Ch 44: Don’t mention the C word

As we find ourselves thrown amongst the trials and tribulations of toddlerdom, dear husband and I have recently found ourselves dealing with the most random and unexplained challenges neither of us could have ever predicted nor possibly avoided.

At any hour of the day or night we find ourselves scratching our heads with unexplained and perplexed looks on our fatigued faces muttering nothing more than...

Wha? Hang on, say what? Did he just..?
No, he didn’t. Yes he did.
Ohh, what now. Not again. Really?
Bahhh!

Let me fill you in.

Firstly, picking dry snot from your nose and subtly wiping it on your mother’s neck is not cool Toddler B. Not cool at all. You could at least eat it like most other two year old boys. Or like your father.

Secondly, waking at 3.00am, wailing then heaving uncontrollably whilst running away from comforting cuddles and hiding in various corners of the house does not make for happy parents in the morning. Then acting as if nothing had happened whilst you inhale your vegemite toast a few hours later does not fool us. Neither does your breaming cheesy grin and big wide eyes. Dammit. Yawn.

Thirdly, we are so thrilled you love sharing with your favourite pet in the world, Buddy Dog. But offering him some of your raison toast, dangling the fluffy sugary bread and sultanary goodness over his drooling mouth, letting him lick the baked delight yet then pulling it away and devouring it yourself is also not cool. And very unhygienic and makes for one unhappy and rather peeved off Buddy Dog.

That aside there are also lots of fun moments. I’m sure I will write about them all one day. Really, I will. Once I wipe the snot off from all my clothes.

One slight issue we could never predict and still are yet to accommodate for is an obsession like no other. Sure, there’s been The Wiggles, bottles of milk, sultanas was up there for a while and of course his favourite comforter, Flat Teddy.

Yet this one has hit us for six. In a big, comforting, sugary, yellowish and sometimes banana custardy kind of way.

Yes. I said it. The C word.

Custard.

CUSSSS-TEEERRRD.

Damn you custard!! We used to be friends!Your once off treat for ‘something different’ and ‘fun’ has turned out to be a dairy infused nightmare!

Picture this.

2.00am: heaving child, distressed, upset possibly from a bad dream. Who knows? We sure as hell still don’t have a clue! Cuddles not working, won’t settle down. Wriggles out from cuddle. AP and dear husband exchange glances. Tired, over it kind of glances. Our eyes follow Toddler B.

Toddler wraps himself around the fridge door. Heaving. Still. Wipes tears from face. Wails ‘Ca ca’. No. Gawd No. No Custard. No more. Toddler B Screams as if world has suddenly fallen apart. ‘CAAA CAAA’. Noooo. I said No. It’s all gone, remember that litre of the stuff you inhaled this afternoon? It’s all gone!

Ok, a litre might be a slight exaggeration…but you know. I’ve got a tale to write here ok?

Toddler B throws himself on floor. Continues world ending behaviour, desperate for the yellow stuff.

2.53am: AP: ‘just give him the fricken custard!! I don’t care anymore, I need to sleeeep! Dear husband succumbs, settles Toddler B with a satchel of Heinz Baby Yellow Sugar Stuff with Banana. Child sucks on packet happy as a pig in…umm custard? Finishes and falls asleep within minutes.

Dear husband collapsed on couch, Buddy Dog relishing in having the bed all to himself, AP slumped in kitchen cursing the day she decided to bring a bit a variety, a bit of something different, a bit of custard home for the little angel which inevitably turned him into a monster. A monster with a super cute green dressing gown! Nawwww. And his pyjama pants are too big for him. Nawwww again!

 

 

Right, snap out of it. Where were we.

Ah yes. In terms of our custard dependency recovery process, we are still in the early stages of weaning him off the hard stuff.

We are not allowed to even say the C word in our house.

We use cryptic language and even spelling it out has its risks.

If Toddler B is rewarded with such a very special treat on a weekend, a small packet of C-U-S-T-A-R-D may be unexpectantly found by some sort of custard fairy, Humphrey B Bear fairy or the Easter Bunny..Fairy..? Regardless, it is very very special.

When doing the weekly grocery shop, as we make our way through the diary section I deliberately distract my junior addict by waving cartons of milk, packets of cheese and start doing a wiggles inspired trolley dance and sing-along down aisle eight. Much to the delight of my fellow customers.

What is she on?! They must be thinking.

I tell them - custard. It’s custard I tells ya.

Don’t go near the stuff, it only ends in tears..yet great for strong bones and teeth.

