Happy Days.

We’ve just spent a lovely day in the garden. The sun was shining as I contently sat rubbing my bump and watching crazypixie and himself build and demolish sandcastles. Every now and then one of them would turn to catch my eye or blow me a kiss.

Bliss.

It occurred to me that there will be many ups and downs in our lives over the years to come and that this is one of the good days. One of the days to treasure; to bask in the simple joy of family, and to add to the wealth of happy memories that will help us through future hardships.

I’ll go to bed smiling tonight.

Just go away!

So there I am in the kitchen, frantically deciding whether I have time to get the frozen food into the freezer before crazypixie has a total meltdown upstairs, the Tesco delivery man has left the front door open (again, grr) and a head peers into my hallway, shouting to me in my kitchen ‘I’m canvassing for…’ He got no further as I swung my pregnant self around and snarled ‘Oh, just go away……’ And he did. Very quickly.

Of course there are issues I’d love to take the time to discuss with politicians, the proposed cutting of child benefit being one, and I’m going to vote in the upcoming elections, even if I’m labour (producing a baby as opposed to being a member of the political party) but if one more feckin canvasser wakes up my crazypixie I won’t be responsible for my actions.

For the last local elections I actually put a sign on the door; the wording, if I can remember correctly was:

‘No canvassers or salespeople please. If we require information on your policies or products we would rather seek you out. Please Respect our Privacy.’

The original wording which was vetoed by himself (too crazylady apparently) was:

‘No Salespeople or Canvassers, We are Tight Fisted Anarchists’.

Don't mess with me today!

As I’m nearing the end of this pregnancy, becoming daily less agile, enthusiastic and patient, I thought it was time to change how things are done around this house.

So for the foreseeable future:

1. All meals to be taken outdoors, where the local wildlife can do the cleaning up. I don’t care if it’s pouring rain, it’s summer and we’re picnicking!
   
2. If it’s on the floor it’s not my problem (crazypixie being the obvious exception to the rule). I cannot reach the floor, and if I could lower myself I’d probably be there for the next three weeks. The contents of the kitchen cupboards that crazypixie empties and all the scattered toys will be left for himself to deal with.
   
3. All wash-up will be left to himself. I’m too big, or else my arms are too short, but I cannot reach the sink!
   
4. No laughing at the pregnant lady. Grunting helps me move, don’t knock it. Also comments on how huge I’ve become are not really appreciated at this stage.
   
5. Friends who call and make cups of tea, entertain crazypixie and wash their cup are welcome. Friends that bring chocolate and cake, change crazypixie’s nappy, and do the wash-up are particularly welcome.
   
6. The pregnant lady is entitled to grumble as much as she wishes, after all there is someone using her bladder as a trampoline and apparently trying to batter it’s way out through her lower back. Just smile sympathetically. Do not attempt to turn it into a joke, make light of it ,or suggest that it’s just for a few more weeks.
   
7. Take a look at me. How could I possibly be in the mood? Don’t even ask.
   
   Right, that should get things running a little more smoothly around here. I’ll just print off a copy and nail it to the drivers door of himself’s car.

Welcome to the world.....

There is a new person in the world. My little sister is a mother. I’m an auntie. My daughter is a cousin.

My first nephew was delivered by c-section on Monday morning and we’re all besotted. They gave him a lovely name but let’s just call him lilman here.
He is beautiful and amazing and I want to cuddle him all the time. Maybe it’s my hormones but watching my sister with lilman makes me just want to smother them both in kisses and love (obviously I restrain myself as I don’t want to freak her out totally).

Over the last 9 months I’ve had the privilege of being there to witness my sis go through her first pregnancy. I’ve watched in amazement as this career girl let her maternal side emerge as she embraced impending parenthood.

Being due only 3 weeks apart meant we got to spend a lot of very special time together and compare notes on both the wonders and trials of pregnancy. We would sit in sis’s kitchen, while crazypixie reorganised all her cupboards, eating fruit and chocolate (standard pregnancy fare) bemoaning varicose veins and swollen ankles and sharing the wonders of little kicks and wriggles.

