeks so far.

My belly is a now constant reminder that I have a little pea swimming about in my uterus. I’m starting to feel the swimming which is very reassuring.

Speaking of swimming, Will started lessons four weeks ago. They’re all about getting the little one used to water and swim ready. There are songs and games and LOTS of splashing. It’s quite a workout for us as there is a lot of throwing the boy around. One of the exercises is to hold a novelty float and kick the water as an adult holds and guides you across the pool. Except Will doesn’t kick. He shouts ‘Weeeeeeeeeeee!’ with his feet sticking out of the water whilst hubs does all the work. It’s funny as hell but a tad frustrating when you’re repeating ‘kick, kick, kick!’ in a high pitched forced enthusiastic voice whilst he has a half an hour rest in the water. Hubs does the lesson with him as I’m not quite in a condition to throw a toddler about. I use the time to swim a few lengths. It’s nice to feel weightless for a bit and will be more so the more massive I get.

Today was busy, I had a lot to contend with; young teenaged girls showing off for the lanky teenaged lifeguard. Families treating the pool like it was a resort fun pool and throwing balls all over the sodding place, lanky teenaged lifeguard not noticing on account of the girls who seemed to be doing a lot of spinning? One of said girls climbed out of the pool in a teeny tiny bikini then slipped over, got up and did the over theatrical hysterical laughing and loudly telling her friend that she had just fallen over, to let anyone who might have seen it happen that she wasn’t completely mortified. I’m frankly quite jealous, if I’d have slipped over like that there’s no way in hell I could have got up so quickly.

We’ve visited friends this weekend and spent Saturday exploring Hampton Court Palace. The boy was fairly well behaved. We had a couple of public meltdowns, he loved stamping his feel in the large wooden floored rooms because it made a great sound. I do feel for the tourists with the audio guides as they had our little foghorn to contend with. The boy doesn’t see a rope barrier as something to keep behind and we uttered several frantic ‘Will, come here!’ Before we were told off or ejected. Although I have to say he senses the desperation in your voice and the more panicked you sound, the less likely he is to come back. Such fun!

We had a long drive home (got to love the M25) so swimming was a welcome stretch after being cooped up. We also had a mega tantrum in the services because we asked the bald kitten to put back a wheeled George Pig book, he didn’t want to put it back, he wanted us to cough up the £8 for it. When it became clear that would not be happening he screamed blue bloody murder. We were stared at. And across the car park as the tantrum continued which only stopped once he was strapped in his car seat. ‘Stopped crying now’ was the sentence for the next few miles.

Swimming has worn him out so definitely an early night. I can’t imagine hubs and I will be up more later. Tomorrow I have my whooping cough jab to look forward to.

In other news:

Marms, the majestic hunter that she is has just tried to catch a fly that’s on the other side of the window pane.

I nearly fainted today, turns out I’m a bit of a fainter in this pregnancy…

Holiday countdown has geared up a notch so the pressure is on to make sure the clothes are clean tomorrow instead of spending the day drinking tea and eating biscuits…

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Kids TV – pros and cons

The bald kitten is now taking more of an interest in kids tv. As much as it’s not something I want him watching ALL the time, it definitely has its benefits.

My darling son doesn’t nap in the day anymore. My golden time has gone, so ten minutes of distraction is my time to sit down with a hot drink. It’s also reassuring to know I’ve something to entertain him when I get a few weeks away from my due date. When I’m too massive to get down onto the floor to play with him and walking upstairs to the loo has the same effect as running a marathon. (Or at least how I imagine it feels to run a marathon…)

Popping on the tv means he’s distracted whilst I do the boring household things that need doing, cleaning the sink, bleaching the loo, stuff like I’d rather not do with a toddler around.

There are messages about friendship and kindness in kids tv programmes too. So he’s probably learning something…

The downside of kids tv:

It’s so frigging irritating.

Will’s current favourites are: Bing, Paw Patrol and Twirly Woos.

Twirly Woos- a family of weird round things that live in a boat and communicate through a series of annoying noises. There’s also some sort of pointy owl that I don’t understand the point of. They can sail a ship but concepts such and ‘up’, ‘down’ and ‘around’ are completely new to them.

