Yet another blogging mummy

Years ago, when my daughter was about 1, and I was back working at my school, (that eventually kicked me to the curb for having the audacity to have a baby and then ask to work part time, but that is an entirely other story) one of my colleagues, who had a pregnant girlfriend, asked me if I had any advice for having a new baby. At the time I felt totally overwhelmed with the question, as, my god, how much time did he have to listen? I could not possibly condense all of my suggestions and helpful advice into one sentence. For years, I've been thinking about it and wondering what one or two poignant, incredibly helpful things I could have told him, and I really couldn't think of anything.  Firstly, there is so much to say that it's just too overwhelming to hear, let alone to try and articulate.  Secondly, whatever you say, people will forget or not listen to in the first place. But now, now we are six, I have a feeling that the best advice I could give anyone who is raising a...

Last night, as I was lying next to my pickle who was on the precipice of sleep, after playing a card game and having some chats, she sleepily, yet firmly, murmured to me "Mummy. Put your feet down." She likes to have the security of knowing that whoever has the pleasure of being next to her in bed is comfortable, thus making it less likely for them to leap out of bed, leaving her alone, in the foreseeable future. "Pickle" said I, "my feet are down." At this point she sat up, to check that my feet, in fact, were down, whereupon she realised that my duvet was not in the correct position. She moved it slightly to the right, so that my feet were uncovered, and let out a contented sigh. "ahhhh." she intoned, and turned over and went to sleep. That is all.  Thanks for reading x

 I want to write this post because I always feel like my posts are so negative and depressing sounding. Just a quick one, because I do not want to forget it.  The other night, after we had done all the bedtime routine things, the lights were off, Pickle was in her bed, and I had just settled into my bed (ie: my mattress on the floor next to her bed) and was taking some deep breaths and preparing to finally relax for the first time that day, I heard a whimpery, whispery voice coming from her bed, almost tearful in its fearful panic. "MUMMY!" said she "I have forgotten what a turnip looks like!"  Well. Being the intuitive and empathetic mummy that I am, I realised the catastrophic consequences this could cause later in life, and as such, hastened to rectify the dilemma. I showed her a picture of a turnip on my phone, and she instantly relaxed, snuggled with extreme satisfaction into her duvet, and went to sleep.  The next morning, the first words when she awoke were ...

 I love my daughter with every fibre of my being. Every single cell in my body, every single hair that grows out of my body, every muscle and tendon and vein and artery and bone and nail and skin particle adores her fiercely, endlessly, from head to toe, from front to back, from tip to tail. There is nothing and noone more important to me than her, and I honestly don't think I could love more than I love her. She is my world, my moon, my sun, my galaxy, my stars.  But she drives me, at this point in her life, absolutely bananas. Every evening she won't go to sleep without some kind of almighty battle that involves endless negotiations, usually a lot of tears, debates, pleas, bargaining tactics, it's like some kind of courtroom in this house. Every night she wakes me up at least twice, sometimes a lot more. She usually ends up on the mattress that I have put in her bedroom for ME so that I can fall asleep in her room so she will GO to sleep, and yet still, I don't even g...

 I don't think it's overly dramatic to say that we, Mikey and I, feel like after a really bad night with Pickle, we get some mild form of PTSD. Last night was behaviour that was off the charts. I don't even want to go into it or divulge any details. Just to say that today we both feel like we've been run over by a 50 ton lorry, dragged through that proverbial hedge a number of times, and then run over a few more times for good measure. I feel completely on the edge with this now.  This morning, however, she was a dream. Eating a good breakfast, playing quietly, being polite when she asked for things, getting dressed when we asked, giving us hugs and being absolutely lovely in general. Then I get an email from her teacher about her atrocious and dangerous behaviour at school this morning. I feel like I am being emotionally battered, and I don't know how I have failed her and what I can do for her. Feel completely deflated and like I want to cry all the time. But I ca...

I am sitting here in bed, while my husband is out with our Pickle. This morning, a Moana dress and head band arrived for her and she's been wearing it proudly all day. She looks just beautiful. The past three days we were in Vancouver, and she whined almost half the time she was there that she wanted to go home and that she missed home. That part wasn't enjoyable. A large part of the other half was spent telling me that she didn't want to talk, to eat, to dress, to stop doing this, to start doing that, that she was too hot, too cold, too thirsty or too hungry, but she didn't want to eat, drink, stand in the shade or stand in the sun, and I spent most of the time feeling completely overwhelmed and frustrated, which led to exhaustion and ultimately, a lot of big emotions inside me that couldn't come out. So, a large part of the rest of our time in Vancouver was spent in a state of trying to pacify the beast and feeling out of sorts.  Whenever this kind of thing happen...

Well it certainly was a summer of learning. My pickle grew about 3 feet in two months, and my heart grew at about the same rate. I also found out what I do not want to happen during the summer, which felt like it lasted 2-3 years. I don't want to get to the end of the school year and dread the summer starting, but I am already dreading it. And this one hasn't even ended yet.  Pickle was challenging, and I found the whole summer to be more exhausting and stressful than any other time during her life. I guess every parent goes through this, especially in the summers, but I think the first summer is probably the hardest. So, with that logic, surely it can only get better next time?  I had stopped drinking completely, from Christmas to June essentially, and in the summer, all that went out the window. I started drinking heavily again, stopped exercising, as I was with Pickle all day every day, and had no time to exercise, and basically I had absolutely no time to myself whatsoever...