Sleep rebel

Jambeans latest 'phase' is refusal to go to bed. Every night turns into a battle of wills as a screaming, insistent toddler insists that she's not tired and wants to stay downstairs. This evening she even said she would sleep on the sofa, proving she is two going on sixteen. We get her upstairs and to sleep (alternating the firm-but-calm approach with some JFDI style manhandling), but of late she's been reliably waking up at 3am and then moans for mummy. We just bring her into bed with us because we don't have the energy to resist, and I spend the rest of the night with her sleeping in my armpit. Add into the mix Total Daddy Rejection and it's all getting a bit wearing.

In which Babymomma and poppa leave the house sans enfants

Since grandma is up we took the opportunity to go out in the evening: an event so rare it's worthy of mention. Went to the Flicks. Saw Burn After Reading. It was pretty good. It must have been - I didn't fall asleep. The experience of going out in public tho' was totally weird. I felt like an alien visitor to another planet.

Jasmine does a TWITWE in the potty

Last night, at last, Jasmine did the Tiniest Wee In The World Ever in the potty. Babymomma and poppa take no credit - it's entirely down to Grandma's efforts, but at last we feel like progress is being made. This morning, of course, it's all refusals again, but at least we know she's capable of producing the goods.

And yet more Kew

Work is just totally manic. And when I get home it's straight into picking up the kids. My evenings are mainly taken up with work, and since none of us have been sleeping too brilliantly these last few weeks, we're all completely shattered and there's simply no time to write. Not a total disaster since there's not too much to write about: I'm too busy running just to stand still and the world at large is totally fucked (economy's trashed, we're in recession, doom & gloom yadda yadda)

BUT... in the short 6 days since Felix first crawled 2 inches, he's now making his way across thresholds, into other rooms, over to boxes and buckets and tables and everywhere. It's amazing. He's totally amazing. And teeth number 3 and 4 are beginning to poke through. And he's getting more and more handsome each day.

Jambeans is currently in 7th Heaven this weekend as Granma is up and she's the best thing since sliced bread.

And as for me, I love Autumn, and there's nothing more invigorating than Kew on a fresh, windy Autumn day.

Bloody bloody potty training

We're on attempt no. 3 to potty train Jasmine. The first time was too early. The last time, it started ok - Jambeans would happily sit on the potty in various states of undress (no wee/poo though) then after a couple of weeks refused entirely.
So we stopped.

Pause. Go on holiday. Come back. Wait for a while...

And now we're starting again. She is somewhat reluctant, despite going through the ritual of buying her pants to get excited about. And reading her potty book a gazillion times over. She quite happily fills the potty with plastic food. It's just the real, digested food stage she's bypassed completely.

She also likes to watch the entire parade of animals take turns on the potty (Porridge the Bear, Pedro the Capucin monkey, Luigi Penguini the macaroni penguin, Ed the Dog, Upsy Daisy, Big Po, Little Po, Tiger, Babydoll and the list goes on...), then mummy or daddy has a turn, then maybe Felix and then, if we're lucky, Jasmine has a go. For about 2 seconds.

I think the real problem though, is that Mummy and Daddy are a bit lazy about it all too. It's just too easy to give in and change her nappy.

Bloody bloody potty training. I really can't be arsed.

Twisting my melon man

Felix' names are getting better and better. Recently we've gone from Squealy-copter, via Copter-boy and Copter-merchant, then to Squealycops, to "Call the Cops" in honour of one of the finest anthems of our generation.

A right proper day out

Jambeans and Squealicops blew us away today by being totally happy and funny and charming all day. The weather was glorious so we planned a proper London outing - train ride, London Eye, Aquarium, lunch, train ride home, and it was fab.

Inching forward

The weekend. At last. We're both exhausted and need a lie in. Someone forgot to tell Felix it was the weekend. He woke at a quarter to six, which is totally rude. But then he rewarded mummy by crawling forward a whole 2 inches (as in proper crawling) before faceplanting into the plastic rings. I was moved to tears.

As if that wasn't enough, he started doing some serious babbling - babababababababa - then paused, then opened his mouth again...

And then my baby boy said ma-ma.

What a total result.

Rescued by music

The feeling that I’m a time bomb about to explode tipped over into this morning, when I did, indeed, explode. The catalyst – the discovery I had lost my precious, beautiful, indispensable, all-weather, all-terrain black Berghaus raincoat. And soon after that, I totally lost what little composure I had left. Tears, shouting, and frustration – it all came out in a torrent. Then I stormed off, slamming the door behind me and leaving a frustrated and perplexed boyfriend, a poorly toddler who doubtless thought she had done something wrong, and, thankfully, an oblivious baby.

The cause – hormones, bloody hormones, as “time of the month” has come round again. I remember feeling this irrationally angry during the first weeks of my pregnancy with Felix. It’s totally nasty. And I’m not sure I know how to deal with it.

