This week is all about change.  At three years and eleven months of age The Preschooler will be leaving my room, we'll no longer be co-sleeping.  The Husband has the mammoth task of rejigging Things One & Two's bedrooms to accommodate this change.  Granted it would make infinitely more sense for The Preschooler to share with Thing One  with them both being the male of the species, however to put it bluntly, they'd tear each other to shreds.

It would also seem that The Preschooler is finally weaning.  For around 6 months now he's been down to just a feed before sleep and occasionally one if he woke, in the morning or if terribly upset.  With pregnancy came a drying up of milk, however this appeared not to deter him.  For the first time since the very beginning I became to resent breastfeeding.  It was irritating, the sensation was unpleasant.  Hell, it even hurt.  There simply is no milk.  However, we got this far and so it needed to be a mutual and slow process.  The past two months or so he's down to a quick feed before sleep, what used to be a long slow feed was limited to a few minutes.  I'd discuss with him that there's no longer any milk there and that my body was now storing it for The Baby.  I'd even explain that it hurt me.  I don't even think he needed or even wanted to feed per se, it was more the knowledge that he could, a security blanket so to speak.  So now, we're down to a very quick count to three before sleep.  It's not even breastfeeding anymore, barely even a latch on yet should I attempt to remove this precious count to three, he goes most apocalyptic.  It's okay, a week ago it was a count to five.  Soon it will be no count at all and just a memory. One i'll never forget and he'll probably never remember.  Nearly four precious years.

So the end of co-sleeping, the end of breastfeeding and I can't even remember the last time he was up in the sling. possibly 6 months ago maybe?  Yet it's all been so gradual, a natural petering out.  Gentle.  The preschooler is growing up.

There are no words to adequately express the bittersweet array of emotions that are poking holes in my eyes threatening to make them leak.  It's a beautiful sadness.  A natural celebration.

So I'll keep the words that I cannot type and instead leave you with some recent Preschoolerisms.

The Black Baby

If you've ever met me you'd know I'm pale enough to sparkle.  The Husband and all three of The Spawn are pale skinned, blonde haired and blue eyed.   We've been married for nearly ten years and together for nearly 14.  I'm rarely seen without The Husband or The Spawn.

So, Imagine the hilarity when one of the Preschool teachers called me over with giggles near bubbling out of her nose as she asked me quietly if i'm 'expecting', to which I reply that yes, yes I am.  She then went on to say that apparently The Preschooler had announced to the class that his Mummy is having a black baby.  Now if The Husband was black that would be understandable or if I was single and had a delicious boyfriend who happened to be black, however you couldn't get a paler family if you tried.  However, there is perhaps a hint of method to his madness as he apparently went on to explain that he'd seen the baby on a screen at the hospital, in mummy's tummy, and it was black.  Bless.  For of course, the 2D ultrasounds do indeed show things in black and grey.  You have to love how literal preschoolers can be.  I admit, I nearly pee'd myself.  It was such a profoundly literal and innocent observation to make.  I wasn't alone,  The Staff themselves were in stitches, finding it so funny that it was documented in his learning log for that day!

The Beard

The Husband finally saw fit to remove his tramp beard, something he grows knowing fully how utterly revolting I find it.  Whilst having a bath with The Preschooler, The preschooler pipes up 'I wish you could have your beard back' and then suggested that The Husband could put a beard back on his face using the beard from his willy.

Moshlings

Thing Two collects Moshlings, something The Preschooler covets.  He's now found a fail safe way to gain them.  Thing Two asked him to hide two of them as part of a game, he obliged.  However, his hiding place was down his underpants.  Thing Two was so utterly horrified that they'd been in contact with a willy that she told him to keep them.  Not happy with plan A, in order to garner more of them he then proceeded to threaten to put them up his bum.  Guess who has the most Moshlings now?

Ch-ch-changes

At the grand old age of three years, nine and a half months The Toddler has had his first ever haircut, yes.... his beautiful golden mane is gone.  There was must rejoicing from The Husband and The Mother who've been campaigning for quite some time for him to lose the locks.  Evidently, despite The Toddlers gender confidence, others weren't so confident and were bothered on his behalf.  However, I stood my ground and refused to give in to a complete crop. 

I'll give him his dues, The Toddler was miraculously unperturbed by the whole event as some stranger in an unfamiliar environment went at his hair with scissors, unlike I who was swallowing copious amounts of rampant hormones and trying not to weep.  The only inkling of a reaction he displayed was being somewhat pissed off every time some rogue hairs landed on the screen of The Husbands phone which he'd been allowed to play upon.

If only the changes for my sweet boy ended there yet alas this year will be full of unstoppable necessities that feel as if they're steam rollering over us.

Last week saw him receiving his MMR, something we delay with The Spawn until they're over 3.5 yrs of age and yet again something he remarkably took in his stride with an indignant 'ouch!' and a mere second of a wibble.  When did my tiny get so grown up and brave?

