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.

Just another day

You know you're in for a bad day when it starts with The Toddler attempting to kick the shit out of Thing One, again and then decides to practice pole dancing up a siblings leg.

I'm doing a mighty fine impression of Rudolph with my nose oh so red.  I'm temporarily dying from illness.  I want to pummel myself into unconsciousness just to have a break from sneezing.  If my nose doesn't quit running I'll be tempted to punch it off my face.  My head feels light and spinny whilst my limbs feel laden.  Everything feels slurred.

At least I have new socks though.  Christmas socks even.  Ha! Take that oh Bah Humbug Husband o'mine.

Christmas shopping phase two has been completed, granted mainly online.  Only two more phases to go, neither of which can start until next month.

The Toddler appears to have graduated from watching himself poo whilst on the loo, gazing between his legs to a rather obscure position of leaning over so far that his head nearly touches his feet, yet still not actually falling off the precarious perch his little cheeks have on his seat.

The was a catastrophic disaster.  The Husband decided to use The Witching Hour (the time after tea yet before bath) to run an errand.  Upon asking Things One and Two to tidy the front room, The Toddler decided to fix an unbroken window with a toy hammer which in itself was fine, pick your battles and all that jazz however I had to act when he decided to trash the room, whilst his siblings attempted to tidy it.

Having carted him upstairs to run the bath, he commenced operation screamathon which consisted of me sat by the bedroom gate whilst he attempted to destroy it, first with his body, then his mind and finally with his volume levels.  Seeing as the gate refused to submit he then decided to destroy me, or my hearing at the very least as he screamed directly into my left ear.  It's still hurting several hours later.  I remained sat on the floor, calmly reiterating exactly why he wasn't going downstairs whilst he continued to shout...and scream.  A lot.  Obviously this was the perfect time for Things One and Two to fall out rather tremendously.  Give me strength Gin.

Motherhood.

There's many things you never dreamed you'd possibly say and then you had children.  Take today.  I've had to tell The Toddler to 'Stop trying to eat your sister!' and to 'stop chasing after your siblings and rubbing your willy on everyone'

I'm in two minds as to whether to be concerned over his current habit of walking around with a butter knife which he routinely pilfers from the kitchen drawer.  It started the other day when I caught him trying to saw a leg off a wooden cow with it... then today I caught him venomously stabbing a large cardboard box with it, repeatedly.  I'm terribly tempted to check beneath his pillow seeing as I co-sleep with him, not that I'm paranoid.  Honest.

The Husband calls The Toddler, the greatest contraception and at times will blame him for his declaration that there shall be no more minions.  Personally I think he's just trying to shift the blame of the decision from himself, transferring it to The Toddler seeing as I probably rather like The Toddler more at times.  I admit The Toddler is somewhat tempestuous and dramatic.  Okay, he can be a total pissant.  However, he's also utterly charming and tremendously sweet.  Granted when you disagree with him he'll cover his ears and tell you he's not listening to you, or throw himself face down on the sofa or bed to blank you.  Then there's the diva door slamming, the throwing things at us and the 'I'm not talking to you.  Don't ever talk to me again. Get out of my face.  I don't want to see you.' etc that he's prone to shout at us when he doesn't get his own way, well mostly at The Husband to be honest. However, he is an absolute darling, he's terribly affectionate, incredibly funny, alarmingly imaginative and gorgeous to boot.  He just hates being told no.... and has a habit of trying to beat his siblings up...and scaring The Cats.

At night, after his bedtime feed, he'll curl up to my back, and fiddle with my hair whilst draping his small pudgy arm around me until he falls asleep.  Occasionally he'll request a song, he's obviously a masochist requesting to be tortured with my singing.  Last night he asked for Baa Baa Black Sheep.  Then  Baa Baa White sheep.  Followed by Baa Baa Grey Sheep, Baa Baa Orange Sheep, Baa Baa purple Sheep and Baa Baa Blue Sheep.  Me thinks he was taking the piss.  I did attempt to draw the line after the grey sheep yet he started to shriek and well, pick your battles and all that. Still it marked a change from his often obscure topics of conversation like 'have you ever seen someone eat a bagel outside?'

I wouldn't change him for the world.