Enjoy. In moderation.

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Ch 43: You like apples?

I have a confession to make.

Our State is in the midst of our third heat wave in as many weeks. 35 -40 degree Celsius temperatures (102 degrees Fahrenheit ) are slowly frying our thoughts and have made the simplest of tasks almost impossible. For instance, try ummm, errrrr hang on, what was I talking about again? Hur? Who are you and what are you doing here?!

 

You see now?

With today being a Friday, my day at home with Toddler B, and 36 degrees forecast, we raced off bright and early to get the weekly stupidmarket run out of our hair.

With the kidlet in the car ready to go, I decided to turn on the water sprinkler in the front but terribly parched garden (or what used to be a garden) for a quick drink whilst we were at the shops.

Easy. We will have that lawn looking like the MCG turf in no time.

Whilst at the stupidmarket, the following occurred:

Copious amounts of pink lady apples were selected then coughed on, snotted on, dropped, licked, pinched, dropped again (this time on my toes), and generally flung around the trolley as if they were miniature basketballs. Feeling too guilty to put any of them back, tainted with Toddler B’s childcare germs, they all came home with us.

A Thomas the Tank Engine birthday card was selected for Toddler B’s cousin. Apparently the paper version of Thomas fly's. Everywhere. Then drops suddenly onto the ground. Again. And again. And some more. What an annoying sh*t of a game. Pity such exertion made Thomas famished very quickly and he then found himself immersed amongst the pink ladies.

Then came tears. Tears soon dissolved once the current flavour of the month, SPC Fruit Crush-Ups, danced before his eyes. Shrieks of delight echoed from aisle eight. Proudly holding his very grown up non-baby branded package of fruity delight, the toddler tears soon emerged once the realisation that the mango goodness was staying put until we got home. Or in the car at least.

Tears were followed by wails which were followed by squeals which were followed by snot bubbles.

A random customer, walked by and endearingly called out to Toddler B ‘hello grumpy!’.

I’ll give you grumpy.

The pet food was missed (sorry Buddy Dog..you like apples don’t you?).

The checkout was near.

We arrived and I started to frantically unload the trolley, Supermarket Sweep style. As soon as the SPC package beeps through the scanner we could all be relieved of this toddler madness.

Then it dawned on us. We had just introduced ourselves to the world’s slowest checkout chick.

She was delightful. I think her name was Kerry. Chatty. A bit too chatty. Hurry the ef up!

Luckily, a customer distracted Toddler B, tickling his toes, playing hide and seek with the apples (I know, they just keep coming baaack!) and commenting on how big and beautiful his eyes were and how well behaved he was.

After cleaning up my own vomit we progressed to payment with the little screamer beaming with delight, sucking down the mango flavoured water sugar thingy, kicking his heels and now cuddling up to an elderly nanna. Oh he’s gooorgeous.

I’ll give you gorgeous.

Trolley unloaded, Toddler B was still in the child seat refusing to place in the bin his empty plastic pouch which once contacted some sort of fruit like puree material.

With the basement carpark starting to heat, I quickly distracted him, threw the pouch in the bin and hopped across the carpark pretending to be a horse and jockey only to be sprung by a bunch of teenagers, sharing a smoke and clearly wagging school. Excellent.

We left home at 9am. Got home at 10am albeit a little frazzled. The heat had really started to kick in.

Let’s move forward to 1.10pm.

Oh my apple I’ve left the sprinkler on. It’s been over four hours and I am the worst over user of water in this dry, barren State. I am hideous. We have just moved into the street, what will the neighbours think?!

 

With barely a moment to think, I threw Toddler B into his bathing togs, hat, thongs, zinc cream on nose, hat and floaties on the dog (yes the dog, I panicked ok?). With beach ball blown up in record time, despite almost passing out due to lack of oxygen, we were ready to hit the beach, oops I mean the front yard with a crappy little sprinkler.

What a performance. All in aid of keeping the little mite and his furry mate cool on this hot day.

Of course. *gulp*.

We scurried off inside with the hose now turned off. Toddler B looked confused and tired so it was off to bed.

As for me, I spent the afternoon baking apple pie for all of my new neighbours.

 

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Ch 42: Sorry seems to be the hardest word..

4 January 2014.

AP: Knock knock (Wipes sweat from forehead).

My once devoted readers: Opens door, rolls eyes.

AP:  Wait! Hi. How are you?

Readers: Why hello there, it’s been a while. (Looks AP up and down).

AP: Blushes. You look good.