Paw Patrol – a gang of anthropomorphic dogs with a pre-pubescent overlord. One of said dogs, Marshal, is adored by many but has zero coordination and causes many accidents. Not sure how he made the team. Don’t know why they trust him with a fire truck when he can’t walk into a lift without falling over. Evil mayor seems to persistently evade law enforcement. Evil mayor keeps cats fuelling outdated and inaccurate stereotype of cats being evil. Non evil mayor has unhealthy relationship with a chicken. So far none of the dogs have tried to eat said chicken.

Bing- a small rabbit that makes you fantasise about stabbing yourself in the eyes. Never. Stops. Whining. Lives with weird as yet unidentified creature called ‘Flop’. Flop is either a father figure or serial killer. As Bing is so bloody irritating I’ve been rooting for serial killer for some time now.

Of all the stuff he watches I detest Bing the most. I get he’s supposed to portray a toddler, but I have a toddler. I get listen to enough tantrums/moaning I don’t want a second dose from the tv…

In conclusion: kids tv has its place but: It. Will. Break. You.

If you need me I’ll be telling the boy that the TwirlyWoos, Paw Patrol and Bing are all sleeping so we can’t possibly watch them…

Why are maternity clothes so hard to get hold of?

Rant alert!

I’ve just been to Tesco and spent more money than I wanted to on bigger pants. I’ve had a near permanent wedgie for the last week so it’s definitely time to invest in larger knickers.

I didn’t but maternity pants as I wouldn’t be seen dead in those over the bump monstrosities unless I was entering a fancy dress competition as an egg in an egg cup.

The thing I find beyond irritating is the complete lack of maternity clothing on the high street. I can go and buy maternity clothes from New Look (but only the branch in the city centre, not the one closer to me) or H&M. That’s it. Sure, more places sell maternity clothes but only online, not on store.

How sodding annoying is that?! And my goodness the selection usually makes me want to weep, black leggings and stripy top anyone? Or ‘hands off my bump!’ I’d like one that says: ‘If you touch me I will hurt you.’

I’m currently wearing a maternity top I brought in a sale because I needed something to hide my growing belly at work. It’s bloody awful, flowery and frills EVERYWHERE. I don’t need frills, I’m huge. Why would I want to add MORE volume to my physique? FRILLS!!

It also seems that you pay a premium for maternity clothes, some are exquisitely made with quality fabric and worth the money. Others are just expensive shite. For the next six months I will be unable to go clothes shopping. And when I drag my post baby body round the shops to boost my confidence in February, I’ll find that nowhere considers the post-baby bod.

I have found acceptable clothes online, but I can’t try them on, I have to wait for delivery, returning items is often a nightmare, every shop has a slightly different idea what size 12 is, at some point I won’t be a size 12 anymore (chipsticks are totally my jam. No matter how sick I’m feeling I can eat sackfuls of these vinigary bites of heaven) then the whole sizing issue starts again.

And I miss wandering round the shops, picking things up, sitting in a coffee shop with my bags of exciting bits! Shopping becomes another thing on a list of things I can’t do because I’m pregnant. Is it too much to ask if a shop has a maternity range that they sell in in-store too? Apparently it is.

If you need me, I’ll be sitting by a window remembering all the times I saw something I liked in a shop, brought it and took the whole experience for granted!

In other news:

Will is now confidently saying ‘naughty cats’ and ‘Marmite! Dindins!!’ Still point blank refuses to say ‘Captain’.

Marmite now thinks she has 473 dinners a day.

Chances of us having a new bathroom before baby comes are getting slimmer everyday.

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!

Just keep swimming.

I took the boy swimming today. We haven’t been since he went on holiday last year. We are going away with hubs’ parents this year and whilst he’ll be under constant supervision in the pool, we’d like him to have recent experience of being in water.

As it’s the summer holidays there are plenty of sessions on and after checking the timetable this morning I thought I’d strike whilst the iron is hot.

