When you struggle to find your silver lining

My PM is always teasing me as a common phrase of mine is 'well there is a silver lining...' followed by a positive to be found from the the negative situation. I can't say I am always a 'my pint is half full' type of person but I do try to see the good in all situations as it is far to easy to become blue about things in everyday life like the time PM had a slight knock in his car and it had to go to the garage to be made beautiful again. As he stomped through the door, muttering and feeling very cross that his lovely car had a dink in it he demanded to know 'where's the silver lining in that?' While trying to soothe the metophorically bruised male I suggested that the silver lining was that it would be a good practise to see how we managed as a one car family before we actually had too (since I decided to give up work to look after out little man full time November is our D-day when we become a one car family). Needless to say it did very little to sooth the brow and I feel lucky that I got away with just a scowl! Other occasons have usually brought a smile to his face and occasionally when I have been really tested we have often ended up in tears from laughter! Now a dent in a mans pride and joy, his car, is a bit of a challenge and tough moment for any man who loves his motor but occasionally some events in life happen that really are genuinely difficult. After the excitment of finding out I was pregnant, I went into planning overdrive. I know it was rather soon to be discussing possible names and planning ideas for the bedroom but I wanted to make the most of it and enjoy every moment. So while on a sailing holiday to London, 10 weeks pregnant, I had a miscarriage. I was, naturally, devestated. All those hopes and dreams of a new life and addition to our family... gone. And there is nothing you can do to stop it. It is one of lifes mysteries to us mums to be and to the medical profession. So many pregnancies end in miscarriage in the first 12 weeks but it doesn't make it any easier. So there we were, in holiday in London having to get on with life when PM turns to ask me, 'so where is the silver lining in this'? Now I had by this time shed quite a few tears but this was a question that really challenged me. It was asked not in any ironical way, he was genuine in trying to understand the heart ache and feeling of loss and how, for once, was there any good from it? I did smile, rather weak and watery, but smile it was, and paused for thought. For once it was not a case of coming up with a quick and quirky response but I needed time to see if there really was a silver lining. So what was the positive from this? I was very lucky in the care that we were shown at St Thomas's hospital and I was grateful that as this was to happen it happened at 10 weeks and not 20 weeks. But most of all, we had our little man, if ever there was a reason to be happy he was it and for him a smile is shown, a deep and hearty laugh heard out loud, a hug felt and life goes on. Not the brightest of linings but one of the sincerest.

When you think there are no surprises left...

So there you are, pottering along with life thinking that, at last, life has settled down again. You have just had that milestone 1st birthday party for the little man (and what a party... thanks to the heat wave we had a gazebo in the garden and the party became a pool and bubble party, a bit Ibiza but for babies!!!) and you're marvelling that you managed to get the baby safely to his first year and amazed that, yes, you are starting to feel human, adult and vaguely back in the real world. You lay there one night reflecting on how busy, different and good life is and feeling at one with the world, hoping that this 'moment' will go on forever as it is all just so good. But deep down in the recesses of the sub conscience there is a niggle, a doubt, a question, but what? As I drifted off to sleep with the clearest of clarity a thought hit me like a bolt. I had been so busy that I hadn't noticed that 'that time of the month' hadn't been and gone! A few calculations and the results came up that, yup, I was definitely over due. That meant an urgent trip to the shops the next day to buy a test. One 10 second pee session later and a three minute pace, for the first time in a very very long time I found I struggled to breath. The test showed positive, I was pregnant! After sitting down a moment to regain my equilibrium it was time to break the news to PM. I found him downstairs being a fabulous 'new man' busy washing up. I tapped him on the shoulder and showed him the test. There are many possible reactions I could of expected but from an adult male who has already fathered one son the last response I expected was 'how did that happen?'. I did offer to explain the very basic outline details but he hastened to reassure me that was not quite what he meant and we just stood there gapping at each other doing a very good impression of a couple of blonde goldfish. This then begged the question, what now? Well I have to confess that we discussed the 'situation' and after a day or two I was delighted and so so excited. I had thought my life was settled then along came the biggest, most unexpected surprise of all! All I have to do is keep busy with the little man and wait until I am twelve weeks and then I can tell people... I just can't wait! Watch this space.....