Readers: Thanks. So do you. (Turns nose up in the air, pretends not to be interested).

AP: Starts to quietly sob. Ummm, I just, ummm…

Readers: UMM WHAT? WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN THE LAST YEAR!

AP: Drops to knees, tears streaming down face. I’m SORRY, I’m SO SORRY!

Readers: I thought we had something?!

AP: We do, we do! It just happened..

Readers: What?? What could have possibly 'just happened' in 2013?!

AP: Life. Life kind of got in the way. Work, kidlet, house stuff. I know it’s not an excuse. I thought about you every day, I promise. Then it just got too hard. And I didn’t know where to begin again. Have I lost everything?

Readers: Is there someone else? Third party perhaps?

AP: No! My gawd. 

Readers: DON'T LIE TO MEEEEE!

AP: Well no not really. I mean Instagram and I kind of have a thing going, it’s really fun and you can join too, if that’s not too weird? But I miss you.

Readers: Instagram? Right. Pictures, with little words. Hashtags. Doesn't really replace your Confessions of a Tired Mother words does it?

AP: I’m going to keep writing too, I promise. And I want you with me? Will you come back? Please? (miss youuuuu….).

Readers: Scratches forehead. Taps foot. Sighs. Oh alright then. Come on in, I’ll pop the kettle on while you get started.

AP: Squeals. Goober cheesey grin on face. Skips into Microsoft Word and starts typing away.

Well there it is folks. My attempt at an apology for being so absent last year.

As you can see, 2013 sort of disappeared before my eyes and my writing went with it.

Yet I’m back and so excited as I missed writing terribly.

To give you a quick run down, in January 2013 I went back to work (paid work that is) four days per week, we sold our house (that took five long long months), moved closer to the city, husband started a new job, we took copious amounts of sick and carers leave, the little master has embraced school (childcare but we call it school) wholeheartedly and has grown out of his baby fat rolls (awwww). 

The dog is still furry, we have just bought a new house and are due to move (again!) in mid January. We’ve had lots of wonderful times but plenty of not as wonderful moments. I lost myself every now and then but would soon find the rainbow again.

So the last time we met, the little master was nearing one and looked like this:

Now, almost two, he looks a little somethin’ like this:

Master B is a handsome little man, full of energy and personality.

You can view our journey, here on Instagram!

So please join me in 2014, here on our COATM blog, on twitter and insta.

Oh and one more thing….I’m still fricken tired! But more on that later.

Till next time..soon though. Not in 2015, I promise.

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Ch 39: Dischevelment – it's the new black

Today in Melbourne is Oaks Day. Or rather more commonly known as Ladies Day at Flemington Racecourse.

Glitz, glamour, heels, colour. 90,000 plus race goers admiring the finest fillies, on and off the course, under Melbourne's glorious spring sunshine.

From picnic rugs on the lawn to the ritzy marquees in the Birdcage, Melbourne women know how to turn heads with style, elegance and every so often a drunken stumble. Not that I've ever done that at the races, I swear...*cough*.

Yet over here, only a mere 15kms from Flemington, in the land of nine month old child and seven year old dog, tales of elegance and beauty are currently few and far between.

Especially today. Ladies Day.

Without providing a minute by minute account of what went down here today (dear husband has already copped that as soon as he arrived home), here are a few words to describe my equivalent of Ladies Day.

• Morning sleep in the pram out the window, woken by screaming toddler at stupidmarket checkout.
• Gives smile to mother. Met with a filthy look. Thanks, I was trying to be nice.
• Home. Little master decides to give favourite plastic toy turtle a kiss hello.
• End result – a bruised gash under right eye. His first tumble.
• AP attempts to distract inconsolable little master with an early session of The Wiggles. Wins.
• Lunchtime sleep brought forward by one and a half hours thanks to screaming toddler in stupidmarket.
• Lunch meal missed.
• AP bakes cake for dear husband's work colleagues. I know..I know, I've turned into one of those wives. Shame on me.
• Lunch meal eventually taken at 1pm after short nap.
• Little master attempts to eat table on high chair.
• Little master's nose comes off second best.
• Tears.
• AP rubs face, eye starts to twitch.
• Red nose to accompany black eye.
• Avocado and cream cheese in AP's hair.
• Buddy dog munching on left over sandwich fallen on his head.
• Grizzles continue into mid afternoon.
• Eye continues to twitch.
• Hair not looking any better.
• Walk in pram to settle little master down with the aim of sleep.
• Little master grizzles entire hour. Does not sleep.
• AP turns earphones up and up..thongs cutting into feet. Sweat running down chest.
• Home. Stinky. Discheveled. Both of us.
• Wiggles on. Who cares. Milk feed. Ugg boots on, comforting sore feet.
• Covers cake with chocolate frosting. Looks great. Hazzah. Slaps self on back.
• Starts to get little master's dinner ready. Grizzles and rubbing of eyes coming from lounge room.
• AP rubs face. Again.
• Dinner almost finished.
• Buddy dog walks slowly into kitchen.
• AP looks. Holds breath. Says out loud 'just let it happen, it's ok'.
• Buddy dog vomits substantially. It's green. It's lumpy. It's going to be ok. Cake unharmed.
• Carries Buddy dog outside. He looks sad.