Yet I'm becoming increasingly aware that the years are slipping through our fingers and soon he shall be a little boy and then a big boy, then a teen and then a man.  I'm not ready for him to be my last baby.  The Husband and I no longer 'discuss' the fact that he has decided no more children.  We have three and I love them dearly, they are my entire universe.  Yet, I can't stop the yearning for one more.  I'm just not done.  I'm not ready to have no more babies.  Of course they're enough, they're more than enough yet there's still that dull ache in my womb and a weight in my heart.  The sighs are swallowed and never breathed any more.  The decision has been made.  I can't change his mind.  It doesn't make it easier though.  Just because I no longer talk about it, doesn't mean I'm happy about it.  It doesn't erase the deplorable sadness inside.  I understand his reasons, every one of them.  I do.  I realise there's so many reasons not to increase our family again, really, practical and rational reasons.  Sensible and good reasons. Valid reasons. Yet what is the heart if not irrational?  I can't explain the need for one more nor can I give reason to it.  I can't answer the why, other than with a why not?   I'm so terribly, desperately.  sad. I've accepted it because there is no other option, it doesn't stop the sadness though.

There's a stone in my purse.

I carry a stone in my purse.  Well, more of a pebble actually.  It's not especially pretty nor interesting to the eye.

The Spawn are at times like Labradors insofar as to say when you take them for a walk they pick up anything and everything as you roll your eyes and repeat like a stuck record 'Drop it!' though with The Spawn being two legged rather than four we often add on any of the following 'it's filthy!' 'You don't know where it's been!' 'A dog could have had a wee on that!'  If we make the rookie error of being distracted we'll return our attention only to find one of the little cretins attempting to take half a tree for a walk or something.

We're not absolutely mean, only hobbyist meanies so we let them have their pet sticks an what not and stockpiles of natures bounty, within reason.

One day on the homeward school run, The Toddler stopped a midst the tsunami of children and parents, without a care in the world, scrabbled about in the gravel and presented Thing Two with a stone.  Thing Two wrinkled her nose, impatient to get out of the crowded school grounds and back home to play and offhandedly dismissed the stone with a 'what would I want that for?' statement and readied to toss it away unaware of The Toddlers feelings that would be tossed away with it.

I explained to her how I had a similar stone in my pocket and one in my purse that had been there for months.  She looked bemused so I continued to explain.  It's not what it is, it's the fact he found it and gave it to her.  It was the only thing he had to give and he chose to give it to her.  In my eyes that makes it more precious than gold. She got it.  I could see her perception of the world shift ever so slightly within her she remembered, somewhere, that instinctive appreciation.

It's so easy to just discard these gifts and chide them for wasting time or picking up crap.  Don't.  In their eyes this is their treasure for they see the true value in things, the wonder that we so oft lose upon growing up, the marvel in the little things.  The appreciation of the seemingly insignificant. At that instant that treasure is the only thing they have and they chose to give it to you.  This is love.

So I keep this little stone in my purse as carefully as if it was a piece of his heart, because in a way, that's exactly what it is.

Building blocks of imagination

With the massive array of choice out there for children's toys, all shiny and flashing as they gobble batteries and break silences.  I know they're fun, that the kids love them.  God knows we have a toyshop worth of them conquering the lounge.

I can't help but think though that they remove a large portion of imagination.  They're so obviously something that it's hard to make them into something different.  They're directing play.  They even make the right sounds so you don't have to.  I remember once when I was a child being desperate for a doll that cried etc, when I finally got one I barley played with it.  I hated the very part of it that made me want it.  It took away the spontaneity and the sense of open play.  It devoured the sense of possibilities.

So it's always terribly lovely to see one of The Spawn choosing the basic toys and possibilities over the battery brigade and creating their own little universe with them.

Last Christmas we bought The Toddler some Octons.  Whilst Myself, The Husband and Thing Two thoroughly enjoyed them, The Toddler didn't really show much interest.  Until now.  He has played with them every day for the past week.  It's fascinating observing him.

Take this for example

A flying fire engine speed boat.

How utterly amazing is imagination?  Totally unprompted and unaided.  He saw something in his head and created it with these.

Then out came the old favourite, building blocks.  These have lasted through all three of The Spawn, Thing Two even still uses them now to create epic landscapes and castles.  So what did The Toddler and I do with them that day?

First we made steps, for his beloved wooden people.

Then we made a car park.

