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Asleep. It's lunchtime.

I'm baaack. What a week, one I'd rather forget.

Think – sore head, snotty nose, chesty cough, cloudy head, itchy eyes.

The dreaded winter cold hit our household and it hit in a big way.

First it was dear husband then one week later myself and the little master out for the count.

Buddy dog managed to escape it, lucky him. Speaking of such, we finally got around to dragging his little paws off to the vet for his annual health check up and vaccinations. The end result – a picture of canine health! Yay for us, we're not bad parents after all! Even though he was shaking on the vet's table, fearing a bad report card.

Anyway, back to our winter bug. It left us tired and drained. But one week on we finally had a decent nights sleep. No more comfort feeding at 10pm, 12am and 3am. Not to mention all day grizzles, saline nose drops, an endless array of tissues and a little bit of children's panadol.

Although there are still remnants of the bug hanging around, the coast is relatively clear. Even more exciting is no more cabin fever. We left the house today and I'm off to play netball tonight. Joy. Bliss.

Plus, we made a new friend. Welcome to the household Mr Vicks Vaporizer.

You smell sooo good.

On other news, the little master has officially passed the six month mark and we are celebrating with daily serves of rice cereal.

Now don't you taste sooo good. Sure...

However one such rather nasty consequence of the introduction of solids...Mr P is now not only an even more regular annoying little ferret but one rank smelling 'friend'.

Yes, I used the word rank. Don't judge me. I think it should be used more often.

'That poo smelt rank'.

'The harsh comments being made about Olympic swimmer Leisel Jones is just rank'.

'The attitude of the salesperson who knocked on my door trying to get me to change energy providers, again, was really rank.'

You see?

Or maybe the result of long term sleep deprivation is starting to rear its rank little head...

Asleep. Still. Second cycle. Joy.



Awake – rubbing his eyes...getting there.

I can see him now thanks to my $80 video 'Considerate Baby Monitor'. Yep, I lashed out on an overseas purchase to avoid going in and checking on whether the little master is out or not.

The days of peering through the door at the risk of revving up the little screamer even more, are now over.  

It is a pretty crappy black and white screen, in the shape of a green apple (an apple?? why an apple?! I know..I know), but alas it has changed my world for the good, even if I do feel like a spy.

Anyway, oh look, he's asleep! In record time.

Asleep at 3.32pm and it is a lovely 22 degrees Celsius in his room, just in case you were interested. Thank you green apple.

Whilst munching on a pink lady apple earlier today I was reflecting on the last few, actually no, six (yes I said six!) months of our lives, since the little master arrived.

The first month to six weeks..one word – horrendous. Growth spurts, unhappy Buddy dog.

Month two – a bit better, started to turn a few corners, still very sleep deprived but managing.

Month three and four – better again, lots of smiles but then sleep goes out the window at four months. Tough but good.

Month five – lots of daily joys, sleeping well, smiles, laughs, play time, books, bright sparkly eyes. Happy Buddy dog.

As we near the milestone six month mark, I recall in those tough early days, through salty tears streaming down my cheeks, wishing he was six months old so I could get through all this crap.

Because by six months we've all got our act together, right?


Excuse me.

Sort of..well not really. We're just sleeping much more and sobbing much less. But we have travelled to the moon and back in terms of milestones. Especially this week.

The last few days have been occupied by grown up baby milestones such as – childcare centre tours, preparation of solid food which he is about to start munching on, full transition out of his swaddle and into his sleeping bag and just today we removed the capsule from the car and installed a big boy car seat – forward facing. Gasp!

Before you know it he will be walking five or six steps ahead of me down the street as he will be too embarrassed to be seen with his mother (*tear*).

Sorry, enough of that.

For those who have previously read about the transition from his swaddle to a sleeping bag, I'm very proud to announce great success during his day time sleeps. From tomorrow night the little master will be in his beautiful sleeping bag for all night sleeps too. Mission complete!

It's taken three and a half weeks of persistence and patience, tears and tantrums. And that's just from me.

Thank you to our model, 'Bear' (original name I know, took me ages to come up with it..) for showcasing our transition plan. Aren't you cute.

Now to those salty tears streaming down my face, wishing, begging for the six month mark to roll on by – we made it.

And I think we've done pretty well.

Asleep. Still.



Awake. Muttering to himself, looking at his hands.

So earlier this week I may have offended someone.

It looks at though our favourite friend, the poo, who we shall now refer to as Mr P, caught wind (pun absolutely intended) of my harsh review of his antics.

Clearly upset with his tainted reputation, today it was game on.

It started fairly. He made an appearance at the little masters aunt's house during a morning play session with his cousin. It was a little unwelcome, especially up the back and onto the singlet. That's kind of annoying, even more so when the spare singlet in the nappy bag was used the day prior. With little time up my sleeve this morning, I didn't replace it.

AP:0, Mr P: 1

Oops, oh well, it's no big deal. All changed and clean, we carried on just without a singlet under his top. Completely under control.

Until that is, once we were at home and with the little master sitting on my lap, I thought 'I should really get a singlet on him'.

Literally 10 seconds later, I felt the warm patch appear on my lap.

Ohh he's done a wee. Sigh, rolls the eyes, that's ok little master.

Until I realised I was wrong. Very wrong.

Mr P had reared his ugly head again, up the back for round two and all over my favourite blue jeans. Then just to make his point, a couple of blobs on the carpet.

AP:0, Mr P: 2

In all honesty (and I may regret being too honest here) my main concern wasn't necessarily with the little master – he was fine, much lighter and happier. But me – my jeans! Not my jeans, I love these jeans, please don't bring them into it. It's not fair. This is not fair game!


