Today’s post is brought to you by Frog. I don’t want to muddy her creative waters so without further ado, please welcome my 16 month old daughter to the stage…
I went to the shops today. Mum was muttering under her breath that it would be a quick trip, because the shop’s only over the road. We needed some of that delicious white stuff she likes to give me before my nap, so I was well up for going. Continue reading
It’s fair to say I’m not a particularly patient person. In fact, my first real knowledge of the word came with Take That’s comeback single, when I crooned along with Gary Barlow, still not really sure what this “Patience” word actually meant.
But in the last couple of weeks I have come to know the term rather well.
Being a mother requires a huge amount of patience. Which I now know to mean a huge amount of biting one’s tongue and deep breathing. This doesn’t come easily to someone who was used to chasing down stories and meeting hourly deadlines pre-baby (I have yet to meet a truly patient journalist). Continue reading
I’ve come to the conclusion that I have an abnormally bright child.
Hear me out on this one…
It’s all to do with the walking.
I have never been one of those parents to brag about their child’s advanced developmental milestones. Mainly because my child hasn’t reached these supposed milestones before any of her peers. In fact, she’s always been last. Continue reading
I’ve been having a bit of an identity crisis recently.
It’s a work thing. I’m a freelance journalist, see. This means that sometimes I am “Working Mum”, putting on my smart clothes and leaving the house to do a day’s work in radio. Other times I am “Work At Home Mum”, writing articles while wearing a dressing gown covered in half-chewed banana and crusty milk. Then, when I don’t have any bookings or commissions to finish, I am “Stay At Home Mum”. On these days, my uniform is a mouldy dressing gown followed by a pair of muddy jeans. And my main activity is playing. Continue reading
I’m going out tonight.
As in, really out. Not just to put the rubbish in the dustbin at the end of the garden. I’ll be in a proper pub with proper adults and proper alcohol and everything. And I can’t wait. Continue reading
My baby’s poorly – and it stinks.
No, really, it stinks.
There’s nothing quite like being woken at 2am to change a nappy that smells like something concocted by a mad scientist with a penchant for experiments created out of dustbins and sick. Yum.
It’s been a week now. At first we thought it was the teeth. “It’s those bloody teeth again,” I told the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine knowingly. Then, when a tooth failed to appear, I blamed the water in Rochdale. “It’s this water, it’s different from the Southern stuff she’s used to,” I pronounced, equally as knowingly. Continue reading
It looks like the love affair is over.
My boob-loving daughter has, after a few false starts, entirely given up the boob. I know, I know. Get a grip and all that.
The thing is, this hasn’t exactly been out of the blue. First of all I whinged on about feeling rejected when she seemed to hate the boobs (it was the teeth – her teeth, I mean, not teeth on my boobs. That would just be weird). Then I moaned when she was all about the breastfeeding again. I wanted to wear pretty dresses and under-wired bras, see. Continue reading
I’d like to dispel a myth: baby brain isn’t a temporary condition.
Well, not for me at any rate.
With a daughter nearing her first birthday, I’m starting to wonder if I will ever fully regain my lost brain. Continue reading
Remember Sitting Envy? Well it’s here again.
Except this time it’s Crawling Envy, or CE as it’s commonly known. The thing is, my now-11-month-old child is not moving. At all.
She sometimes rolls. Occasionally goes onto all fours. But always, and I mean always, ends up on her belly, resembling a beached jellyfish – an angry and frustrated beached jellyfish at that. Continue reading
One month today, I won’t have a baby anymore.
One month today, my baby will be a little girl. A one-year-old. Big. Not a baby.
Every moment I look at her she’s changed – a new laugh, new scream, new babble. Continue reading