To my relief as I was checking said timetable the boy did a big poo, meaning i only had to worry about the boy floating in the pool…

I told the boy we were going swimming and he seemed excited. So I’m not sure why, when it came to actually leaving the house he threw an epic tantrum. Crying, folding his arms, throwing himself on the floor. The works. I remained calm. But in these situations ‘What the fuck is wrong now?!’ Is never far from the tip of my tongue. After coaxing him out of the house I carried him to the car still sobbing. I have no idea why he was crying.

We got to the pool and headed to the (slightly grotty) changing room. There were two old ladies getting changed after their swim who told me Will had ‘such an angelic face’ ha! I wonder what they’d have said if they’d seen him 15 minutes earlier. As the ladies were changing he stared at them. I broke out into a cold sweat. This could go one of two ways. 1: he’ll point at their bodies and shout ‘yuk’ as he does to me on a now daily basis. Or 2: he’ll try and ‘tickle’ them which basically involves grabbing body parts and laughing hysterically. Thank god I had my swimsuit on under my clothes! If there was an Olympic medal for speed changing, I’d have won the gold.

We did the walk of humiliation past EVERYONE to get to the pool. The boy was unsure to start with but when he got onto the water enjoyed shouting ‘splash!’ at the top of his lungs, pointing at my boobs and shouting ‘yuk!’ And pulling the front of my swimsuit down. I also got kicked in the fanny repeatedly.

I definitely helicoptered in the pool but I guess when the alternative is him drowning, helicoptering is important. His head went under once, and whilst he wasn’t happy about it it went down better than I expected. Lessons have now been booked on a Daddy can share the ‘fun’.

I couldn’t help but think parenting is a lot like this swimming experience. Sometimes you feel out of your depth, sometimes you can barely keep your head above the water. Sometimes no matter how hard you try, it feels like a constant kick in the fanny. But one day, you’ll not only be floating, you’ll be swimming.

In other news:

The boy is talking more and more, but every now and again will shout something that sounds a lot like ‘dick’.

I have given up on a tidy house. The boy is the anti-tidy.

I shall attempt to make a cake with the boy later, something I may very well regret…

The boy is two!!

This time two years ago, I hadn’t slept a wink, shed more blood than the red wedding and finally got some codeine off the midwife! It would be hours yet before the boy came into the world and impress us all with his lung power. Hours before me and hubs cried happy tears and cradled the small, pink and furious little fuzzy bundle finally realising: Shit. We’re parents now.

So what celebrations have we planned for this most glorious day? Well I’m going to ikea with William and mum. We know how to party! Tomorrow William will have his party, and I’ve hired a bouncy castle. (Although he wouldn’t go anywhere near the last one he encountered. Curses.)

His friends and family are coming to celebrate, hopefully he’ll refrain from any diva tendencies. I made him scrambled egg and bagels for breakfast, when I carried his plate from the kitchen he started wailing, and took himself to the far end of the kitchen for more wailing. Then stood by the French windows pouting. Before fetching his plate and going to sit on the stairs to eat. Charming. So far he’s played with two of his toys and not unwrapped any presents. He’s pretty stoked by the helium balloons. In fact so far I’d say they are his favourites.

I can hear him on the stairs counting to four. Let’s cross everything that he’s not counting ‘gifts’ from the cats. Captain seems quite excited about the birthday, Marms has yet to make an appearance.

So that’s it. We have a two year old. A whole two. And a year full of adventures that come with it!

In over news:

Poor old Captain was beaten up by the cat hubs refers to only as ‘that big ginger bastard’ our neighbour called to let us know he was cowering under her trampoline. He’d got so frightened he’d pooped himself. Suffice to say ‘that big ginger bastard’ has made my list.

Will has a penchant for spreading his wheeled toys everywhere, hubs and I have been skidding about all over the sodding place. Bets on how long until one of us breaks a bone.

The bald kitten is enjoying the World Cup (will he soon know the pain of supporting the England sqaud or will it actually ‘come home’ this year?!) He enjoys shouting ‘DOAL!!!’ Especially when no goal has actually been scored.

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.