Within moments the little master was lying safely on the floor, bare bottom wrapped in a sheet, kicking happily.

Thank goodness he was blissfully unaware of his mother running around the house with no pants on, frantically emptying the pockets, throwing them in the machine, then like a germ obsessed mad woman, on her hands and knees (still pantless) scrubbing the floor with baby wipes.

Baby wipes? Yes, I know. Apparently pressure produces diamonds. Well not in this case, it was my only option at the time ok!

Once the little master was changed (again), resettled by his still pantless mother, I gathered my thoughts, slipped my trakkie dacks on (about time) and remembered the carpet spot cleaner in the laundry.

Gold! Actually no, it's orange. The magnificent Orange Power.

Back on my hands and knees scrubbing frantically, I then managed to pin point other stains I just couldn't leave behind. Buddy dog stains, shoe stains, baby vomit stains. Then my obsessive side really kicked in and in no time it was as if we had brand new carpet. Thanks Orange Power, you're the best!

But I wasn't satisfied. Mr P's presence remained; I could still smell him when I re-entered the room. I'll give it another charge of this stuff, it's worked a treat everywhere else.

By this stage the windows were open, Buddy had retreated to another room in disgust and I was left scratching my head wondering why I could still smell it.

Then I glanced at him.

Kicking away in his bouncer, chomping on his Sophie le Giraffe, happy as.

Surely not. Couldn't be. Really?

I was two sets down and really thought it was the best of three. Mr P had won, it was game over. I didn't want to play anymore.

Looks like it was the best of five sets.

He had arrived again but in a much more civilised manner. He knew I was tired, had had enough. But needed to win one last point.

AP: 0, Mr P: 3

Game, set, match, championship. Whatever.

It was my turn to pick up my bat and ball and go home.

At least this time I had my pants on.





I have mentioned at various times throughout this blog that sleep cycles rule my world. Although this is still very true, there is one other influential culprit that can cause some havoc in our lives.

This culprit is cunning.

It sneaks up on you when you least expect it and has little regard for timing.

It makes their presence felt through an array of squeals and cries plus an unmistakable stench.

Yet we can't live comfortably without it regularly making an appearance.

You know what I'm talking about right?

(insert nodding of head here).

I'm referring to the poo.

What? Too much? I'm sorry if you were eating your lunch but I can't tip toe around this one.


We have entered our second week of transitioning the little master out of his woombie swaddle. We are up to both arms being out during his day time sleeps. We got off to a rough start at week two but have since been pleased with our progress. Very proud of the little master.

Until we reached 12.40pm today.

Usually at lunch he will wake after one cycle and with some whinging he will drop back off for another well needed 45 minutes. This second cycle at lunch time is absolutely crucial to our day. Remember this?

Today, when he woke after 40 minutes, I did the usual. Stuck my head in, told him to 'go back to sleep' (he really does know what it means!) and let him re-settle.

At the risk of being awarded the July 2012 'Awful Mother of the Month' Award, I will refrain from mentioning how long I let him have a 'bit of a whinge' for. Don't stress, it wasn't obscene..no need to call the authorities on me now ok? Let's just say I have been determined to make this swaddle transition work.

So more clumps of hair began leaping from my already balding head and our carpet now has permanent pacing marks from my winter ugg boots.

Enough was enough. I gave in and raced in to give the little master a cuddle.

And there it was.

The poo.

The awful stench of you know what, hit me in the face like a gold plated 'Awful Mother of the Month Award'.

I cried with guilt and the little master smiled.

He then looked at me as if to say 'how was I meant to re-settle with that in my dacks Mum?!'

Stupid Mum. Forgiving baby. Scared dog hiding under the bed. Smelly nursery.

I wiped our tears away and carried on. Another day, another lesson learned – don't mess with the poo.

While he re-settles for another cycle, I'm going to dig out my trophy engraver. I think I have July 2012 in the bag.

Asleep. Just.



Awake. Both arms out of the swaddle. Muttering to himself.

Bloggers block. What to write about..

It's been a quiet week resulting in a quiet brain. Focusing on day sleeps transitioning the little master out of his swaddle. Fun times. Not.

Last week it was his right arm out. Regular sleep and resettling on his own achieved with great success.

Yesterday, full of confidence, both arms came out. 'He'll be in his sleeping bag in no time,' I ranted to my dear husband.

Morning sleep was perfect. Happy as, barely a whimper, asleep within ten minutes.

Lunchtime sleep. Bloody nightmare.

I won't mention how long he whinged for. Let's just say for the first time in weeks and weeks I found myself pacing up and down the hallway pulling hair out by the fist full wondering if it was too early for a drink, chanting 'short term pain, long term gain!'

After err.. 'some time', we waved the white flag and abandoned ship. Put the little master back with the one arm out for some well needed rest - for both of us.

He woke after one sleep cycle, happy as Larry (who the heck is Larry by the way?!), fed, changed then off for a late..quite late lunch down by the water.

Some much needed fresh air, laughs and giggles at the duckies plus a hearty chicken burger with greasy fries did the trick.

It was, of course, a decoy to avoid another sleep at home. So the afternoon nap was had in the pram whilst I contemplated how cold the ocean was that day.

Kidding...as I said it was all magically fixed with a chicken burger. Burpety burp.

On the upside, it is day two with both arms out and the little master is asleep. Morning was perfect and lunchtime (current) not far behind.

Better well stay that way because not only do I have bald patches on my head, there's not a chicken burger in sight!

Asleep. With both arms out. Joy.


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