 

• Hands and knees, cleans green vomit from tiles.
• Washes hands for several minutes. Washes hands again. Finishes dinner.
• Plonks grisly child into high chair. Feeds dinner.
• Little master attempts to eat table again.
• AP diverts attention away by playing aeroplane with spoonful of food.
• Aeroplane crash lands into eyeball.
• Fail. Tears.
• Rubs face again.
• Buddy peering through window.
• Bath time.
• Runs bath. Unwraps nappy from nudie rudie little master.
• Greeted by the biggest, ugliest, meanest poo received in nine months. Introduction of cauliflower blamed and cursed.
• Bath over. Dressed. Milk feed. Cuddle with Dad, goodnight to Buddy dog, goodnight to turtle, goodnight to the Hawks, bed. Sucking thumb.
• Out like a light within four minutes.
• AP notices poo on her forearm. Brilliant.

So there you have it folks. Hello Ladies Day!

Although I finished the day with bad hair, sore feet, tired eyes and a glass of wine in my hand I have a feeling there were plenty more Melbourne lasses doing the exact same thing.

The main difference though (aside from the poo on the arm..I hope) I get to do it all again tomorrow! And quite possibly with some leftover chocolate cake nearby.

 

 

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Ch 32: We have a biter and it's not good.

Asleep. It's night time, another day over. Joy.

Well folks, it's official. We have a biter.

I previously wrote about my failure to recognise the little master's first round of teething and as such received a welcome gift from his new white sparkly mates upon arrival. A bite whilst feeding.

It happened once. I went cross at him. He smiled. Thought it was hilarious. I frowned. Life went on.

One week passed and it happened again. In the parents room of a major shopping centre of all places. Lucky me. I went cross again and ended the feed.

Third time round at home, he ended up on the floor with a cross Mum and scared Buddy dog hovering nearby. He then rolled onto his tummy for a play and barfed up his feed. Great! What a waste and more washing for me. Ahh laundry, something different to occupy my day. (insert roll of the eye balls here).

Fourth time round, he got a slight pinch on the arm, a cross Mum, an early end to the feed and straight onto the floor, again with a frightened Buddy dog hiding under his day bed. Yet, the little master gazed into my eyes with a half smile, half not quite ready to get upset, not really sure what is going on kind of look. Got it? Good.

Each feed is now met with sweaty palms, an increased heart rate and not to mention deprivation of oxygen to the brain, as the only method of bracing myself for the imminent pain is to hold my breath. Sounds fun, doesn't it?

I am 7.5 months into feeding the little master and have every intention of continuing until 12 months. I have busted my chops to feed and to feed well over this time. I'm not willing to let this beat me. I can't. I won't.

In fact, over recent weeks I had thought I would continue for a few months beyond one year. Believe it or not, I actually enjoy it..gasp! If you had of told me that during his two, four and six week growth spurts I would have thrown my nipple shield at you. Wha? Too much again? Sorry.

Ok fine, I would have thrown a breast pad at you..bang! Better? Hur? Worse? Oh. My bad.

Anyway nipple shields and breast pads aside, my gut feeling is that I'm in a bit of trouble. I will continue to cut short the feeds, put on my best angry face whilst blubbering a few stern words to the little master, who by now, is sitting on the floor wondering whether or not he should laugh or cry. Or do a bit of both.

Wish me luck.

In the meantime, if you have any suggestions on how to combat this, please drop me a line.

Buddy dog will be forever grateful!

Awake already..resettling on his own. Guess who is teething again? I know, I know..the timing. Hillare. Not.

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Ch 31: Love a duck!

This morning as dear husband was leaving for work, he posed something quite frightening to me.

DH: What are you going to write about today AP?

AP: Ohh I don't know, I got nothing. Bloggers block. Sigh.

DH: Why don't you write about your mother?

