Tuesday 31 March 2009

And the potty training continues...

After another fail in energy and motivation (= can't be arsed) we've renewed efforts again. This time we've taken a new tack. Instead of asking Jambeans if she wants to sit on the potty, as they do at nursery, we've been letting her run around at home either bare bottomed or with just pants on.

Inevitably, it means accidents will happen and I expect to be called upon to scrub wee or poo off various bits of furniture, carpet and clothes at the most inopportune moments, but the one and only time it's happened so far she was ill and had diarrhoea and I reckon if I can deal with that I can deal with anything, so it's OK.

So yesterday we were rewarded with one wee (really, about one eighth of a wee, the remaining seven eighths in a trail on the carpet leading up to the potty as we ran to get there in time) and 10 minutes later a whole poo in the potty. Her first potty wee for Mummy and Daddy and her first potty poo fullstop.

I ought to feel jubilant, I think. But the act of taking a poo-laden potty upstairs, depositing the offending item in the toilet bowl and cleaning the potty out made me feel very very very very very old indeed. And we've only just started...

Saturday 28 March 2009

Molar mole

Daddy just found a molar sprouting in Felix' gum. Would totally explain the clingy behaviour...

Sleep trouble

Sleep training. Again. What a fucking nightmare. And I'm totally crap at it, mainly giving in and letting Felix fall asleep on me, with me, next to me, whenever and wherever he likes. But this afternoon I am RESOLVED not to let the little bugger get away with it. So the shit shield goes up and I lay him down in his cot every 15 minutes and ignore the sobs, and the snot and the tears.

And then he only goes and throws up everywhere so I have to pick him up and sort him out. And then he has the cheek to fall asleep on my shoulder while I carry him downstairs.

He's totally cheating. No fair.

Thursday 26 March 2009

It's all gone a bit wibbly

First - the good news - I've been on my diet for 3 days now and all is going well. The target is 9 pounds in 9 weeks. Totally wrong of course - crash dieting, only leads to the yo-yo again but I'm going to La Gitane and Krusty's wedding part deux in 9 weeks and even though it won't make a radical difference, I want to look like a slightly less puff-monster than I do at the moment. All going well, I'll feel better, my complexion will improve dramatically and my newly found radiance will avert attention from the tyres of fat oozing out of my body. At least, that's the plan...

As for the rest, Felix has gone totally momma-bonkers. In a bad way. He just won't put me down. And cries and cries and cries unless we maintain very close, physical contact all the time. I totally love my boy, but it's getting ridiculous. I can't do anything without holding him. He's a big boy. My arm is killing me.

Worse of all, he won't sleep in his cot - so nap time and bedtime and night time wakings are fraught with anxiety as we spend hours trying to get him to settle, with little effect. Anything for a bit of peace, so I've been caving in and letting him fall asleep in my arms, or I lie down next to him.

As usual, we're resorting to the 'bit of everything' theory: bit of sore throat, decent dollop of teething and a whole heap o' separation anxiety.

Tuesday 24 March 2009

Teeth and dancing

Felix has sprouted another couple of teeth and is up to 8 now.

I bought his first pair of shoes just before our hols (aaaaah) - a 4 and 1/2 F pair of Clarks and notably, the same size as Jambeans when she got her first shoes..

He says mamamamamamama loads - and I'm 80% sure it's out of recognition. He's also getting more 'vocal' thought conversation is largely through a series of lip smacks, clucks and most recently, blowing raspberries.

And he loves bouncing up and down to music.

In which Babymomma and family strike holiday gold

Went to Devon for a week's holiday where we had nothing but glorious sunshine for the whole week - in March. How jammy is that? Did Lewtrenchard, in the sun. Did Wenbury beach and cliff walk, in the sun. Did Paignton Zoo, in the sun. Did the viaduct & river walk, in the sun. Did the walk to Belstone Tor, in the sun. Discovered Pennywell Farm, in the sun. Did the Dewarstone walk on bf's birthday, and with Mary-Fairy, Leon-berger and Kate-O-Matic, and in the sun. Did Sushi with friends, not in the sun but on a Friday evening sans enfants.

Pure. Holiday. Gold.

Day after we got back - pissed down with rain. Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

Friday 13 March 2009

Babymomma = skill. Offshul.

Just did a Myers-Brigg type personality test on this blog. Turns out I am a lovely ESTP. A Doer. Hardly surprising for a mommy blog.