The Toddler then redesigned it and commenced building a rescue station

Which evolved into this

We then spent the next half hour having to carry out full on rescue missions as the stairs were on fire, people were stuck down holes and on roofs.  He was the ambulance and fire engine whilst I had to be the rescue helicopter and the police van.  We were the players and the writers of the story as well as providing the scripts and soundtrack.

All this from a pile of bricks and some wooden people/vehicles.

Obviously he adores his all singing all dancing toys too, even if he does add his own touches substituting parts of one with parts of another.  I love that he breaks the rules.  I love that he creates his own.

It's nice to go back to the basics at times though.  What better game to play than one you create yourself in your own universe?

Night Stalker.

It's that time of night again, when I'm terribly fackered (yes, I made that up less of a mouthful than fucking knackered) yet unable to sleep.  The Husband has gone out and left the television downstairs on so all I can hear is Peppa Pig, I hope The Kitten is at least enjoying it.  The ridiculously short battery life of my wee netbook is decreasing at an alarming rate and I fear if I rummage for the charger I'll trip over something and break my neck in the dark  I haven't seen my bedroom carpet in months and the debris is akin to quicksand. The thought of exploring it in the dark is a little too white-knuckle-esque for me.

The Toddler is fast asleep next to me having delayed going to sleep with a story, a song, an impromptu trip to the loo for a ripe old shit and implorations for his beaker of water to be refilled all interjected with plenty of breastfeeding.  Still I suppose the subtle lullaby of his sleepy breaths is a tad more enchanting than his vitriolic arguments with The Spawn and his protestations of absolute innocence at anything he may stand accused of having committed in the court of family.

I'm stuck between a double rock and a hard place.  I can't sleep until I know Thing Two is asleep, she has insomnia you see.  However, she'll wait until I manage to extricate myself from the The Toddler to go pee to suddenly pounce and attempt to delay my return to The Toddler (who's chances of waking up increase with every second I'm AWOL) with an insistent stream of random questions and requests.  The other  part  of the double rock and hard place is The Toddlers recent freaky ability to awaken from deepest slumber the instant I attempt to do a runner and refuses to be placated whilst insisting he simply must accompany me.  So whilst sat on the loo, he sits/lays on the bathroom floor in groggy silence, eyes heavy with sleep near rolling in their sockets as his groggy brain creates a speech bubbles that simply says 'Huh?' Then he'll drag an stumble back to bed and go back to sleep as if he'd never woken up.  Even at night I can't piss alone! Still, he usually goes straight  back to sleep without a feed unless of course The Husband attempts to 'help' and comes upstairs to chat to him whilst he waits thus pulling him from grogginess and ensuring I have to start the whole bedtime breastfeed shebang all over again.  Thanks Husband, Love you too.  Still not entirely convinced I'm terribly enthused about the swapping of several night feeds to being stalked.

I'm fantasising about the bottle of Cider that I've had in the fridge for months, or at least I was until I unfortunately remembered it was removed from the fridge to make room for something else and even to one as desperate as I appear to be, warm cider is a little too close to piss in a bottle.  Still, I could however use the bottle to beat Peppa Pig into submission, why is she even awake still? Suddenly I'm salivating for a bacon butty.

Babywearing The Toddler

I hate using the buggy.  It's roguishly awkward and to be honest, a pain in the posterior not to mention frightfully knackering to push. Thankfully for the most part we only use it when convenient or necessary yet have walked miles on end with him comfortably on my back.  However, recently The Toddler has been showing a preference for it, so respecting his wishes, I always give him the choice if practical.  However, on Thing One's birthday meal (yes, I haven't forgotten I will indeed bore the pants off you with one of those terribly mumsy posts all soppy and whimsical about the little bugger soon.  Lucky lucky you.) it would have been impractical to take it with us yet the walk afterwards is simply too far for his little legs (and our sanity) to endure so into the sling he went.  It's so nice to actually hear what he's saying again, I adore the hugs, the way he plays with my hair....the grip of his little soft hands idly on my arm.  He can see more, interact more and it's quite frankly easier all round.  I forgot how much I'd missed him being on my back.  Babywearing isn't just for wee babies.  With it not being all the time now, it merely makes it more precious when we do.  It just feels....right,

Boxes

I have no idea why so many companies insist on using such insanely large boxes for relatively small items, take the picture to your left.....Amazon sent me this box complete with a rain-forest worth of brown paper and my 800g jar of coconut oil. Why?! Such unnecessary packaging.

