Monkey Moo

Over the past twelve months Albert has been given a huge range of nicknames –

• Alby
• Albert the Bear
• Hattie Half Pint
• Trouble Monkey
• Al Bug

And now I find myself calling him Monkey Moo.  No doubt this constant identity change will lead to a confused and troubled future.  But I can’t help myself; he is a Monkey Moo. 

Crossing the line

I love that Alby enjoys books.  I love that he enjoys Asian food (though scoffing 5 prawn crackers in 10 minutes may suggest his love could do with coming down a gear or two). I am unsure about his love of apples.

It was fine when he would suck compulsively on a ring of dried apple.  It was fine when he would gum a carefully cut up piece of apple.  It was even fine when he completely ignored the pieces of carefully chopped up apple (more for me).  But now he has crossed the line.  Stealing an apple out of my hand to crawl away with it and actually eat it is completely unacceptable. 

I will share my Philadelphia, I will share my prawn fried rice, I will even share my strawberries but apples are for mama.

Now can somebody please explain that to Alby?

A letter to my hero

Dear Mr AA Man,

Thank you so much for providing service with a smile at the end of what must have been an exceptionally long and wet day.  I’m sorry to have called you out for something so silly as a knackered battery but I promise I had honestly believed it to be a far more substantial issue involving at the very least a flooded engine.

My one little bit of advice for the future would be to see if you could get there just a little bit quicker.  1hour15 minutes really is quite a long time to wait with a little one.  Yes, we managed to kill time in Tesco and yes, the doctor’s surgery being open until 6:30pm meant we were able to stay warm and dry throughout, but judging from some of the looks we got I think we may have over stayed our welcome.  Whilst the nurses found Alby’s face pressed up against the glass door from waiting room to appointment rooms endearing I doubt the cleaners will feel the same.  The rather posh looking lady reading Horse and Hound magazine would certainly have wished a speedier turn around as such would have prevented Alby from waddling up to her, grabbing the magazine out of her hand and dropping it on the floor. 

That said, award for the most keen to see us leave would have to go to the very sickly looking woman, huddled on the edge of the benches with her head in her hands and her jumper pulled up to her chin, sitting beside her urine sample pot.  Bless her – who knew Alby would get tired of bashing the toys together? Who knew that he would tire of pushing the toy vacuum cleaner around?  Who knew that in his head urine sample container translates to “toy” and he would make a beeline for it, arms in the air and grin across his face? 

But you did arrive and the comedy of watching your 6ft4 frame try to squeeze into the car (which would barely open as a car had decided to park right on the line next to us) and then into the driver’s seat (which I had left in the perfect driving position – well, perfect that is for me and my bolshy 5ft2 frame) more than made up for the delay.

Thirty minutes, £87 and one new battery later and we were on the road back home (albeit a slightly different road to normal as the flooding has sealed off the front gate).

I’m afraid you will have to share your hero status with Sally and the girls who kindly came and saved Percy, but a hero all the same. 

Yours with thanks,

Miranda

Autumnal fungi spotting

Today it rained.  The rain had caused the Officers’ Mess to now boast a full moat.  Driving out of the base brought back a nostalgia for the days of wadi-bashing when I was younger.  Only then I got to play passenger in a comfy 4x4 whereas today I broke into a mild sweat as I slowly creeped through the water to get Percy to dog school. 

With the rain washing away the last traces of autumn, I dedicate this post to some more ‘shroom spotting I did a couple of weeks ago. 

Weekend treats

I don’t allow Alby chocolate, cake, biscuits or crisps.  Yup, I’m a regular old Scrooge.  But this weekend has seen treats and they went down so well I’m going to try and make this a regular Saturday treat:  Yoo Moo for dessert and bubble bath before bed.

Alby loves frozen food – peas, sweetcorn, grapes, banana and so it’s no real surprise that Frozen Yoghurt courtesy of Yoo Moo would be enjoyed.  It was like the first time he ate solids; eyes closed, leaning into the spoon, smacking his lips and searching for more.  Only five spoonfuls given (I need feeding too after all) but a treat all the same.

I’ve always been very careful about what skincare products I use on Alby.  I’m not entirely sure why, I’m fairly relaxed about what Mark and I use, but with him I’ve kept an eye on organic brands and minimal ingredients lists.  Alby is usually washed with Oliva soap (ingredients: olive oil and water) and my posh MOP shampoo, but today we splashed out (literally) with Champneys bath essence.  Trouble Monkey was a little bit hesitant at first but soon got the hang of them quick enough (passing them through the taste and bashing test). 

Alby's attempt at Movember

Toothy bubble fun

Despite the sugar he was asleep within 10 minutes and has been knocked out since.  Making this a treat for me as well as him!

A quest, a shop and a happy mama

There are times when no matter what you do, everything feels like a struggle.  Days which you spend convinced that getting out of bed was a gross mistake and even being friendly feels like hard work.  Yesterday was a struggle day.

And then there are those sunshine days when it seems the whole world is on your side and there is nothing that you cannot do.  Today was a sunshine day.  

That’s not necessarily to say that it has been smooth – I had planned to go to Fountain’s Abbey to walk Percy as pounding the streets of the Barracks can get very old very quickly.  I hadn’t planned on the weather: 1C with a winter weight duvet of fog lying heavily over the whole of Yorkshire.  I also hadn’t counted on the leftovers of yesterday’s struggle day, which it turns out included me leaving Alby’s buggy and snow suit outside and the garage door slightly open – not necessarily a problem but on this occasion it meant buggy, snowsuit and back carrier were all soggy.

Nevermind as this was a sunshine day (despite there being no sun).   So, damp items were strategically arranged around the radiators, front pouch grabbed, reserve snow suit unpacked and we hit the road (albeit cautiously).