AP: Spits coffee all over buddy dog. WHAAAT? WHYYY? My gawd..nooooo.

DH: Why not? Just write about what it's been like raising a baby without your mother?

AP: Toweling down buddy apologising profusely with liver treats in hand, scratching head, rubbing face.

DH: Have a good day AP! Love you. Closes door.

AP: Whatevs. Sighs again.

So he put the idea in my head and now of course I can't get it out. Pondering over it all morning (it is now 11.30am) I have decided to cave. Fine. I'll write about it. Here it is. But it will be brief 'ish'.

I'm the youngest of five and my mother left the family six months after I was 18 and moved away to go to uni. She stayed until the baby had grown up and left the coop.

That was just over 13 years ago. Oh darn it, now you know how old I am. Boo hiss.

The decision to cut ties with us was hers. We will never really understand why. There have been several attempts to make contact by some of us, all met with a closed door.

I won't go into any more details, it is what it is.

Over the last 13 years she has missed three of her daughters weddings plus the arrival of four grandchildren. The latest one being my little master in January 2012.

I don't discuss this situation very much and only those close to me know the details. The reason why I don't openly make it known is that unless people know me really well, I feel as though they just won't understand and as such would judge me in being the worst daughter in the world. Plus unless they have been in my shoes how could they possibly comprehend what this has been like.

So keeping this close to my chest has made for some awkward moments during general conversations over the years, especially when I was pregnant.

Work colleague: Oh your mother must be so excited that her daughter is having a baby!

AP: Yes, actually the whole family is excited, thanks. Oh look, a bird just flew into the window. How 'bout that!

Work colleague: Will your mother come up and stay for a few days once the baby arrives?

AP: Oh err..no..no she won't. Actually she would drive me mad! Laugh laugh, rant rant.

Work colleague: Oh I know, my mother drives me mad too! Haa haa.

AP: Quietly exits the lunch room, does a few commando rolls under the desks to escape.

Friend of friend: I just don't know what I'd do without my mother, we are so so close, you know?

AP: hmm yes, indeed, how lovely. Need a top up? I'm heading to the bar. Bolt.

That's how it is. Not discussing it time and time again relieves me from the painful conversation and possible judgement from others. And besides, it can be too draining especially when I just want to get on with my work day or be out having a good time.

On the upside, I am an expert in changing conversations at the drop of a hat not to mention my commando rolls.

So how have I managed over the last seven months without that one person that many new mothers rely on so much.

You may have noticed the photo of the mother duck with her baby ducklings above. I took this photo this morning whilst walking to the shops. How gorgeous.

One mother duck with her offspring. Watching their every move and gently guiding them along the way.

The next photo below shows the same mother duck with her brood but surrounding her are other ducks. They may be her mate, friends or ducks she has bumped into along the way.

It doesn't matter where they came from. What matters is that she is surrounded by others who too are keeping eye on her and her duckings. They don't need to be related but regardless, they are her family.

Starting to get my drift? Joining those dots are we?

I am so fortunate to be surrounded by my husband, father, siblings, in-laws, friends, other mothers and past work colleagues. Especially my sister, who at times has been my big sister, best friend, pediatric nurse, chief boob squeezer, tear wiper, chef, counselor and mother all in the one day. Actually make that one hour..

I am so lucky. We are so lucky.

Who knows what the future will bring with regards to being in touch with my own mother. I think about it every day. Time will tell.

In the meantime I will carry on with my own brood and happy little master who his adoring fans just love to pieces.

That is all. Rant over, but now suddenly I feel so guilty for devouring that red duck curry on Saturday night...quack.

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Ch 22: Then he bit me

Well we have had milestones galore coming out our nappies over the last three weeks.

Some good, some not so good.

Remember our first cold? That was nasty.

But now we're goober free and sleeping much longer at night – bliss!

Then there were the reflections on the past six months. Not to mention the increasing array of pureed vegetable and fruity goodness now in the little masters diet.

Mr Potato is still prancing around with Miss Pumpkin AND Ms Carrot..(man whore..) and the little master is growing every day.

But behind the scenes something else was going on. Something pretty significant. Something I was secretly dreading.

When we were knocked down by our first cold, we introduced our new friend the Vicks Vaporizer to the household. As pleased as I am with the warm vicks like smells drifting through the house (insert reliving childhood here), I did have a rant (or ten) to my dear husband about how disappointed I was that it didn't seem to be making any difference to his night time wakings.