When housework hits the bottom of the list

There are few things that have happened in my life that have made me stop and rethink my priorities. Most of the time, like the rest of the population we just get on with day to day stuff, managing the daily tasks, crossing jobs off the ever increasing list, putting gentle pressure on ourselves to make sure the house is clean in case of unexpected guests, the car tidy in case you off an impulsive lift, the front door area is swept and tidy for any passer by, the garden is kept trim for neighbours who can see into it, the child is clean when you step out the front door (and there are spare clothes in the bag just in case he needs a change of clothes) etc etc etc. We put these pressures on ourselves to make sure we are acceptable to our peers and we haven't let our parents down. Then something happens to shake your whole world and you stop and think. During June we have had some fantastic weather. In fact I will be so bold as to quote the weather forecasters and say we have had a delightful heatwave. (Delightful if you don't have to work too hard or travel on public transport that is!) During the beginning of the heatwave our little man was a bit 'off colour'. Being a happy boy by nature, when he is ill he is just a little less cheerful over longer periods. When teething he behaves in a similar way. So on this occasion, I was aware he was not himself and the way he kept putting his fingers in his mouth I first thought that he was teething again. Then he got a high temperature. Now I am one of those parents that worries but really doesn't like to make too much fuss and waste professionals time. As his temperature rose to 39.7 C I knew that it was not good. So I did what I thought best and got PM to phone NHS Direct. We were told to just keep him as cool as we could and keep using the calpol but not to damped him down as recent research showed that if cooled to fast from the outside the body tries to raise the temperature again. About 3am his temperature went back down and I got a couple of hours sleep. Now this worried me as it was not the usual way this teething went so I was aware something else was wrong but had no idea. The next day he was in good spirits again but still not himself. We decided to spend the day outside in the shade of trees where it was coolest. In the afternoon, again, his temperature shot up. This time it went to 40.4 C. Oh so very bad!!!! The poor little man was drowsy and grizzly and so out of sorts. Then about 11:30pm he did what I had feared the most, he started to fit. No matter how many times to hear about seizures, see or assist with them, nothing will ever prepare you for when it happens to your baby. Of course, blind panic sets in and the first thing you do is reach for the phone and call for an ambulance while totally random thoughts about 'how glad I am I live in England and not some far flung place without the NHS for back-up' cross your mind. The next thing you are in the back of an ambulance, then in A&E and then in the children's ward. All the time being asked dozens of questions while you watch as your baby is given rectal paracetamol and diazipam resulting in him being totally limp with no body control, in essence physically like a new born. Distressing is one word to describe it all but also awe and wonder that I live in a country and county where we have an excellent local hospital with efficient staff. It is only as everything settles down and you realise the time is about 3am, you have had nothing to eat of drink since lunchtime and you are in a hospital for the night with no bra on under your tee-shirt, wearing very short denim shorts (you only ever wear them round the house, they are not for public display) and your feet are shod in your rather pink slippers! By the end of the next day the little man was over his temperature and allowed home with the verdict being he had viral tonsillitis. He was still very poorly but now as a result of the medication he had been given. If you have never heard of diazipam it is a muscle relaxant. The poor little fellow was so used to being able to dash around the floor on all fours that when he felt a bit better by mid morning he was keen to go down and explore. He looked like Bambi taking his first steps, very wobbly and then falling over. This experience knocked his confidence terribly and I had a very clingy 'hip-limpet for a whole week as we built him up again. So during that next week, the heatwave continued and the house became dirtier and untidier. All that mattered to me was I had a happy boy. As he regained his confidence and became less clingy, all that mattered to me was I had a happy boy. Suddenly, for the first time since my teen years, I couldn't care less about what anyone thought of the state of my house. All that mattered was my little man. He is fine now and it is all a distant memory but the one thing that remains is the housework can always wait.