I’m now looking on in awe as she takes to parenting like a natural (which she is). And I feel the overwhelming pride of big sister as I watch her and her husband deal calmly yet confidently with specialists about health concerns and as they battled the health system to make sure their lilman could be exclusively breast fed (why oh why do the some midwifes think a bottle is the solution to everything).

We’re having conversations now that I never imagined: there are text messages in the middle of the night about the joys of blocked ducts and sore nipples.

I’m so looking forward to the weeks ahead as our little ones grow up alongside each other.

I’ve also been thinking of my girls and I can only hope that crazypixie and littlespud share a similarly supportive relationship (oh, I know they’ll be fit to kill each other at times too) throughout all the ups and downs of their lives.

Oh dear, I think I may be turning into a sentimental wreck in these last few weeks of pregnancy……..

Potty talk.....

Well, today crazypixie decided operation pee-pee was progressing way too slowly for her liking and took matters into her own little hands.

Operation pee-pee was started around about the same time I resurrected this blog. I had been flicking through one of Tracy Hogg’s books and read with interest that half the worlds children are out of nappies by a year and that the time between 9 and 15 months was ideal for introducing the toilet. Anyhoo, I had the temerity to mention this on a parenting forum I frequent and what ensued has been described by a mammy friend of mine as ‘toilet gate’. Honestly, there was uproar. How could I do this to my child? Was I serious? I must be taking the piss (sorry, couldn’t help myself with that one)? I must have way too much time on my hands! Did I expect her to eat with a knife and fork as well? Could I not let her just be a baby? Why did I want to her to grow up so fast?

I tried to explain that this was something we would be introducing slowly and gently and with a sense of humour. I must also acknowledge that there were some very supportive mums out there. I thanked people for their input but mentioned that ridiculing my parenting ideas might not be the best way to communicate. Anyhoo, apparently I had overreacted and those who had children older than crazypixie knew a lot better than I did.

So I just bit my tongue for a bit (you have no idea how difficult that is for me).

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, every time I use the loo I’ve been explaining to crazypixie what is going on. So she now understands mummy do pee-pee or poo-poo and I usually have to wrestle her away from trying to peer in for a closer examination of proceedings. We also started putting her on the loo when it was obvious she was performing. We kept her entertained with books and poo-poo songs to the extent that recently she’d be telling us ‘poo-poo’ and trying to climb on the loo just to read books with mummy or daddy.

Anyway as I’ve gotten bigger and lazier, I’ve managed to miss (or ignore, I admit) a few poo-poos and she’s had to just go in her nappy like any other self respecting 14 month old. But by today she’d obviously had enough.

This morning she pulled out the potty from next to the toilet and brought it into the hall. Then she sat on it and made her grunting sounds. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘That’s for poo-poo.’ We then went out for the day and I thought no more of it.

We arrived home just before dinner time and as I checked my emails she pulled the potty to a corner and sat on it (fully dressed) and did her poo. I gave her a big kiss, and congratulated her, then took of her nappy and cleaned her up. I then left her nappyless to see what would happen (a trait of mine that gets me in no end of trouble).

Sure enough she went back over to the potty and sat on it. I handed her a baby wipe and she made an attempt to wipe herself and I jokingly congratulated her. But when she stood up, there was a pee-pee. In the potty! And 20 minutes later she sought out the potty and did it again!
I think my daughter has just potty taught herself.

And now, I’m not sure where to go from here. I think I might leave her nappyless for a bit of time each day and see how we get on. I wonder is she too little for knickers? Pull-ups aren’t an option as we use cloth.

Do you think I should post about this on the aforementioned parenting forum? Or would I only be inviting trouble? Should I also mention that she’s been using a fork for the past two weeks?

Scoobidy doo, i want to be like youoooo....

Crazypixie is proving herself a great mimic. While we were visiting my lil sis and hubby at the weekend, they were in knots of laughter as she bent down to pick something up.
What, I asked.
Hadn’t I noticed she was grunting and sighing?
Apparently every time she bent down, went to pick something up or even lowered herself to sitting, she was grunting……….like a pregnant woman!
And later that day she followed sis hubby around the house doing a perfect impression in miniature of his walk, hands behind the back, long stride, much to our collective amusement.