That leads us to this week, the start of Nursery.  Although eligible for five sessions a week we're only sending him two, again this is how we did it with Things One and Two.  Obviously if he asks he will go more.   This will be a totally alien situation to him.

If only the changes stopped there..... later this year he'll be moving out of my room and co-sleeping and into a room with Thing Two and be totally weaned.  End of August he'll become a Big Brother and come September he'll be in full time school.

Such a big year for my tiny boy.

On being a Co-Sleeper

“At some point in the night, a small sigh punctuates the darkness as her perfect hands knead and fetter upon my spine. I shift feeling her warmth, a jig-saw perfect fit as she completes me. Turning towards her, nimble fingers grab and need against me until she finds her bounty and settles into the slow rhythmic suckle of a midnight snack. Her perfection is like pure sunshine glittering on to the night. I love her. I tell her so. I tell her again in tender whispers. She murmurs back. She loves me too.

I still love her two hours later, and two hours after that. I just don’t like her as much those times.

I lay adrift in the night with only the digital display of the alarm clock for light as it mocks the passing of my life minute by minute. I fade into the lullaby of her breaths and wait for sleep or morning, which ever claims me first.
I should miss The Husband in my bed but I think I’d miss The Baby more. He shall share my bed until we’re creaking and old, until we sleep and do not wake and she shall share my bed until she sleeps through the night finally or drives me utterly insane, whichever comes first.” – - -

Taken from In the Still of the Night.

I’m tired. Bone tired.  Hell, lets go one better, I’m soul tired.  Yet I could be tireder (yes, I made that word

up).  Yes, The Toddler (I do realise I'm rather stretching the term Toddler here) still doesn't sleep through at 42 months, something that would appear to be more of a problem to other people than it is to me.  Yes, he still breastfeeds rather frequently including at times through the night.  Yes he’s still sleeping in my room, and golly gosh, even at times in my bed.  

Truth be told he’s always slept with me.  It just works.  He wakes and demands feeding, I roll over flop a boob in his general direction (yes flop, I know, forgive me for getting terribly technical) with my eyes still mostly closed whilst he fills his boots then with any luck rolls back over and goes to bloody sleep.  I could be getting out of bed all cold and wobbly from lack of sleep and stumble out of the room whilst he gets increasingly agitated and across the landing to settle him in another room, but evidently these huge metal rods I've made for my own back make it too hard to stand and walk…no wait….they allow me to stay nice and warm and snuggly in bed and save The Toddler getting unnecessarily upset.  Not to mention it has been vital to us when he's had breathing issues related to asthma, to know that my breathing is regulating his and I can keep an eagle eye on him throughout the night should he deteriorate.

In 2005, McKenna and Thomas McDade published a peer reviewed article called “Why babies should never sleep alone” in the journal Paediatric Respiratory Reviews (No. 6, 134-152) McKenna & McDade explain that baby primates are not meant to be isolated, and when they are, their lungs are likely to shriek out a protest: 

The emotional responses by infants and children
to resist parental isolation by crying and protesting are
probably innate and adaptive, since separation from the
caregiver most certainly meant rapid death for infants and
children in the environments within which childhood sleep
and emotions evolved.

But co-sleeping is like, dangerous! Babies can you know, die.

Right?

After all that’s what the tabloids tell us, so it must be true.  Even medical professionals are scare mongering and demonising an act which is actually biologically appropriate and when done safely can half the instances of SIDS.  They don’t tell you that bit though.  It’s also plays a rather significant roll in successful and extended breastfeeding, something that becomes terribly easier once you've learnt to do it lying down.

As  McKenna & McDade also explained in their paeiactric respiratory review:

"The general hypothesis that co-sleeping (at least in the
form of a committed caregiver’s proximity i.e,. roomsharing)
reduces SIDS among some SIDS prone infants is confirmed
by studies showing that roomsharing in the presence of an
active caregiver saves lives."

Saves lives, directly contradicting the general advice that co-sleeping is the devils work. 

There are different kinds of co-sleeping however and yet they lump them all together under a big ‘Don’t do it!’ sign.  The thing is though, people are going to do it regardless.  Many of them will do it without actually knowing that’s what they’re doing as they are too busy trying not to do it.  I've lost you there haven’t I? Stay with me, let me explain.  It’s the days of a new-born, who like a new-born should, wakes constantly and feeds a lot, cluster feeds.  Somewhere in mum’s mind she thinks how much easier it would be if she didn't have to get out of bed and get baby out of their cot to settle them but it stays in the back of her mind because we must not co-sleep.  The Health Visitor told us so.  The leaflets and posters told us not to.  The newspapers told us not to. Shut up an begone mothers instinct, you obviously know nothing. So she’s tired, close to tears tired, we've all been there.  Baby is crying, it feels like that’s all they do, constantly.  As soon as you put them back down, their  ‘I’m not attached to mummy’ radar goes off and with it their siren like wail.  So you sit in a chair with them or lie on the sofa with them whilst they sleep and inevitably nod off with them.  It’s okay though, it’s not a bed so you’re being good and not co-sleeping.  Only that is co-sleeping the only difference is if they were in a bed it would be infinitely safer.