When teeth are like buses.....

I am shocked at just how fast time has flown by. I intended to do regular updates and find that as the little man gets bigger and more adventurous then the less time I find for moments to do the catch-up. But I digress... so onto the subject of teeth. Teeth, as an adult, are generally taken for granted. They are there and as a rule we do the right thing by them by cleaning them twice daily, as a treat some of us floss often and if we are very good and dedicated to our pearlers then we take them for a biannual outing to the dentist. Occasionally we get a pain, but that is why we have dentist - the doctor of the mouth and we put our faith in him/her to free us of the discomfort and make our lives wonderful again and we forget all about them. What we, thanks to Mother Nature, forget is the arrival of the first pegs. Now if you start to become involved in the world of babies, teething features hugely. There is no greater excuse for any baby/childhood ailment. The slightest whinge, grizzle, dribble or snotty nose and every parent will announce 'oh, he/she is teething again'. Occasionally, if your child is generally miserable (a bad night and slight cold) others will often ask with a sympathetic tone and head tilted to one side, 'teething?'. As for the medicines you are bamboozled with all claiming to ease your baby/child's discomfort - how we do not overdose them in our desperate battle to sooth them I have no idea!
Now we are reliably informed (HV's websites, parents past etc) that babies usually teeth around 6 months. At about 4 months us mums started looking for signs of teething. All the mums in the baby social network were all comparing dribble, moods, temperatures, red cheeks except me. There was not a sign. Oh, don't misunderstand, my little man dribbled for England and as a natural red head had the ruddiest of cheeks but a mother instinct told me that these were most certainly not signs of potential new teeth. As the months went by all the babies of similar age started popping up teeth. We went through a terrible four days in February but not a hint of a tooth after that. We had bouts when the everyday dribble became some substance that can only be described as ectoplasmic and a slight rise in temperature but nothing more. Maternal instinct was telling me not to expect anything until the little man was 10 months old. As we approached the 10 months I even began to wonder if I had be right to even anticipate that, not peep of a tooth. And so the days and weeks passed. One night, I put the little man to bed after a fun day while being in good health and all was well. At 1:30am sleep became non-existent as I was woken by a distressing wail followed rapidly by that haunting sound of retching. As I reached over to the cot vomit gushed from the little fellows mouth. Nothing wakes you faster that your baby being very ill - the sound and smell should be bottled and sold to motorist as they become weary whilst driving on motorways, may an accident could be prevented with this aroma that startles you to wakefulness. As the next few hours pass holding bowls and mopping mouths alll sorts of reasons for the sickness charge through your head starting with 'oh no, have I poisoned him with my cooking?' Why are we programmed to torture ourselves and immediately look to our domestic skills as the reason for a childs illness. Logic kicked in many hours later (lack of sleep delayed the initial arrival of logic). Between bouts of heaving the little man was fine in himself - so much so I had a job to keep his curiosity about the contents of the bowl seriously in check. He had no temperature and was keen to be playing games. The sickness lasted about two hours. Next morning, or to be more precise, later that morning as he had by-passed the need to go back to bed, when cleaning his 'teeth' (something we started at six months old to get into good habits ready for when the baby teeth finally made and appearance) and I noticed that there was the tell-tale little white ridge under his gum. I somehow managed to restrain myself from texting everyone as I realised how pathetic it would read 'little man sick all night but tooth might arrive in the next ten days or so' - not really what people want to read at breakfast! The good old materal instinct was very sure that the sickness was about teething but the sensible head said not. So off to the websites for a general opinion on teething I went. It was very interesting to read on all the 'offical sites that there was no link to vomiting and teething. Cue further paranoia. As the little man was fine for the rest of the day and the next few I kept the paranoia in check. This was all on a Monday night. The next Monday found us car bound for a fun filled week at Centre Parcs with friends. Tuesday morning the tooth cut. No fuss, no complaint. There is was. The joy we all shared, (any excuse to applaud and congratulate the little man and we do) and so the rest of the week went on. Thurday night I was rudely awaken with a familiar sound and smell. Oh yes, sickness in your own house is one thing but in a less familiar surrounding and while sharing with others... not for the faint hearted! This time the vomiting went on for longer but that aside it was so similar to that last time. That breakfast I checked the gum and there, as like before, was the faint white outline of a tooth. By the Tuesday he had his second tooth. Most of his friends had teeth months previous and were popping out others at a rate of knots. We waited nearly 11 months then like buses two came along at once. As his mum I am just so so proud but as an ex dental nurse I am thinking... 18 more teeth equals 18 more nights of vomiting to go... wish me luck!