ESTP - The Doers
"The active and playful type. They are especially attuned to people and things
around them and often full of energy, talking, joking and engaging in physical
out-door activities. The Doers are happiest with action-filled work which craves
their full attention and focus. They might be very impulsive and more keen on
starting something new than following it through. They might have a problem with
sitting still or remaining inactive for any period of time."
Curiously I had to do one of these for a recruitment agent about a month ago, which cited me as an ENTJ whose motto was 'fail to plan, plan to fail':
"ENTJs have a natural tendency to marshal and direct. This may be expressed with
the charm and finesse of a world leader or with the insensitivity of a cult
leader. The ENTJ requires little encouragement to make a plan. One ENTJ put it
this way... "I make these little plans that really don't have any importance to
anyone else, and then feel compelled to carry them out." While "compelled" may
not describe ENTJs as a group, nevertheless the bent to plan creatively and to
make those plans reality is a common theme for NJ types"
Does this combination of both make me a genius?
I should coco.

A series of little obstacles

So far this morning Felix has squealed, screamed, wriggled, cried, thrashed, bashed and grumbled. He's also tried to eat Cif, spray water over the computer and has successfully rifled through the "ladies" draw, put a whole tampon (wrapped and new, obviously) in his mouth, chewed on a box of panty liners and bitten a large chunk out of the toilet roll.

I have a list *this* long of things I gotta do before we set off for Devon this evening.
Sigh.
It's going to be a loooong day.

Wednesday 11 March 2009

the football curse - he was right

turns out i didn't watch the fitba penalties, but was relegated to the cold dining room, and we won a nailbiting 7-6. so the boyfried was right. i watch = we lose.

the football curse - not swearing

as in, i might jinx the result. not as in shout obscenities at the screen. also highly possible. but not worth banning me for.

the football curse

i've just been told i'm not allowed to watch the arsenal-roma penalties because i'll "curse the result"

just a quick rundown of events

Babymomma life currently consists of feeling quite ok alternating with somewhat subdued. I'm definitely over the weird/angry/why why why stage just after I lost my job and am moving on. A few whispy leads of potential work, but other than that the job market still has tumbleweed blowing right through it. I've settled in quite well to life at home with the kids, but still frequently yearn for more meaning in my life. I do, however, realise that life for me is a lot less stressful than when I was working. Or maybe, that it's a different, more manageable kind of stress. Am experiencing the most appalling weight crisis of my life, but somehow the biscuit tin keeps getting in the way of my diet which is just rubbish and leads to frequent bouts of self loathing because I know it's all in my control to fix.

Moving on.

Kids have been on great form. Felix has started to clap his hands, and bounce his body up and down to music, both if which he does with the most enormous grin on his face. He wakes up between 5.30am and 6am most days, and babbles and gurgles in his cot (totally divine) till one of us gives into the charm, heaves out of bed and brings him in with us for a wee scrumble. He's not walking yet, still cruising and climbing like a mad thing. Still got a great nose for trouble. This morning's particular trick was "posting crackers down the front of mummy's pajama top."

I've been fretting a lot about Jasmine's lack of physical stamina. With the exception of roly polys she can't or won't walk, run, jump, hop, climb, skip, swim or do anything vaguely resembling exercise. Bf keeps telling me over and over to deal with my negativity but I do experience enormous pangs of jealousy when I see children half her age jumping and running about all the time. That said renewed efforts to get her moving mean she's walking a lot more frequently, and for longer stretches than usual, but it's still a mammoth task of endurance to get her going and to stop whining. It does make the sense of achievement more satisfying when she does, happily, put one foot in front of the other and make tracks.
walking in ashridge

Friday 6 March 2009

Use your loaf


Why is it that some people won't so much as touch the slices at the end of the loaf, let alone eat them?

Thursday 5 March 2009

Yummy

I've been musing recently over what are the best words for eating noises. My favourite is nom nom nom, but I've taken a particular shine to my sister's recommendation of choff choff choff.

Wednesday 4 March 2009

The aquatic coke slug

I started a diet when I started work and lost a whole stone in 3 months. wa-hey. But in the 2 months since being at home I've out it all back on again...
Now I'm back to where I started.
Oh.
Dear.
Anyway now I am sans-enfants for one day a week, I've been taking the opportunity to swim. Nothing to get excited about - it's more to ward off depression than rid myself of the muffin top. The depression certainly goes, but invariably converts into raaaaage every time I have to navigate around the f****** Chelsea Tractors on the way home. Today though I witnessed something most disturbing and my life will somehow never be the same again.

Recipe for the aquatic coke slug.

Take one extremely fat lady.
Put her in the medium lane.
Get her to swim veeery slooowly up and down.
Then stop.
Then take a swig of coke from a can perched at the end.

That's one swig of coke every 2 lengths.

Who does that??? What kind of a freak is she???? And why doesn't someone tell the freak to get out of my lane???? (In case she's reading, that's "GET OUT OF MY LANE YOU WEIRD FAT FREAKY COKE SLUG")

Ignore me. Having a weird day.