Trying to discourage all co-sleeping practices because of co-sleeping mal-practises is like banning babies from travelling in cars because once a parent somewhere got drunk, didn't strap baby in a car seat and went for a drive.  Really, it’s that ridiculous.

There are some really simple rules to follow to make co-sleeping safe:

1)      Never ever sleep on a sofa/chair with baby.

2)      Don’t co sleep if you smoke

3)      Don’t co sleep if you've consumed alcohol

4)      Don’t co sleep if you've taken recreational drugs

5)      Don’t co-sleep if you are taking prescription drugs that make you drowsy or desensitise you.

6)      Don’t let baby use a pillow if under 12 months of age

7)      Don’t let a baby under 12 months share your duvet etc

The fact is, parents are going to co-sleep in one form or another at some point whether they mean to or even realise it’s what they’re doing yet sadly because of the demonization of it, not all of them will do it safely.  They're too busy hiding the fact they do it and absurdly feel shameful for doing something so utterly socially forbidden that they never seek advice on how to do it safely. That’s when we get the headlines of baby deaths ‘caused’ by co-sleeping. Note the ‘co-sleeping’ not bed sharing.  Bed sharing is a type of co-sleeping.  Often if you look deeper into the headlines you’ll find they weren't in a bed or the parent was inebriated or a smoker all absolute no-no's in co-sleeping safety.

Surely if it’s going to happen anyway we should work harder on educating on how to do it safely rather than scare mongering?  Knowledge is power.  Knowledge is safety.

But nah, because that would surely turn us all into raving hippies who weave our own knickers from lentils and braid our under arm hair.

One of the most valuable parenting tools we have is instinct, something which the media seems to be intent on beating into submission.  It's natural to feel attached to your infant, you're supposed to be (obviously there are exceptions to this such as PND which can repress instincts etc).  How many parents put their infant to bed and turn on the monitor just to feel connected to their baby?  Then routinely peek in to check on them throughout the evening and the night? Something inside you is letting you know you need to be close to them. Baby awakes and cries because you're not there, instinctively baby needs you to be there.

In countries like Japan where co-sleeping and breastfeeding are the cultural norm (and the lack of maternal smoking) SIDS rates are one of the lowest in the world.  Other countries who practice ecological nurturing don’t even have a word for SIDS as the instances of it are that low.

I could be an awful blog bore and not only stand on my little tie-dyed soapbox but could also dance on it too and dazzle you with the science like how co-sleeping actually stimulates babies own breathing patterns and heart functions as well as reducing their stress levels and regale you with all the benefits on physical, emotional and mental health for baby and parent.  I trust you though, we all know how to google-fu and just in case you’re sat there on a caffeine drip with a screaming baby playing nipple cripple on your tits I’ll even share a few links that make interesting reading:

http://www.marksdailyapple.com/co-sleeping-risks-benefits/#axzz2hUqqEs8Z

http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/families/article2115373.ece

http://neuroanthropology.net/2008/12/21/cosleeping-and-biological-imperatives-why-human-babies-do-not-and-should-not-sleep-alone/

Granted co-sleeping isn't for everyone, yet you can co-sleep without bed sharing. Even simply room-sharing has benefits and you can buy side car style cots, whatever floats your boat.

But what about the nooooookie?   

Firstly, you’re having sex? Just so we’re clear, I actually quite liked you up until now.  Seriously though, be creative….you have a whole home, use it. 

For what it’s worth Thing Two shared my room from birth until around 3.5 years and the transition into her own room? Effortless and absolutely painless.  Damn, where’s that rod gone?

Granted it's not without problems, such as him hogging my side of the bed should I dare escape for wee and arguing over which one of my pillows he wants to pinch.  Git.

Obviously it's not for everyone, if the thought of doing it makes you hyperventilate with worry, then don't do it.  It's supposed to lower stress levels not increase them.  However, should you want to do it, follow the guidelines of safe co-sleeping and enjoy.  Trust your instinct.