From Heathen to Christian

Over the last two and a half weeks the little man has hit two major milestones. Firstly, on 3rd May we had the event of his baptism. It was one of those things that I kept putting off as so many factors had to be considered but on impulse one day I just made a phone call to the rector that performed our marriage ceremony and the date was set. Now when PM and I got married we decided to keep it small, immediate family and a few close friends. There were lots of reasons for this and Christmas 2005 we were married. Now we both come from large families and felt that lots of relatives were disappointed at missing out on a 'good old shin-dig' so throwing myself at the mercy of my mother she agreed that we could have an afternoon tea in her back garden after the service. Now the poor little man happened to end up with a nasty cold and more teething pains to help celebrate this very special day of his. Sleep was erratic to say the least and lots of friends and family were driving from distances as far and Suffolk and Devon to help him celebrate (I said they missed out on a party and were keen to make the most of this occasion!). I know we should accept each day with the various trials and tribulations it brings but there is still a part of you that wants to be able to put on a bit of a show and do all you can to make sure everyone has a good fun and memorable time. This includes doing what you can to get your baby to be happy and co-operative during a church service and the festive gathering afterwards! So with all the best intentions the day started early so that we could try and fit in breakfast, play, sleep, lunch, play sleep, bottle and then a baptism. At this point a dose of liquid ibuprofen to ease his discomfort and a dash to get to the church in time to let the little man become acquainted with the rector so at 'hand-over' time there would be not tears, fingers crossed. Sometimes I feel very blessed and everything went to plan... more than that, the little man became the consummate performer and even managed to lead all his guests into clapping at the end! Then there was the mad dash back to the parents house and so the party began. Now I have said that I was blessed already but here again, I was blessed in so many more ways. The weather stayed good so we were able to enjoy the beautiful garden and having a fantastic set of relatives, aunts, uncles and sisters all pitched in with catering, decoration and hosting. The little man had a great day and celebrated in style! It was the next morning as we came down the stairs that we were greeted by my mother with 'morning Christian' that it dawned on me that my little man was now accepted into the Christian church which got me thinking, was my beautiful, innoccent baby a heathen before that?