Thankfully, we like boxes here Chez Mama Undone or should I say The Toddler and The Kitten are rather partial to them....

Cloud Dough

Very rarely, I'll get most overcome with that awful mothers guilt thing and randomly decide to do something somewhat different with the little cretins, who usually are bloody good at just playing.  Unlike me, I'm crap at playing (unless it involves dressing up, as an elf. Oh do behave! not in the bedroom) and despite being a domestic slattern of the first degree, I'm actually desperately squiffy at the thought of messy play.

It's even a rare event to get paints out here, they have free access to pens and crayons etc but paint is an entirely different ball game, especially as The Toddler appears to lose interest after five minutes anyway.

So, at some point today I lost the threads of my fraying sanity and decided to make some 'cloud dough', i'm sure if you have a lunchtime fling with Google you'll be inunindated with recipes and ideas for this ...erm...stuff.

It's terribly simple to make, at it's most basic you need two ingredients from your store cupboard, flour and oil (any cooking oil will do, even baby oil)

I used 6 cups of flour and 1 cup of oil.  You simply combine them that really is all there is to it.  I told you it was simple.  I added some yellow food colouring with some perverse nod to to the weather, thinking we'd have our own beach play despite the snow and ice outside.

It will look like a rather lumpy dough, not to worry, this is exactly how it's supposed to look.  No really.  I'm absolutely not shitting you.

However, when you touch it (unfortunately a necessity. Balls.) it has the feel of wet sand, if it wasn't for the fact it gets under my nails and into my jewelry the texture would have been delightfully cathartic to play with)  The Toddler found it fiendishly exquisite or at least he did after I managed to encourage him to not be a wuss like me and do away with the spoon.

With the aid of a pot it was sand castle time!  He remained rather conservative with his efforts at first, yet soon lost all sense of reservation and it was cloud dough everywhere, and I mean everywhere.  This alien creation in our abode was so enticing that even Thing Two begged to play

I was decidedly impressed with the longevity of it's attention holding spell, it was nigh bewitching to them, which almost made it worth while.  Yes, almost   Remember me saying it was messy?  That was a horrific understatement, the bloody stuff gets everywhere.  I even found the wretched stuff on my jeans clad arse.  How? Clothes, floor you name it it had been utterly cloud doughed.  Thing Two tried to escape for a wee, treading it all over the carpet en route.  Argh.  What a catastrophe.  It was even in The Toddlers eyebrows.  So operation clean up involved stripping them both down and me sweeping and wiping whilst it seemed to breed and multiply before my very eyes with The Toddler helpfully singing 'clean up, clean up, everybody clean up!' only everybody wasn't cleaning up, just me. Finally an  impromptu bath, sometimes it really is the easiest option.

Did they love it? absolutely.  Was it easy to make? Ridiculously so.  Cheap? cheap as chips. Would I make it again?  Are you shitting me? Maybe once a year, with them in the nud, outside, at someone elses house.  Possibly.

I think in future a little more planning may be a good idea, perhaps one for summer and the garden.  That's the entirety of my creative maternal inspiration exhausted for another few months now.  Even i'm not masochistic enough to do messy play routinely, afterall that's what The Grandparents and (eventually) Nursery are for, right? 

Toddler funnies

Whilst sat at the table eating dinner, The Toddler suddenly stops eating and mumbles 'oh, my phone's ringing....' followed by his small hand rummaging around the waist of his pj's (yes he's having a pj day, so sue me) with a more frantic 'my phone! my phone is ringing!' He then proceeded to answer this imaginary phone, apparently it was Granddad.  I'll be having words with Granddad he should know better then to phone at meal times. tsk tsk.

However, not entirely finished with administering us our daily toddler funnies, he decides he's finished his dinner, gets himself out of his high chair (yes, really) and brazenly goes to stand on The Husbands chair (seeing as The Husband is having 40 winks, yes I did say winks not wanks, in bed) and rummages around in the corner of doom finding a small mirror on a keyring.  Guess what he does next, no seriously, I'd like you to guess.  

He pulls down his pj's and his underpants and using the mirror starts to scrutinise his willy 'My winky....hmmm....mmmm.....My winky okay' then follows this with holding the mirror behind him 'My bum, hmm, my bum okay too' Terribly glad they're both okay and passed his somewhat detailed inspection.  What a novel way of trying to make his family choke to death with laughter at the table.  