So, I’m realising that, yes, we parents have a huge influence on this little persons behaviours and attitudes (oh, the weight of parenthood) and, who’d have thought it, I’m now a role model (methinks mummy’s crazy 20’s will have to become a family secret and never be mentioned!)

However, please note that crazypixies tendency to run around the house naked clutching only her green handbag did not come from me, nor did her penchant for parading in front of the mirror wrapped up in my ‘special occasion’ silk negligee. No, I’ll lay claim only to those traits that reflect well on me!

Getting three on the road.

I’m wondering how it’s all going to work when the littlespud arrives – only four weeks to go now. The logistics of getting myself and crazypixie out the door is one thing, adding another baba to the mix should be fun!

We’ve decided not to purchase a double buggy for the moment. From my vague recollection of the early days with crazy pixie, she spent most of the time either asleep or attached to my boob, so I’ve treated myself to a new sling – a stretchy wrap this time. I can’t believe I’m getting excited about it, but there you go. We already have two ring slings, a mei tai and a structured carrier (with loads of buckles and straps) that himself uses. I still carry crazypixie in the ringsling at 8 months pregnant (is there a baby carriers anonymous?) and otherwise she travels by trike, or as fast as her little legs will carry her in the opposite direction from mummy’s preferred destination!

I haven’t quite figured the logistics of slinging two yet…..

So the trick will be keeping crazypixie within a two foot radius of me when out shopping. She’s quite happy in a shopping trolley for short periods of time, but how long this will last I don’t know. I’m debating getting one of those leads/harness thingies but I can just see it leading to more tears than anything. Mmmm, maybe one of those little bracelets they use for placing people under house arrest (like you see on telly), a little jolt of electricity when she strays too far should soon teach her!

The more I’ve thought about it the more I’ve realised that either staying home and having friends over, or visiting friends and family will be the way to go. It won’t be fair to confine my lil lunatic to a buggy just so mummy can wander around clothes shopping. Ok, this may be necessary every so often but I’m definitely going to curb my excursions.
Luckily my lil sis will have a baba in a few days and lives up the road so we can hang out together and my mum isn’t far and will happily play with crazypixie for hours on end. Methinks it may be time to slow life down a little and just enjoy.

And, there's always online shopping....

The married man song....

And here's the one for our long suffering partners..........

An unexpectedly good day.

We had a rough night last night – crazypixie had the snuffles and was very restless, so needless to say I was not the most cheerful this morning and was probably even crankier than my beloved offspring at breakfast.

So with the prospect of a day with an irate me not coping very well with my demanding daughter looming large I settled at my computer to have a quick moan into the blogosphere.
I had tapped out a few lines when crazypixie decided that this would not be a morning where she would happily play away while mummy typed. Sighing, I looked around for something to keep us occupied at 8 o'clock in the morning and then looked out and saw it was a beautiful day.

The computer was abandoned, fleeces and shoes hurriedly pulled on and into the back garden we went. Crazypixie forgot all about her miserableness and happily started doing laps of the garden, only pausing for plant tasting and trying to find good stuff in the compost. I found a comfy chair in a sunny spot and really relaxed – a huge achievement for me. After a while we did a bit of gardening and then crazypixie kept herself amused for ages doing ‘boo’ in the cat flap at our rather bewildered felines.

And the day got even better in the afternoon when we decamped to mammydiaries garden and crazypixie and the snotqueen happily played in the grass while us two eight month pregnant ladies sipped non-alcoholic wine from champagne flutes in the sunshine.

The only minor hitch in the day was when the aforementioned eight month pregnant ladies and two toddlers managed to lock themselves out. But enter helpful neighbours who prevented toddlers being thrown over the side gate and given directions to come rescue mummy.

Roll on more summer days.....

Aaaarr, me hearties....

I think I may be suffering from exhaustion but I’ve found a great way of keeping myself amused (in all the spare time I have, you understand).