Why I'm still breastfeeding at 3.5

The Toddler is demanding 'meemee', again.  I'm trying to ignore it having calmly told him several times that he can have a cuddle/snack/bmw/vodka/pony instead, however he's now venomously shouting it in my face, you know, just in case I'm deaf as well as stubborn.'Meemee' is his obscure yet quaint self named word for boobs, which I suppose is somewhat more tolerable in public than Thing Two's screams for 'BOOBIES' though not as humorous.  Obviously Thing Two doesn't do that now, what with her being seven and having weaned at 2y9m.  The Toddler is 41.5 months old now and would still breastfeed 24/7 if access was allowed. There's so much that is misunderstood about extended breastfeeding.  On an average day he will feed in bed upon waking (yes we still co-sleep too, such a shame I can't weave...what with my abundance of lentils) for up to an hour depending on the time and how long I'm attempting to delay getting out of bed.  He'll then mostly be distracted when asking during the day with offers of snacks instead, or his favourate....icepops.  Sometimes in the afternoon we'll have a long snuggle on the sofa and he'll feed then it's again at bedtime.  He's been frightfully close to night weaning several times now with us agreeing before bed on no meemee's during the night, only cuddles.  Often this will work.  If he demands I persist with the 'no' yet should his anger turn to distress, I give in.  It's not that I'm a soft touch it's just I have to consider the rest of the household who're trying to sleep and the fact that regardless of why, if he needs the security of a sleepy feed rather than simply wanting it, it's my job as a mother to meet that need.  Besides, sometimes it really is anything for a quiet life.  Generally he's quite good at the count to five rule and at most it's down to 1-2 night feeds at most.  Although I'll readily admit at times the idea of night weaning the little sleep assassin is awfully tempting yet the fact remains, he's simply not ready and I respect that. It's not just about the physical nutrition, it's the emotional nutrition too. When they are ready, it's relatively effortless and trauma free.  That's how I want it to be, that's how weaning should be.

Until recently he's had a good  run at night, then he became ill, again.  It all goes back to the start when he's ill as he reverts to feeding constantly once more.  The milkbar becomes open all hours. However, as any parent will know it's awful seeing your child suffer and feeling so helpless being unable to alleviate their pain and misery.  One thing I can do is let him nurse on demand at these times.  It gives him the comfort he craves, keeps up his fluid levels and helps his immune system.  For you see, when The Toddler gets ill, he gets really ill.  He caught Thing Twos cough and cold, it sounds average enough yet whenever he gets ill like that, he goes downhill...quickly.  The year before last he must have had about 4 or 5 trips to A&E with a need for nebuliser and steroids.  Ghastly, frightening times. So it's a blessing to keep him close, even if it means staying awake throughout the night in a state of torment and paranoia, attempting to administer ventolin without him waking whilst constantly counting his breaths per minute just waiting for that moment when you know he has to be seen by a doctor.  It's like being on a knife edge not knowing whether he'll perk up or slip quickly downhill.  Thankfully this time, he turned a corner and started to perk up with just ventolin and plenty of breastfeeds.  I genuinely dread to think how we'd cope if he wasn't sleeping right next to me. However, it does mean we're back to square one again, with the night feeds, again.  Yet as I lie in the still of the night I learn to cherish these moments, because they won't last forever.  He needs this, he needs me.  I am his. I couldn't withhold something he evidently needs from me even if my life depended on it.

Did I think I'd still be breastfeeding him at 3.5? No. Do I love it? rarely. Do I hate it? sometimes (especially when the painters are in) Time is ticking, maybe once he turns four if he hasn't self weaned I may give weaning a gentle push.

However often it feels like history is repeating as just like with Thing Two sometimes I'll say no and he won't accept it, the anger turns to distress and I give in which in turn makes the initial no seem pointless.  It's like I made him cry, for nothing.  Still sometimes, it's good to separate want from need and act accordingly.

Am I looking forward to the eventual weaning? Absolutely! Will I miss it? Undeniably (sometimes!)

Goodbye sun, hello moon: Autumn & everything after.

The last summer moon of 2013.

Goodbye Summer and Hello Autumn, I'm never quite sure whether I'm supposed to mourn this or celebrate this, but personally it's a celebration. I am not a Summer person. I love Autumn; the smell, the colours, the feeling of it.  I love the cozy dark nights and the vicious slash of colour against the grey days as if nature is ripping apart the grey at it's very seams with poetic fingers that draw the earths blood in pools of orange, red and browns.  Textures beg to be touched as they entice you into some illicit affair.  Things feel alive, the world is on fire, nature is the phoenix, as we dance upon that fragile line between birth and death.  Never has death looked so beautiful and rebirth so promising.  Winter is coming....

I love how ripe and swollen with delicious anticipation Autumn is as we count down to Samhain, Guy Fawkes night and then Yule.  As the leaves die in some macabre beauty around us and the branches lie barren for now, skeletal and brittle, we celebrate for we know it is not the end, just one end of many more which will lead to yet another beginning.  It's intoxicating.

I love the layers as we bundle up, the stews and soups with puddings and custard.....the splashing in puddles and kicking through leaves as we collect one of natures bounties, shiny conkers ripe for the plucking.

Autumn is when I feel most alive.