The guilt and wretchedness started about two paces out of the door, combined with more tears. I had one resort – my “panic” play list I had compiled the day before I started work, designed to guide me through times like this: when the burdens of responsibility, combined with rush hour, combined with sick children and exhaustion hangovers take hold. Only it didn’t work, and I was getting angrier and angrier, when suddenly, the last 4 songs started to cast their magic spell over me and some semblance of normality returned.

Johnny Cash, Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers and Justin Timberlake (yes, that's Justin Timberlake, I know...) – I owe you a debt of gratitude.

Why didn't today work?

It's been the most gloriously sunny weekend. It's mid-October and everyone's out in T-Shirts. I love it. Yesterday we went to Ashridge to take in Autumn in all its glory - and it was utterly fab - but today, nothing's seemed right, and I've felt just shy of extremely pissed off for most of today.
I'm sure extreme fatigue after a week of hard work and very crappy sleep has a lot to do with it, but you can't hold it against innocent children for wanting their mama in the middle of the night, and I'm so over blaming the boyfried for getting me knocked up in the first place (and then the second place), so instead I am going to hold Tesco responsible.

Tesco. Shudder. Where we went this morning to do a mop up shop. Went in feeling quite jolly. Emerged in a totally shitty mood. It's horrible in there. The staff are indifferent. The people are indifferent. None of the food is clearly labelled. The trolleys don't fucking work. You can't move without getting bashed in the face by a Vicki Pollard lookalike. We're running back to the haven of middle class snobbery that is Waitrose and are resolved never to step foot in Tesco again.

Heads are down, new teeth are coming and we're all coming down with something

To make up for 4 consecutive months of teething without teeth, Felix at last has not one, but two pearly whites beginning to poke through.

I had made the decision to stop checking for teeth because of the 'watched pot' effect, but regretted it the minute I had to hear the news second-hand, from the staff at nursery. That felt totally wrong, but I'll deal with it. I'm sure as hell not going to give up work...

...which I'm still enjoying most muchly, but, alas, the honeymoon period is definitely over. It's busy. Damn busy. I've had my head down solidly since Thursday and on Friday I didn't leave till well after 4pm*. So instead of pitstopping at home, I had to go straight to nursery in full work regalia (smart togs, Coccinelle handbag, inappropriately high heels) where Felix promptly did a major vomit all over me. Niiiice. Thanks baby.

And then he did another major vom in the buggy just as we got to our front doorstep. And sice then he's been farting offensively and doing horrible poos and moaning and waking in the middle of the night, so we're figuring he's caught some kind of bug, and then oh my god, last night did he do one seriously large projectile vomit all over our bathroom? There wasn't a single surface that hadn't been sprayed in the stuff and for once, I am not exaggerating.

Whatever bug he's got has now made it's way over to Jasmine which is always more of a worry, in case it goes straight to her chest. And now I'm back at work that familiar stress of having to negotiate who takes the day off is lurking...

It doesn't feel so bad this time though, because we're setting great store in this new medication she's just been prescribed. Suspecting asthma, bf took her to see a specialist at Great Ormond Street, who's put her on something called Singulair. Comes in powder form, you mix it with ice cream, so no inhalers, no spacers and no pinning a reluctant and fighting toddler down to take it. We're to give it to her for the duration of her cold and it should, fingers crossed, help steady her breathing.


*i realise this makes me look like I am, in fact, slouching off rudely early, but being a working babymomma I'm only contracted to work till 3pm.

Wannabe wrestler

Felix wants to crawl. He really really WANTS to crawl. His determination is so fierce that bf and I are having a job changing his nappy these days. He wriggles and jiggles and flips onto his front, then up on all fours faster than, erm, a very fast thing. I had to wrestle him back onto the mat many times in quick succession yesterday, then pin him down before he could escape again (or worse still, before he weed all over the carpet) and then grapple his nappy on. And he kept resisting, and struggling to get free and shouting his protests. And he's strong too. God knows how I'll cope with him when he's bigger.

Maybe it's a boy thing. Maybe it's a full-term thing. Maybe it's just a Felix thing but I sure as hell don't remember Jambeans being this wriggly.

Precious time

I've only been a working girl for one week but it hasn't taken me long to realise how precious the weekends are because I get to spend the whole time with my lovely children and boyfried. So I'm making sure that every minute of this utterly normal, wet London weekend is totally blissful.

This rat is racing

Well, I have an extraordinarily slow computer, the web connection is prehistoric, basic processes are very, erm, labour intensive to say the least and my head is pounding with information overload already (and I know this is just the tip of the iceberg.) There's so much running through my head I can't sleep at night and my eyes feel like they're on stalks all the time.

I'm absolutely loving it.