I bet you never guessed it. You see the people I have to live with?  Is it any wonder I need prozac?

I suppose I really ought to tear myself away from the laptop seeing as Things 1&2 are outside playing in the ice that is cunningly disguised as snow and The Toddler has commandeered my phone and is frighteningly proficient at navigating himself around it.  Bugger, Thing Two has come in, exactly ten minutes after going out because she's in her words, frozen. No shit Sherlock.  It's not like I didn't tell them it would be bloody cold.

The Toddler

Because it's been a while and they're so small for such a remarkably heart breaking short amount of time within which they undergo so many changes and really do light up our days, I figured it was about time for another post dedicated to him.

I suppose technically he's The Preschooler now what with him turning three, yes three, next month.  Excuse me whilst I weep.  No really.  Seeing as The Husband is most clear in his 'No more babies' line, The Toddler is my last beloved little person and I find the dramatic pace at which he's growing up terribly alarming whilst my womb positively wails 'please sir, can we have some more?'

Next month he will be three.  So far we've been breastfeeding for 35 months.  He's not worn any kind of nappy for around seven months now (he pee's at the toilet, standing on his tippee toes!, In an absurd way it's incredibly cute).  He still doesn't sleep through.  We still co-sleep.  He talks more and more every day, we understand about 75% of it, he often has to resort to charades to enlighten us with his insights and demands.  He is undeniably friendly and incredibly polite, not a door opened for us goes without him chirping 'thank-you!' He has a rather extensive and amusing amount of quirky idiosyncrasies already.  He genuinely is a beautiful, charming, funny, sarcastic little sunbeam.

A few toddlerisms from him lately:

Whilst we were out and about and he was as usual in the Wompat on my back, we could hear the noisy chorus of birds around us to which he repeatedly shouted with increasing irritation 'SHUT UP TWEET TWEETS! SHUT UP!'

The day before this whilst once again high up on my back in the sling we caught him trying to physically reach up and pluck an aeroplane from the sky.  Bless.

Just last night, at bedtime, The Husband was lovingly trying to read another book to him when The Toddler shut it half way and declared 'The End' followed by 'Get bent **** (He still refuses to call him Daddy/Dad and insists on always calling The Husband by his first name.  He's always done this) Go away.' Charming!

He is still insistent on foraging for his own food and frequently raids the cupboards and even drags his little stool in the kitchen on the sly so he can raid the fridge which often results in me finding little gems like this in the fridge.....

Whilst chatting about his upcoming birthday:

Me to h: 'what do you want for your birthday?'
The Toddler: 'Robot!'
Me: 'anything else?'The Toddler: 'Chocolate cake!!!!'Me: 'anything else?'The Toddler: 'Doughnuts!'Me: 'okay, anything else?'The Toddler: 'A cow.'[pause]The Toddler: 'and a clipclop!!!'Okay, that's that sorted then.....

He still adores dressing up, twirling in tutu's, rolling his eyes at you in complete disdain and attempting to control Things 1 & 2.  He frequently calls out for 'elf rescue!' and is fabulous at fighting The Husband should he dare to bug me.

Best go, he's just tried to cover up his intrusion on Things 1& 2 upstairs with a rather sweet 'Goodbye my friends! My best friends!' as he zooms down the stairs at 80mph on his arse.

Mecca of Misery

The Toddler is trying to exterminate me, again.  I have never had a child to go such prolonged bouts of teething.  It feels like we've took one step forward and then three steps back with bedtime taking a small forever and multiple night wakings, feeding all night.  Exhausted would be an understatement.  If he really has his heart set on making me cry he really ought to just poke me in the eye and be done with it, much less time consuming.