So how are we welcoming the equinox? well, Thing Two is full of snot and cough and Thing One and The Toddler are as always fighting like cat and dog, or more fitting for The Party of Five, like cat and kitten.  The Husbands temper is ablaze and I'm significantly useless.  With at least several hours of kip a day for a minimum of 5 days a week, I'm exhausted yet functioning...sort of.  Yet a week without daytime sleep and I can barely think straight.  Yet it is still somewhat more favourable than last week when I had my third evening out since  which resulted in me returning home to a bollocking from a furious Husband and a Thing Two in floods of tears followed by an impromptu two bus trip to a park last Sunday with Thing One running head first into a window at the bus station and The Toddler falling down the stairs on a double decker bus.  Joy.  Fear not though, they're terribly bouncy and have not a mark between them.  Yet another of those incidents that they'll likely never remember and yet we as parents will inevitably never forget.

The Kitten has been given free reign round the house in daylight hours now much to The Cats horror.  The days are punctuated by hisses and growls and The Cat finally grew a spine and decided to eat The Kittens Food.  The Kitten retaliated by shitting in The Cats litter tray.  It is essentially a pissing contest to see who's the cats bollocks, only not as they're both girls.  Happy days.

Things One & Two were deep in debate about whether The Toddler should be a boy or a girl with Thing One wanting him to be a boy and Thing Two rather convinced he should be a girl.  The Toddler however just wants to be a Power Ranger.  Fair enough.  Although I'm terribly impressed with their albeit oblivious belief that one can be whichever gender they so choose, I did rather feel duty bound to point out the somewhat obvious fact that The Toddler is a boy.  I say I felt duty bound, yet I never have been one much for duty so I left them be.  Not getting involved.

Thing Two has rediscovered her  inner photographer,seeing as she finally found her camera and we happened to actually have batteries for it, the moon must indeed have been blue that night.  Never one to disappoint in  predictability The Toddler wanted in on the action and commandeered the camera well on his way to needing his own Myspace and Instagram accounts if his penchant for photographing his winky and his dinner are anything to go by.

Sleep is still evading us, in this house in-between insomnia, illness and buggering demonology going on resulting in me sneaking lavender oil into the bath to try and knock at least one of the spawn out.  The Toddler refused to even get out of the bath last night as he did this amusing little ritual of floating whilst walking on his hands up and down the bath insisting he simply must do 'real fish' before he could even contemplate being extricated from the watery wonderland.  Who I am to argue with that logic?  It was an improvement on his earlier bath antics which made me exclaim 'please get your winky out of your watering can spout'  Upon finally getting the little bugger out of the bath the games commenced as I tried to wrestle him into his pj's whilst he laughed at me, forward and backward rolled at hyperspeed across the bed then farted in my general direction.  Such a charmer.

Oh but lest you be mistaken the fun indeed didn't end there.  Then commenced the epic 80 minute stint of singing, pretending to be a fireman, serenading me with Anthrax and nursery rhymes, demanding a towel to wipe his snot, burping in my face, attaching himself to my back, draining an entire beaker of water (this was after half an hour on the breast) and cuddling the orange cover of some sort of flashing light thing from a building site.

He then had the utter audacity to roll onto my side of the bed whilst I went moon hunting out the bedroom window which was rudely interrupted by a fog horn skank with a rather limited vocabulary consisting mainly of obscenities having a loud conversation with her young daughter across the street...in the dark.

Still, this morning soon arrived and despite a treacherous inability to go the fuck to sleep, I still had several hours in bed before being presented with a bacon and mushroom butty in bed ....and two bunches of roses!  The Husband evidently wants blowing.

Changing Rooms

The time draws ever near to eviction, or so The Husband threatens though I'll admit I've done a terribly good job of evading it so far.  The Toddler, you have been evicted, please leave the big bedroom, is along the lines The Husband is thinking for you see, The Husband doesn't do co-sleeping so instead chooses to sleep on the sofa for several years.  However, seeing as he has decreed that The Toddler is indeed our last baby (can you hear my womb weep?  My eggs are trembling and distraught) I'm in no hurry to do anything and indeed am quite grateful that he appears to be a very young 3.5 yr old (unlike Thing Two who I often suspect was born a forty year old)  He doesn't sleep through yet and still breastfeeds throughout the night (& day).  Oh believe me I've attempted to remedy the latter yet it risks waking the entire county and I am loathe to force night weaning as when they're ready it is quite effortless, he obviously on some instinctive level needs it still and my job as a mother is to support his needs.  So to plant him in a room with Thing One or Two would hardly be fair on them.