When being slummy bites back

Yet another grand milestone has just passed... on April 21st 2009 at 7:45pm (ish) the little man started to crawl. But first let me just take this back a few months.
When I first found out I was pregnant I was determined to focus on work and kept repeating the mantra 'it's only a pregnancy, not an illness'. I found I had a year and half of work to fit into six months as I needed to leave all this years work as complete as possible and much of the planning and report work prepared for the beginning of the next year. (I am referring to academic terms and years as I work in a school environment.) I relished the challenge and made every effort to ensure that any pregnancy related appointments were as far away from student contact time as I was able to make them (as dictated by local GP and hospital times.) At this time I just knew that I would be back at work, maybe by Christmas, possibly February half term, definitely by Easter. I love my work, in fact it is not a job but a vocation to me and ever since I have entered into this field I have always felt I have been one of the very few, very lucky people that love to get up and get to work - having said that I could quite happily live without the meetings and paperwork but nothing is perfect I guess! Once the little man made his appearance on 1st July 2008 my work colleagues were keen to know when I would be starting back. But now I had a new force to contend with, Mother Nature. Oh how I had underestimated her natural powers and the maternal instinct. I had a good idea that the final decision on exactly when to start back to work would be a bit difficult and the actual leaving my baby with another woman would be, in essence, hard but not impossible. I repeat again, Oh how I had underestimated her natural powers and the maternal instinct. As I started to waste precious time worrying I decided to not even think about it until after Christmas, that would give the little man six months to grow and become a little less dependant on me. Well that flew by in a matter of moments - I have been told on good authority that it really was six months but even now, nine months on I still think that it has only been moments.
The question of 'when' I return started to become 'if' in my mind but how was I to even start to mention this to work or equally as importantly, to PM (Play Mate = husband). Now this was all news to PM or was when I finally plucked up the courage to bring it up in discussion though I did try to soften the blow with 'I will ask a question and then remain silent for a while while you talk through all your views on it - 'what are your pros and con's on me going back to work - F/T or P/T optional at this stage or maybe not at all?' To summarise PM was all for me going back to work for at least three days a week. Not the response I was looking for. (I did repeat this question a couple more times on different occasions and yet his answer was always the same.) So I anguished more and fretted, wasted more time worrying about all possible outcomes and the effects it would have on: little man, PM, students, work colleagues and anyone else I could think of to throw into the equation to make things tougher on myself. It always came back to two major factors. Secondly, financially, the money I earnt would only just cover childcare and in the event of little man becoming ill I would have to take time off work unpaid but still have to pay the childminder so PM would have to sub all this from his wages - basically, no financial gain for lots of extra time, effort, paperwork etc all done in my family time. But firstly and most importantly, I knew that I just could not leave my baby boy to be looked after by someone else and have them experience all the firsts: crawling, teeth, steps, words, clapping, all those little moments when you cry with laughter at the silliest things together, all that time that you can never have back again. In the end, it really wasn't a hard decision, the difficult bit was coming to terms with how much motherhood had changed me and then letting others know. Basically, I decided to become a full time mum so I could be there for him and see all those precious first moments.
So, getting back to the business of the little man starting to crawl. There I was, standing at the stove, slave to the supper (lamb shank just for the record - and very tasty it was too) as PM gives the little man his last bottle before bed. Now little man is a creature of habit and just didn't want to drink, so PM was giving him a bit of play time before trying him again with the milk. Nothing different there. Milk was re offered after 15 minutes and a reasonable amount more drunk so next is bedtime. I am still busy in the kitchen and PM is distracted by a popular soap on the TV so time is passing. I make a 'useful' verbal suggestion (meaning not very subtle hint) 'supper is ready, do you want me to put him to bed as I am very hungry?' Useful reply to this from PM 'erm, oh, ah, he is just having a few minutes to play' a delay tactic to extend TV soap watching. Occasionally the 'slummy devil' on my left shoulder wins over the 'perfect housewife/mother' on my right and this was one of those moments. What I should have said was 'you finish getting the supper and I will put him to bed unless you would rather do bedtime' but what actually came out was 'I suppose we could have this now while he plays a bit longer, it should be OK if he goes to bed a bit late'. (By now I was also getting a little distracted by said TV soap.) Mistake! For this is when a moment of slumminess turned and took a big bite out of me as the little man, on hearing those words, decided to steel this moment of laxness on my part and crawl without me being there to witness it. To refine the details slightly, PM was trying to discretely maximise gazing at the TV while entertaining the little man by gently rolling back and forth a ball. Little man suddenly gets up on one knee, tucks the other leg underneath (to odd to visualise but believe me it looks very uncomfortable) and does a sort of half crawl half bum shuffle and 'crawffles' his way around the floor in earnest after the ball. I am totally oblivious to all this as I have reach the moment of thickening gravy with cornflour determined that it will not go lumpy. Only a casual throw-away remark from PM ('he's quite good at getting that ball for himself now') as I put plates of food onto the table make me turn at neck breaking speed to see the little chap having a good old 'crawffle' towards the cat food bowl. I exclaimed rather loudly 'he's never done that before - or eaten cat food which he will do if you don't grab him fast' (PM was nearer to him than me).
So all this anguish over returning to work - or not, as I handed in my notice two weeks ago - so I could be there for each precious milestone, and because of a moment of slumminess I missed it. Had I been the good housewife/mother he would have been in bed and the moment saved for another time. So you would be forgiven for thinking that I feel terribly sad at missing the very first 'crawffle' but three things stop this. Firstly, I am so so delighted that PM got to be the first person to see this - I feel that men get a pretty raw deal having to be at work all day and missing out on all the special moments (not that I heard any complaints about missing out on nursing a baby with chicken pox or looking after a crying drooling mess during teething pains - funny that!). Secondly, I have been there for every milestone so far and with this one I have watched as over the last few weeks he has tried so hard to get on his knees and just started working out forward propulsion and have had the special role of being there with the hugs and kisses as it went slightly wrong, and thirdly, I am just the proudest mum around!