On Facebook, I’ve changed my language setting to English (Pirate) and I swear I’m knotted laughing every time I get a notification from them. Firstly they all come with the subject from ‘Ye olde Facebook’ and then instead of ‘To view this link’, I get
‘T' spy on all th' parrots scrabblin' at th' door, stab the link below:’

Instead of hitting ‘Share’ to update the world, I now ‘Divvy spoils to all my mateys.’
My ‘inbox’ is now is now my ‘Bottle o’ messages’, videos are ‘bewitched portraits’, I’m ‘anchored’ to himself, I last updated ’50 shots of rum ago’ and to sign out I click ‘abandon ship’.

Oh, how easily amused am I?

The indignity of it all.

So, I’m in my last month of pregnancy and it’s not pretty. Within an hour of getting up this morning I had done the ole pee-while-you-sneeze trick and my boobs had leaked everywhere. And it’s not as if I have that many spare changes of clothes - nothing fits!!!!

Not only do I look like I’ve swallowed my yoga ball but you should see the monstrosities that were once my boobs. I’m currently at an F-cup (sigh I miss my C’s) and if the last pregnancy is anything to go by I’ll be dragging out the H-cup scaffolding in a few weeks.

I’m also discovering the joys of haemorrhoids and chronic 24/7 indigestion. I fear this baby will be peppermint flavoured as I singlehandedly quadruple Gaviscon’s European sales figures. Not to mention the mood swings that turn me from sobbing wretch to eye-gouging demon and back, in a flash and for no particular reason.

And look at what I have to look forward to in labour: internal exams by the entire hospital staff, pooping all over the labour ward (himself thinks this part is hilarious and still slags me over the last time), and stitches that I’ll have to pee on!!!

'What did you expect?' You might ask…..
'You only had 6 months between pregnancies, surely you knew all about the upcoming discomforts?'

But here’s the thing…….

There is some fundamental wiring problem in the female brain when it comes to pregnancy. Once the birth is over and you are holding your little bundle of joy all memories of morning sickness, epic labours, stitches, piles and all the other wonders magically disappear.

Two months after giving birth to crazypixie I found myself gazing teary-eyed at pregnant women and muttering my to (ever-patient) himself, ‘I’d love to be pregnant again.’

Four months later, I’m pregnant, feeling crap and moaning (to slightly less patient) himself that this pregnancy is much worse than the last and that I don’t remember feeling so sick and hormonal. He replies, ‘it’s the same.’

At eight months I’m thinking maybe two kids will be plenty but every now and then I joke to himself (who’s trying to dredge up any remaining patience) ‘sure I could be pregnant again next Christmas!’

The reply?

‘Well, it won’t be mine!’

The Knack

So there we are in the bathroom, crazypixie and I. She's just finished her business and we've said 'bye-bye poo-poo', counted to three and flushed and then she does it......
my 14 month old bends down to peer under the toilet. Presumably (because mummy always presumes genius) to see where the poo-poo is going and I'm reminded of a clip himself (the engineer) sent me by email when we were newly pregnant with her, titled 'It could happen to us'.

Time to relax...kind of

I got a bit of a wake up call this week. After a visit to the GP which became an immediate call to my obstetrician and then a trip to the hypertension unit in the maternity hospital I’m finally admitting that, yes I’m heavily pregnant and might need to slow down a little.

I think it was the prospect of being kept in for observation or worse still developing preeclampsia that put the skids on me. Himself has made it his mission to ensure I relax (to the extent that he gave up a ticket to see his beloved Leinster win the semi final yesterday). It’s just, I’m just not very good at it; I prefer to keep both body and mind busy.
So I’ve borrowed some fiction books from my mum (I’d given up buying fiction myself as I just didn’t have the time) and promised to go to bed before eleven. The ole hypnobirthing programme is being dragged out and I’m determined to get beyond track 1, CD1.
At least we’re all sleeping now. The sleep plan first implemented two months ago has proved a resounding success. Crazypixie goes to bed at 7 wakes at 8 and naps for an hour during the day (fingers crossed it’ll last). Thank you Elizabeth Pantley.

But I do need some things to keep me occupied (besides looking after a wired 14 month old) so I’ve begun washing all the baby clothes and decided it’s time to pack a hospital bag. I’m pottering away at keeping the Protect Child Benefit site updated and working on developing my own site for summer launch (and bonding with Microsoft Expression in the process). And did I mention we put the house on the market last week, in the hope of moving to greener pastures?