And they’re off…
I love a newborn. People always ask me when I’m having another! And my response...”if they stayed like this... I’d have ten more!”
We spend all of the first few months of our baby’s lives waiting for the milestones. You put in that phone call to everyone you know when they give you that first smile (even if it is wind!). Better still, you capture a picture of it and paste it all over every social media platform you own as well as sending them to friends and family members privately! The rest of the time is spent impatiently wondering when they will sit up, crawl, finish Uni!
Just laying there, a big ball of curious cuteness, I feel almost sorry for them at this stage. Unable to communicate; to laugh when you tickle them...tell you to stop tickling them! Happy but helpless, and my goodness they are easy! Soon, laying flat on their backs becomes turning, turning over turns into sitting up. Tummy time becomes rocking and backwards on all fours and then there’s that chorus of cheer as they begin to explore they’re own little world by crawling about all over the place... And they’re off!
And whereas I am immensely proud of her little achievements, the truth is...now Number 4 has accomplished some of these things and is officially trying to toddle, let’s face it, it’s just a right royal pain in the arse!
These days, cries of joy and encouraging ‘yes yes yes’s’ have depleted, in exchange for ‘no no no’s’. The simple life of a newborn is no more!
Never take it for granted that a cup of tea left on a side table is safe! It is not! Don’t talk to me about sleep regression... just when you think you’ve nailed it...
One of my new jobs of late (as if I didn’t have enough already) is to check my baby’s mouth for foreign objects. Approximately every five minutes. Because don’t you know that EVERYTHING gets put in the mouth! It’s a given; that once they’ve spent all of ten seconds exploring the colours and textures in the hand...boredom sets in and it’s straight for the chops! It’s become entirely impossible for any of the other three to play with puzzles, or toys that contain small objects. Jigsaws pieces become soggy and won’t ‘work’ anymore; often I’ll fish out bits of chewed paper as she managed to get to the post delivery before me - sigh!
When and how do little people learn to become spiteful? Answers on a postcard please. The head butts! The ones you get in the lip; the ones that catch you completely off guard and cause you to silently weep and swear all at the same time. The pinching, slapping, grabbing; and worst of all, the hair pulling. I have tiny scabs all under the backs of my arms where she habitually ‘picks’ me when she’s having a feed. My chin and neck look continuously sore as she grips and grabs them too; even if I have trimmed her fingernails they still manage to dig in!
Let’s talk weaning. One of my most precious memories of each of my children, is the first time they tried solid food. I say solid, I mean something that still resembled milk, albeit a bit thicker. I have filmed every single first mouthful of baby rice and creamy porridge. The joy and apprehension of both parent and child is captured with coo’s, cheers and weird facial expressions; a moment to cherish forever. Fast forward a couple of months and feeding time (at the zoo) is something of a mighty mission! You see, doing her best impression of a chicken trying to take off is not ideal when you are about to pop a spoonful of orangey goodness into her mouth. Slapping food out of your hands and off the spoon, which often ends up anywhere BUT where I am aiming it - just isn’t the one! It’s not cute. It’s not funny and frankly I don’t appreciate having to clean my ceiling after lunch. Thank you.
This time round I fully committed to baby led weaning. Number 4 started pretty much straight off nibbling on solid foods to avoid this very behaviour. Cutting up mini bread and butter sandwiches, tiny portions of fruit and lumps of cheddar cheese. I like learning what she prefers and what she leaves. I like watching her explore textures with her fingers before examining them once again with her lips. I like how she has trouble with the slippery banana pieces and has to figure out a way to get them into her mouth with a tighter grip. I like how she has cleared her tray all by herself... easy!
The problem is, I’m now left worrying whether she has eaten anything at all. After most mealtimes I end up trying to count squished bits of bread and chewed cucumber in the hopes that I remembered how many pieces I put out in the first place. Or I’m crawling on all fours underneath the high chair gathering bits of mashed food whilst finding lots more in the crotch of the seat. And I do indeed conclude that she must still be hungry... a back up pouch of pre-mushed fruit will have to do! I’ve resorted to blending a lot of the time, or a combination of; for peace of mind, in the knowing she’s eaten something. And so the promised solely baby-led weaning is evidently out of the window - anything for an easier life!