A silver lining to every cloudy day

Two days ago my little man turn nine months old. He celebrated a day early with a spectacular outbreak of the infamous childhood sickness... chicken pox! Now I believe there is never a good time to be ill but so many people have said how lucky we are to get it over with early - which then begs the question, when I offered all his friends the fabulous opportunity to come round to play and catch the pox, why did all the mums say no?
The hidden 'joy' of chicken pox is you have no idea when or where your precious child picked up the virus. It is caught and remains dormant in the body for 10 - 21 days - I struggle to remember where we went two days ago let alone ten so its origin will forever remain a mystery to us! I did the dutiful thing and phoned all those we had been in contact with over the last few days (to date no-one is ill but if my maths is correct anyone who is going to suffer as a result of contact with my little man should start to feel poorly by the end of next week!). To start with I fell foul of being rather smug as polite enquires about his health had me saying 'he isn't too bad, just a few spots and in good spirits, I have mown the lawn and started to paint his bedroom, got the washing done blah blah blah.' Oh how I was to pay for such a cock-sure attitude! One very sleepless night later and the day from hell began, ironically, on April Fools Day! My 'not to spotty' boy and suddenly gone from a dot-to-dot for children to a blockbuster in braille! The eyes, ears and even his tongue became victim to this affliction.
In the depths of the poor little mans misery there comes a moment that makes you wonder at just how amazing the little people are. Our boy has a temperature, chicken pox everywhere, is itching like crazy and through all this he suddenly discovers he can clap his hands together! And there was my saving moment, my silver lining to that very grey of days. Each time he started to grizzle I started to sing 'if your happy and you know it', he would look at his hands, start clapping them together and grin at just how clever he was! The song became the 'catch-phrase' of the next few days. It was a wonderful thing to be able to make such a sorry little man smile through his misery though I wonder if my PMs smile was wiped from his face when he heard it for the enth time throughout the following nights!
Today the little man has been slightly better and my skills as a singer have been given a bit of a rest. I felt very lucky having so many people text, phone and FB (Facebook) to see how the patients progress has been. I also have a wonderful PM who on the worst day came home from work and took over being nursemaid and entertainer so I could finally escape the house for some much needed fresh air, time out and in true 'slummy mummy style' a healthy glass or two of wine with the GGs (Greenhithe Girls).
Very bright sliver linings indeed!

PS. Treatments to recommend: bicarbonate of soda in a tepid bath, calamine cream (not so drying as lotion) and baby ibuprofen - if over a year old they can have antihistamine syrup to ease the itching, bad luck for those who were under a year old at the time!

Is 'me time' my time?