The other thing The Husband conveniently neglects to consider is the nightmare logistics involved for you see it's not quite as simple as putting him in a room with a sibling.  It would make sense for The Toddler to share with Thing One (male, 9yrs) Yet to be blunt, they fight like cat and dog.  The there's Thing Two (female, nearly 7) who has the box room and is terribly pissed off that a) she has the box room b)cant share a room with me c) has to sleep alone.  Incidentally The Toddler rather adores Thing Two and when in the mood she is effortlessly brilliant with him.  Yet due to the obvious gender difference a long term solution of them sharing would probably be far from ideal so we've had the somewhat grandiose plan of letting The Toddler and Thing Two share for a few years then have The Toddler and Thing One share.  Still with me? terrific....because it doesn't stop there.

In order to action the plan it involves Thing One and Thing Two swapping bedrooms for a few years.  However, Thing One (unlike The Toddler who is rather partial to pink) point blank refuses to reside in a pink room.  Thing Two's room is, you've guessed it, pink.  Pink walls, pink curtains, pink blind and pink carpet. So firstly we'd have to redecorate the room, including replacing the carpet.  Then there's Thing One's lair, which is terribly scruffy with a bed that is literally held together by Heathen prayers and witchcraft.  We's need to redecorate this room too and then buy bunk beds with mattresses.  Bloody nora.  All this on a shoestring budget of erm....nothing.  Can you see my eyes rolling?  They're lodged in the back of my skull they rolled that far.

Thing One is vying for a red room, an absolute and definitive not on your fucking Nelly, seeing as he has The Husbands diabolical temper already.  Thing Two and The Toddler are rather hoping for orange.  Yes orange.  Indeed.  Do you see what I have to work with?

Thing Two would be immensely chuffed with a personalised room in some format seeing as the poor bugger has a gorgeous yet unique name meaning no personalised off the shelf adornments for her.  Ever. Oops.  Parent fail.  Sorry Thing Two, Sorry God (& Fuck you Coca Cola).  Granted there are many wonderful handmade customised things that are superbly darling yet frightfully out of budget that could perhaps be replicated had I a single craft bone within my being, which I don't. Not even a little one, not even at all. Arse.

Here comes my genius moment, are you ready?  Are you dazzled by the lightbulb beacon glowing above my head? Stencils.  Yes, stencils.  How utterly brilliant is that and before you get overexcited about the prospect of me artfully making such things.  Stop.  Remember?  I'm craft inept.  So it's lucky there are places out there such as Stencil Warehouse who you guessed it, sell pre-made stencils.  I'm thrilled, how is it for you?  Better still, they do Alphabet Stencils.  I have images of stenciling her name, emblazoned across an entire wall in her room, with the aid of spray cans, which seem infinitely more fun and easier then brushes, right?  I could even expand on that with a flurry of stenciled butterflies around it then The Toddler can have a transport theme and his name stenciled on another wall.  Jobs a good 'un.  How wrong could this possibly go? Sometimes, I amaze myself with my own genius.  I think I need a sit down and a large gin to recover.

The only problem would be The Husband having to restrain me from erm.... 'decorating' the rest of the house seeing as the possibilities are endless...my artistic vision renders me so misunderstood.

Yet for now, The Toddler will remain with me with our night time cuddles and the lullaby of his little breaths soothing my soul whilst The Husband, with prickly stubble and gnarly feet, can remain downstairs a while longer.

The Sleep Assassin

Sleep is still somewhat of a delicate subject with regards to the Toddler, as in he isn't particularly proficient yet at letting me have any.  Some nights he'll easily drift to sleep either mid boobing or shortly after, only waking once maybe twice a night for a quick boob session, these are good nights.  Far from perfect yet manageable.  Other nights he'll resist sleep, usually if he's had a sneaky impromptu illicit nap during the day, he'll roll around his be and mine, try an initiate conversations about wee, poo and poo man, serenade me with Anthrax an generally test my fraying patience as my brain slurs the mantra 'gothefucktosleep' repeatedly.   When sleep finally overwhelms him, i'll try an make a quick escape to pee only to return to him blissfully still asleep....yet on my side of the bed! Cheeky git. This then leaves me with the choice of moving him an risk waking him or leaving him and being pillowless.  Give me strength.

Then there are the in-between nights where he'll nod off to sleep effortlessly and even stay asleep for a few hours but then due to illness or more often then not some inexplicable top secret reasons unbeknownst to me he will start to wake.....hourly. I shit you not.

Some day he'll sleep through.  Some day The Husband will once again sleep upstairs.  Some day i'll be able to come the evening downstairs until i'm ready to sleep.


Until then i'll watch the patterns my fraying sanity make in the dark, cherish the lullaby of his breaths next to me and his little hands gripping me as he nuzzles, snuggles and feeds because it won't last forever.

Shhhhh......

I like to peek into Thing One and Thing Two's rooms when they are sleeping.  It doesn't matter how vile and tempestuous they've been during the evening, one look at them when they're asleep and my heart swells.