The days and consequently weeks appear to be on fast forward,  I feel like time is mere sand slipping through my open fingers.  It seems like only yesterday when it was September and now half way through November that frightful panic is bubbling below the surface as I trip over thoughts of Christmas Shopping, again.  I had finally got some sort of an incomplete list of 'to-buy' for The Spawn ready only to find that typically two of the main gifts are inevitably out of stock, which is bloody awkward.  The Husband keeps bemoaning that he doesn't want any gifts (although he's not shy of posting links on my facebook of things he rather likes) I have ordered three things for him and bought another.  We had a somewhat disastrous trip to the dreaded Primark yesterday avec Le Petite Filous (No not a yogurt you weirdos, it means Little Rascal aka The Toddler)  Bare in mind that Primark is a mecca of misery at the best of times for anti-social people-loathing people such as myself and The Husband but needs must and all that jazz.  The Toddler has realised that if he declares he needs a wee, he get's an exit pass from the sling/buggy.  However, the cheeky little bugger then refused to have an actual wee and proceeded to quite literally run The Husband (to whome patience is not a virtue) ragged, uncharacteristically refusing to hold his hand and making a rather impressive bid for freedom.  Cue my browsing cut short (just when I was contemplating a Borat Mankini and fold away portable pint glass for The Husband, shame) as I joined the queue of doom to the cacophonous of The Toddler wailing his wee heart out, twang...snap...there goes some more of my heart strings.  Gulp.

So laden with the rather impractical paper bag of Primarni goodness whilst praying to the gods it doesn't rain and thus melt the bag, although it will probably rip long before then anyway, we made a short sharp exit.  I eventually calmed The Toddler down and back in the sling on my back he went.  To say nerves were frazzled would be somewhat of an understatement to say the least.  The Husband was most furious, his bad mood hovering above us like a little black raincloud because obviously it was all my fault  (sorry Husband, sorry god) as is everything (world poverty, nach.  Disease and famine? yup.  Death? sorry, that was me too) so homeward bound we went.  I was hoping to walk home just as we'd walked there (approximately 2.5 miles each way) yet with each furthering step my wibbly ankles protested more and more until I had to admit defeat and stop at the bus stop.  Typically the 'frequent' buses become infrequent the instant we decide to wait for one (I must have lied when I was seventeen. Or something)  Still at least catching the bus avoided passing the park again which we let the toddler run rampant round en route to town that morning.  I perched upon the edge of a seat next to an old woman to many coo's and ahh's at the angelic little dude on my back which only intensified when the little bugger fell asleep.

Finally home with a sleeping toddler who I had to resettle in bed (I rather needed my own nap to recover from the abysmal day) I have socks, I have layering tops, I even have a nifty drumstick flavoured chap stick (I kissed a girl and i liked it...) yet apart from a pair of Superman Socks for The Husband, my Christmas shopping list is still alarmingly long (and disastrously incomplete).  Bother.

We tend to get mere token gifts for The Adults in the family and concentrate on The Children.  Scratchcards have already been done so i'm torn between Monopoly money inside a card or perhaps the slightly quirkier idea of poker chips like these maybe? yet in typical MamaUndone fashion I go off on a tangent and get all dreadfully distracted upon seeing this, which I know Thing One would be positively mesmorised by.  See? It's impossible to do any kind of Christmas Shopping without finding yet another thing one of The Spawn would like.

I'm now going to whale about in the bath for a while, whaling being the important word here seeing as i've piled on even more weight and my jeans are now uncomfortably tight, so to commiserate the fact I of course have had to self medicate with chocolate for breakfast (again)  The Idea was to be a size smaller by Christmas, not a size bigger.  Arse.  Big arse even, literally.

I need to fortify myself for yet another attempt at Christmas Shopping next week.

...Whilst sulking because I really really really want to see the new Twilight film.  Shut up.  I know.

I watch you when you are sleeping

I love to watch The Toddler whilst he's asleep, inhaling his very essence.  I want to commit every single detail to my memory and store it in a draw in my heart.  I could stare for hours at the soft dimples of his knuckles in his pudgy little hands, dirty fingernails scruffy from a mornings play.  I wish I could count every crease, every hair, every indentation.  The rise and fall of his chest mezmorises me; a lullaby. I drink the sound of his breathing and the sighs that punctuate the beautiful silence.  I resist the urge, barely, to run my fingers through the golden tangles of his hair or to stroke his pinked cheeks.  I stare in marvel, unable to comprehend that he's part of me, this perfection, is part of me and me of him.  That I created him.  I grew him.  I nurtured him. I birthed him. This amazing being he is.  I look at him and my heart stops, I can't breath and for that moment, i don't even want to.  I'm incapable of looking at him and upholding the fact that he was once inside me, this whole complete beautiful human. One day he'll be a grown up, a man with stubble on his chin, thick hair on his legs, broad shoulders and hands that dwarf mine.  Until then......I shall watch him whilst he's sleeping and protect him from the world.

I never truly understood  love was until I had Children, I still don't understand it....it gets deeper every day though.  Impossibly so.