My little man in now a heafty 8 months old and it is only now that I find there are magical moments in the day or evening when he becomes a most obliging gent and has a sleep. Normally I would choose these times to do the washing, ironing or as is the case currently, slave over the stove and cookbooks (thank you for Annabel Karmel) trying to keep up with the constant need to feed the little man with a huge range of food. The need for this variety is because, as always, the literature mixed with the ever 'on your case' HV's (health visitors), keep telling us of what damage we are doing to our babies because they do not 'get enough iron, vitamins, drink enough formula milk' and so on. Whatever happens there is always something out there just waiting for you to do something foolish like be selfish and glance at a bit of literature (magazine) or chat with a friend because the 'guilt trip' is waiting to pounce.
Now when I first started out on this baby-lark I found I had a baby that was very hard to feed. 'Milk, no thanks mum, not for me today, tomorrow or any day soon'. (Hence I seemed to have eternal visits and phone calls from the HV's). Due to this, I was very excited about the prospect of weaning. It was a major milestone and meant so may things. My little man was really starting to grow up and maybe, just maybe, the milk battle would end! I love to cook. Not in the style of Master Chef or Britians Best Dish - when my PM (Play Mate - husband) suggested I tried for these sort of programmes my blood ran cold. I felt flattered he appreciated my food so much (PM does have a substantial figure so I didn't let it go to my head!) but it's just not my scene. I enjoy putting a decent meal on the table and devouring it knowing it is good stuff. I like to play and create something from nothing (usually what's left in the bottom of the fridge draw). I feel I need to add here that I am only human so I have a cupboard with jars of pasta and curry sauce - oh, and a draw with local take away numbers that deliver to the door! As I enjoy cooking I was relishing the challenge of cooking and nourishing my little man..... so how is it I now dread the next meal. To start with all went well, he ate and enjoyed. He started to consume the lovingly made meals at such a speed I feared for his digestive system. He even cried when a bowl was finished. What ever I offered he ate. He was showing himself to be a true son of mine and PM - we love our food and so now does our son! Until a week ago that is. Then our little man decided, 'no, not anymore. If you offer it I dont want it'. I now find that every moment spare is spent in the kitchen rustling up more diverse foods using ingredients that I have never tried just to try and tempt him (hence the blessing called Annabel Karmel, sorry my beloved Pru but your book doesn't quite write for under 1's and all the does and don't that go with them). So today, as PM goes off in the morning to play with friends for the day, I am left looking at a house that looks neglected, meal planning in my head, creating lists (I live for lists but that is another story) and holding the baby. Using all the tricks in the trade I managed to distract and amuse the little man enough to get some food into him at breakfast including a whole 3oz of milk (not good by HV terms but not bad for him!). Then comes play time until he starts making that magical gesture, the eye rub. I hone in on it and quickly respond by wiping off the old nappy to replace it with a fresh new one and whisking him away to his cot. I lay him down and in moments he is asleep, bless him. So, this is my time, what to do first.... I could wash up, sweep and wash the floor, get the washing on, I need to marinade the ribs for when PM gets home and expects feeding and there is a range of food to cook to temp the little man with. But today, for the first time, I paused. The two men in my life where doing what they wanted, so what was it that I would like to do. Just for now, knew I had 3/4 hour, I decided to take the me time and truely make it mine. I found a book and ran a deep hot bubble bath, and there I lay lost in the world of Griff Rhys Jones and his adventures to the Baltic with Bob..... for the first time in 8 months I finally allowed myself to take me time as my time. Now how slummy is that?!

There is no such thing as a text book.......

1st July 2008 was a life changing moment for me. Many people told me how it would be, I read books, talked to professionals, went to classes, had moments with those that had 'been there and done it' but nothing, and I mean NOTHING prepared me. What could I be talking about..... becoming a mum!
It seems that there was advice on the whole 'giving birth' and the months that follow and always books books and even more books. Books written by doctors, nurses, NHS, mums and a more recent glut of 'celebrities'. But believe you me, what ever you read, take it all with a pinch of salt and a very broad mind, take notice of what friends say and make the experience your own journey.