Now what is the point in clothing? And I don’t mean clothing at all, I’m not about to teach my kids to become naturists, but I cannot see the point in dressing children in anything other than.... ok maybe I should practice nudism! Crawling on floors creates dirty knees - Standard! No matter how much I clean, mop, scrub and anti-bac, dirty knees always win! I pretty much have to change her every time we go out, even for just the school run, for fear of being ‘that mum with the grubby kid’.
Of course I change my clothes as often as hers. White jeans are no longer white; come to think of it, black tops are never black for very long either; they are always smudged with some sort of snail trail!
Nappy changes are not as easy as they used to be. Who am I kidding... they now require a ‘brace yourself’ moment in order to psych myself up for the battle.
Gone are the days where I ‘coo’ and pretend to nibble toes; now it’s a rush to get it done before she turns every which-way she can. This often results in me having to perform a straddle without warning and therefore prior warm-up (ouch), in a bid to pin her arms down with my legs so a) I can get the job done and b) to avoid her rolling shit all over the sofa!
Then there is the joy of trying to dress her again. “Bend the knee” a standard sentence in my vocabulary. She is also able to perform an impressive and very ridged back arch, when deciding she just does not want to sit in a car seat. With her flips and turns she can sometimes put my gymnast daughter to shame! Err.... when do babies grow opinions? The struggle is real.
These days I cannot even rely on a breastfeeding break to check Facebook or text a friend. You see with these arms and legs waving around everywhere; you wouldn’t think that actually, she has precision power. I mean, this kid can hit the phone screen in exactly the correct spot to ‘like’ random posts (usually ones I do not like), swipe away my story, call a random one I haven’t spoken to in years - (awkward), or worse still, manage to delete an entire app with one swift and precise hand jab...Ninja style!
You cannot just sit and have a cuddle. I find at around two years old, you can sit and enjoy a loving hug with your little one, where they sit under your arm and watch a bit of telly with you. Where they throw their arms around you and nuzzle their heads into your neck. At this age. It’s a very different story. You might get thirty seconds or so, but the rest of the attempted exchange of love turns into you continuously prising open that little fist clasped around your hair, or stretching out your bottom lip, ‘til it’s about to be ripped from your face; desperately avoiding baby versions of kisses which means open-mouthed-dribbly-slobber on your cheeks or your whole nose in their gobs! - beautiful!
Now don’t get me wrong, I admire the intuitive stage, where babies start to explore their surroundings with wonder and intrigue. But someone please tell me... What is the obsession with a packet of baby wipes? I know these have been a staple in any babies journey from birth; but how is it that almost everyday I find a pile of freshly picked wipes. A neat hill of wet (not to mention cold) little white squares that just WONT go back into the packet, no matter how patient you are or how hard you try. You don’t actually notice this little act of rebellion until you go to grab a pack and find just the soaking wet ones in the bottom, you know, the ones that just won’t come out or decide to come out all at the same time - most helpful! Mostly, I’ve sat on them for a good ten minutes before I have even noticed. How did it take that long to realise I have a wet arse? -sigh again! On the plus side, these do come in handy and I suppose it is a good excuse to wipe over the wood floor...for the millionth time - another long sigh!
I do love it when they get to an age where they like to assist you with household chores. After all - every little helps! Emptying the tumble dryer of fresh warm clothing is something number 4 enjoys the most. She likes to help me ‘fold’ garments by chucking-the-fucking lot all over the place and that includes the bits I’ve already neatly arranged. What I don’t enjoy the most, is the race to get the dustpan and brush whist she is racing and chasing the piles of dusty crap you sweep into a neat little pile on the floor. This is not my favourite game. It has become apparent that it is indeed hers, and usually, she wins....(and then I sweep again).
Seriously though, besides all this... I’ve gone on to have three more after my first experience of #toddlergate. You’d think I’d be used to it by now! I do LOVE the little things they can now do spontaneously. Really I do. The little acts of independence. The giggles, the smiles, the dancing to Peppa Pig. The faces they pull. The squeals they make. The joy they bring when they look at you. Just you. The most important person in their lives. The one person they rely on and depend upon for everything. Everything. Their everything. Their Mum ♥️
It’s all worth it... Every. Single. Second.