Having The Toddler makes it unfortunately too easy sometimes to forget just how small and young Thing One (7.5) and Thing Two (5.5) actually are, especially Thing Two who acts and thinks far too old anyway and in the most charming way is actually quite odd, her peers seem years younger then her in comparison which is remarkably disconcerting.  Poor Thing One really does have the short straw being the first born, had he been an Only Child I should imagine he'd be treated much younger then he is yet being the eldest somehow, unfortunately, on occasion forces him to be older.  Yet out of the three he is probably the least mature, bless. Unjust expectations and all that.

Yet on hair wash night when their hair is plastered to their shining faces or when they're asleep, they look so young.  They're truly my babies again.  They'll always be my babies. Childhood is so precious and goes so fast that we need these moments to cherish it.  It's always about the small things.  They make us and break us.

Spuds & Tantrums

Wednesday night was what one can only describe as abysmal.  The Toddler was feeding hourly due to pesky teeth so as a result I was dreadfully tired.  The Husband was kind enough to let me retire to bed in the morning yet I must confess, rather then sleep I read.  Still, it was nice to be alone and not be mauled and pawed for a while.  The Toddler appeared to be on a poo mission yesterday and rather then nap, he poo'd, several times in fact. Neither The Husband nor myself were particularly impressed to say the least.  Subsequently I then had to spend the rest of the day ensuring he didn't fall asleep and make bedtime even longer then it already is.  Hence The Toddler walking up the tree tunnel home from the shops, he looked rather too much like he was dozing off on my back in the sling so I evicted the wee fellow, mean mummy that I am.  However tantrums were rife when towards home The Husband handed him over to me as only daddy's hand will do, apparently.  I don't really cater to tantrums.  I figure he has a right to feel whatever emotion it is he feels, however it doesn't mean his way of dealing with it will change anything.  So I let him get on with his little tantrum, yes the full lie on the path and cry type, watching over with him until he was ready to accept that yes although he doesn't have to like it, that's absolutely his prerogative but he must hold my hand regardless should he wish to get home any time soon. 

Unfortunately The Toddler isn't the only tantrummer.  Thing One spent his pocket money on a plastic spud gun (I know I know, we point blank banned gun toys when he was younger much to his  utter dismay however, now he's old enough to fully understand what a gun is and what it represents...c'est la vie.  I played with a gun and I'm not quite a homicidal psychopath, well not all the time at least. He was given one rule with regards to playing with it, do not aim at anyone or hit anyone with the spud ammo.  Within five minutes I felt one on me.  He could have aimed at the floor, to the sides, behind him but no, he aimed at me and he was smirking.  Cue a huge tantrum when The Husband confiscated the offending item as Thing One simply refuses to accept responsibility for his actions with a complete inability to hold his hands up and say 'i'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it' First he blamed the maker of the gun, then he blamed Thing Two and finally blamed....the weather.  Needless to say the discourse only served to infuriate The Husband even more into a state of complete exasperation.  Then there was tea time last night, The Toddler did another impromptu poo, this time during tea, whilst we sorted him out I clearly heard Thing Two shout 'NO' at Thing One before the familiar stampede of Their feet to the stairs blathering and arguing as Thing Two accused Thing One of stealing her chicken and Thing One clearly denied it till he was blue in the face (or red actually) However I had a trick up my sleeve, I knew all he had left to eat was sweetcorn which he was dutifully eating when I went upstairs so I asked him to open his mouth.  What did i see on his tongue? The remnant of a mouthful of chicken.  His story then changed to 'She gave it to me!' to which I rationalised to him that if she gave it to him that suggests she wanted him to have it so why would she then shout no, burst into tears and grass him up?  Once again, half an hour later he admitted she was right.
 

The mystery of the missing book bag has been solved.  The Husband had phoned the taxi rank and the shops they went in and no book bag had been handed in.  However, yesterday Thing One jubilantly skipped out of school with his book bag in hand.  Apparently one of the school's dinner ladies has a friend, who had evidently used the same taxi that The Husband and Thing One had, found the book bag and gave it to her Friend to take into work who then in turn found Connor and handed it back to him.  It's the small things that restore an element of faith in humanity.

The Toddler remarkably went to sleep incredibly easily last night with the usual 3-4 wakings as opposed to the recent 10+.  Now I know The Husband would commit the relationship faux pas of saying 'I told you that you shouldn't let him nap so he'd sleep better at night' which is all very well in theory but he does need a nap most days otherwise he gets beastly tired then manic not to mention I need the nap too.  So although I rather enjoyed the better bedtime, I'm putting it down as an anomaly as opposed to a direct result of not napping.

After a shocking nights sleep the night before I should have made the most of it and slept, however, I finished my third book in as many days instead.  Oops.

The truth about co-sleeping & breastfeeding a toddler

 

Well, at least my neck won't get cold....& yes, he's feeding, upside down.