I was convinced it would cure the stuffy nose and help the little master sleep longer and re-settle easier of a night time, however comfort feed after comfort feed for ten nights, I succumbed to the fact that this winter bug had won hands down.

But I was wrong. Silly Mum. Here we go again..

It wasn't just the cold causing the pain.

A few days ago I caught glimpse of the little masters new mates. Two white sparkly teeth.

Yes, not one but two of the little fellas pushing through his bottom gums.

Well hi there! Welcome!

Finally, it all made sense. The grizzles, the crankiness, the night time wakings. The poor little thing had tooth pain.

With my proud and excited Mum hat on, I sat the little master up in his bouncer and like a zoo keeper prying open the jaws of a crocodile, I had to have a feel of the teeth just to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

Oh yes, there they are! Picture this - squealing AP dancing around the pissed off little master who was wondering what the heck is wrong with his mother and why did she have her hands down his gob?!

To repay me for the unwelcome dental inspection, the little master decided to give me a small gift the following day.

My first bite.

No, don't goo and gahh. He didn't bite me on the hand ok.. Ever heard of the term nipple cripple? Well times that pain by ten. Actually no, make that 20. Oh and perform the cripple with a set of sharp pliers. Get my drift? Oh yeah..I can hear you cringe from here.

Ouch!

Awake and ready for a feed...eeek!

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Seventeen

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.

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Sixteen

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?

*cough!*

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.

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Fourteen

Asleep.

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.

Awake.

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.

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Thirteen

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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Four

Awake but dropping off

We have just come home from my niece's fourth birthday at...

wait for it..

wait..

you guessed it – a play centre.

Or in the words of the birthday girl's mother: 'a germ infested hell hole'.

(insert shiver down spine here)

That it is my dear. Even more evident when a four year old young lady warned me not to go on the jumping castle because 'there was wee on it'.

'Oh darn it' I groaned as I put my shoes back on. I only came for cake and the jumping castle.

I have always likened play centres as the adult equivalent of a drunken pub crawl – lots of unruly behaviour, too much alcohol..oops I meant sugar, fried food, lots of bumps and bruises, fighting then cuddling because you can't remember what you were fighting about in the first place, then concluding with an array of tears and a long long nap.

Asleep.

Whilst he is out for the count I'm off to disinfect my clothes, my hair, the pram, nappy bag, my clothes again..and so on and so forth.

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One

So I started to write. I had to, my mind was slowly turning into a vegetable mush, much like what I will be soon feeding to my four and half month old bundle of testosterone joy.


Asleep.


Finally, he has dropped off. Overtired. My fault. Put him down ten minutes too late. I've had to let him cry it out and my heart hurts for doing so.

This is what my life is like now – timing my whole existence around sleep cycles and feeding, debating whether the crying pain is wind, crankiness, hunger or boredom. Constantly battling with various emotions and second guessing whether I'm doing the 'right' thing.

Why does it feel like I am the only one with a baby who cries when tired? Sounds silly doesn't it? Yet I am amazed as to how many other babies I have met who just drop off without a murmur. I wouldn't change him. He has character. He is active. A challenge but blessed with an intoxicating personality, regularly showcasing an array of smiles. He is beautiful.

Me, well I'm tired, still. It's been 18 weeks. We have a good night and I'm still tired. I think I'll be tired forever. I worry I've lost the ability to write well and wonder how I will cope back in the workplace. I still have time up my sleeve so I need to write, to vent, to share and to laugh upon reflection.

So here I am, writing during his sleeping times. The sound of the keyboard, the backspace the double space. I'm back. But where to start? What would be interesting? What would be worthwhile?

Please please not another blog or piece about the joys of parenting (insert ray of sunshine here). Not that there's anything wrong with that...it can just give the wrong impression.

New parents gloat about how much of a good time they are having. How their angel doesn't cry when she got her needles (bulldust..really how many eight week old babies don't cry when they have two big needles shoved into their miniature legs?). How they are sleeping for hours and hours of a night time, how feeding is blissful and it came with such ease and how they would do it all again tomorrow. Never any problems. Never.

They haven't cried more tears in four months than in the past 30 years.

Or have they?

Do they actually go home, undress out of their 'good' clothes depicting an image of happiness and confidence?

Do they throw on their sloppy joes and slippers, wipe their makeup off and collapse on the couch for another session of feeding, screaming, settling, playing and supervising?


Do they?

If they're lucky, they might catch a beautiful smile that in a split second can relay enough positive energy to help you forget any negative connotation that comes with being a sleep deprived new parent.

Awake.

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