                                         

knackered.com

The Toddler is still teething, out of the three of them I've never had one who's taken so long to complete the process.  Thing One and Thing Two from a bump to a whole tooth would be a week, two max.  The Toddler however can quite literally take a month or two to complete the process.  I am quite thankful that the majority of the time the only clue to the fact he is teething is feeding even more then usual, which believe me is a lot. Other than that he's remarkably chipper, you'd never in a month of Sunday's guess he has three teeth emerging. 

Unfortunately (for me) this incessant feeding has royally buggered up the thin snippets of sleep I usually get, in fact we could say my sleep quota has progressed from sleep dieting to pure sleep anorexia. Even in his sleep he wants to feed and awakes as soon as I dare to liberate my boobs from him, which means I lay in a splendidly awkward position resulting in my shoulder being in pain whilst I can't sleep.  Sympathy is somewhat lacking seeing as he is teething and I choose to breastfeed therefore I should suck it up and deal with it.  When confronted with that caring attitude I almost wish he did dribble, drool and scream throughout the evening.  Surely The Husband should be thankful I can comfort him to such an extent that there is no interruption to the rest of the house?  The Husband also has a relatively low understanding threshold to M.E and the importance of rest.

Yet seeing The Toddler evidently in such good cheer as he awoke for the day and as usual waved his siblings and The Husband goodbye from the bedroom window as they started the school run went a long way to eradicating any residual grumpiness on my part not simple because I don't have to do the school run but  more that the toddler is so happy.  Upon his return The Husband scored some brownie points as he let me stay in bed a while, although frankly I deserved it especially after I copped the shitty nappy whilst he was out.  I'd like to say I had a sublime kip however, it was more my body rested whilst thoughts stampeded through my mind and veins like buzzing ants.

The Toddler enjoyed his nap as usual, me less so seeing as this picture was taken at the only window in time when he was not suckling furiously.  I swear my boobs must have morphed into calpol because they seem to be all he wants and needs to settle.  I suppose in a way I should be honoured that I'm able to provide this relief and comfort for him.  Nah, bollocks to that.

My ankle got a full test drive today as I bit the bullet and decided to do the 2+ mile round trip to the shops after school with The Husband and all three darlings. Once again The toddler was in great form and enjoyed shouting joyfully at full volume in the shops with grins and giggles a plenty. More importantly, I managed it and I'm not in excruciating pain (yet)!  Hoorah!

Co-Sleeping

Okay so there are many many reasons why I love co-sleeping such as (when done properly and safely) it can reduce the risk of SIDS, makes night feedings way easier etc etc etc

But probably one of the best reasons is...

Seriously, why would anyone not want to sleep next to that? He's gorgeous, snuggly and warm.

Okay so the acrobatics and his shufflebum nature can be a pain in the arse, literally, but you also get the comedy poses to chuckle at, like random leg in the air position.

& in the midst of night and the whole house is asleep and the buzzing of your mind keeps you from slumber, the soothing lullaby of his breathing acts as a relaxant, a focus, until you finally seek sleep.

One day, if I remember i'll dedicate a picture post to our two years of co-sleeping so far, I have such sweet pictures to share.

Anniversary of attachment.

As a generally rule of thumb I refrain from posting pictures in this blog to retain some element of anonyminity for myself and my family (& to add that scintilla of abstruseness) & yet here I am pondering wether or not to break my self sanctioned rule in order to share and celebrate the fact that The Toddler and I have been breastfeeding and co-sleeping for 2 years and two days and are still going strong.  So although unflattering to say the least, this picture is, to me at least, a poignant snapshot of the last two years of The Toddler & I.... Nap time, in bed, him falling asleep on the boob.  This was taken on the last day of him being a one year old.

Is it a wonder I can't bare to be separated from him?  They grow up so fast.  Moments like this are to be cherished.

There is nothing quite like looking at newborn pictures of your children to make your womb purr and weep.  The Husband is still 101% adamant that there shall be No More. Ever. Unfortunately although my head can be reasonable when it chooses to, it is having a very unfortunate task of over ruling the heart and is failing dreadfully.  As I keep professing to him, I don't want one now, egads no.  Not in the slightest.  No thank you.  However, I would like the option to have one more in 4-5 years time.  It's a strange feeling to be more then enamoured and blessed with what you have and to yet have this lingering feeling of 'not quite done yet', some small echoic hole that has no shape nor name only possibility and it whispers to you, constantly.  Hell, if he allowed the option to remain I'd save him a hospital jaunt and render him infertile myself afterwards if he's that set on a snip.

In the still of the night #2

I keep meaning to write an entry about co-sleeping and breastfeeding a toddler on demand, through the night.

However, whilst browsing old entries, I found I had already written it in 2008, same sentiment...different toddler.


http://tiarasandprozac.blogspot.co.uk/2008/11/in-still-of-night.html