Fountains Abbey pulled out all the stops for us – easy parking, a Christmas Market in the foyer and no queues at the entrance.  It seems Yorkshiremen are a hardy bunch judging by the number of people out and about.  They also seemed a friendly and welcoming bunch based on the number of smiles we got – until I caught sight of us in a mirror and I realised they just have a good sense of humour:  Alby in the pouch wearing an oversized snow suit which gathered up around his ears but left his ankles exposed, mismatched snow shoes, stripy gloves stretched over the top of his suit and pulled up to the elbow and a runny nose for good measure.  Me wearing more layers than you could imagine with pockets bulging with keys, drinks and snacks for all.  And Percy trotting along as gormless as ever.

The icing on the cake was walking past a young boy who looked at Percy and then asked “is he a working dog?”  

Percy working the foggy ruins

Trendsetter Alby and his noble steed

 

From Fountains Abbey to Northallerton where we bumped into friends in the book shop.  Alby and Arthur giggled as they pulled books off the shelves together.  Alby kept heading for the exit – pointing up at everyone he passed and squealing each time he tripped over his own two feet.  Once home again Alby’s throwing skills were put into practice again as he threw Percy’s toys around for him.

It’s been a good day.  A productive day.  A busy day.  A happy day.

The apple hasn't fallen too far from the tree...

Albert - 2012

I am constantly told how much Alby looks like Mark.  And it's true.  As a baby Mark was a blond haired, blue eyed, chubby ball of cuteness.  Whilst we are still waiting to see which character building nose Alby will grow into, there's no denying that Alby and Mark share the same mouth, the same mischievous grin, the same chubby cheeks and even the same ears. 

And yet, for all the comments I get regarding father and son, I'd like to make my own claim please...

Me - 1982

I dedicate this post to M'Lark

Laugh and the world laughs with you. Snore and you sleep alone - Anthony Burgess

I'm not the type of person to sign Christmas cards from my dog, and I very deliberately named this blog "Life with Alby" rather than "Life with my Trouble Monkeys" or "Life with Percy and Albs" as I'm not one of "those people". However, try as I might to distance myself from "those people" it is impossible to write regular posts without the occasional nod to the big bundle of passive personality that is Percy.

Having now experienced a number of work day disturbances by Alby, Percy decided to join in the fun and introduce his own little obstacle. I believe this came from a place of love: him trying to teach me how to stay focused.  I failed the test completely and found myself leaving my emails to film this little clip for Mark..

My apologies for the lopsided video - it is saved totally fine on my computer but seems to randomly twist when placed here and I can't do anything about it. 

A bittersweet day

I‘ve finally got my baby back.  For the past two weeks we’ve had illness, passport drama and nursery closures causing the two of us to be thrown off balance.  Alby, bless him, has kept smiling throughout but it has taken effort to get there.  Real effort.  Today however, I was rewarded with laughter, giggles, chatter and cuddles without having to do a thing.  

The saying goes “you don’t know what you have until it’s gone” well for the past two weeks I’d forgotten that my son was a naturally happy boy.  I had forgotten to take the time to step back and look at the big picture having lost myself in hundreds of little bits here, there and everywhere.  Well my house is clean, my baby is smiling and I’ve got a bulldog at my feet.  I know, I’m a show off.

The day hasn’t just been smiles and sunshine.  To accompany the gale force winds and torrential rain we’ve had this evening it appears that I have lost my favourite bit of film footage of Alby as a baby.  The film was taken when Alby was 5 days old, lying on Mark’s legs whilst being subjected to “who’s going to get a kiss?  Alby gets a kiss”.  The footage was taken the day before Mark went to Kenya for a six week training exercise.  It’s not a happy film, in fact I find it very emotional.  But it is intimate and gave a window to those surreal first days with Alby; days as parents. 

I think it was accidentally deleted when I was trying to free some space on the memory stick.  I don’t know. What I do know is that it isn’t on the camera or anywhere on the computer and sadly, unlike computers, camcorders don’t hold a nice little trashcan from which you can rescue your mistakes. 

Can you grieve for a memory?  I don’t know.  I can vividly recollect it, in fact I think it’s imprinted on my brain but I’m still gutted that tonight, as I organise the footage we have so far I’m gutted that it isn’t included in the collection.

Scuppered

Tonight I had intended to load up two little video clips – one of each of my boys.  As it is I don’t know what I’ve done with the cable which connects my phone to Mark’s laptop.  It is probably in the same place as the second car key (I only seem capable of being able to locate one car key at a time), the video camera and that blasted avocado.

Today when I picked Alby up from nursery the feedback from the day was that “he just got everywhere”.  He didn’t stop moving from one thing to the other all day – or so they claim, when I arrived he was half dressed and fast asleep in the rocking chair. 

Shannon was sitting on the sofa with glue in one hand, cups in the other and Alby would pick something up, waddle over to give it to her and before she could respond he’d be onto the next thing.  Or he’d start taking things off her, each time giving a little cheeky grin.  She asked me “how do you get anything done?”  Well there is only one answer to that – I don’t.

It is coming up to 1am.  I’m still finishing off a piece of work I was meant to do two weeks ago.  There is a pile of laundry at the top of the stairs (clean) which has been there for two days as I have yet to sort it.  There is a bag of nappies waiting to be put together.  Where my inbox should sit on my desk are two boxes, both containing odd bits and pieces I have collected from around the house when guests come to stay (not as a gift but rather all the bills, stationary, odd toys, pennies and other bits and pieces which I haven’t had time to put away properly but don’t want people to see scattered about the house).  The bath tub is littered with Alby’s toys and his towels are lying on the floor (I don’t dare do anything upstairs as the creeky floorboards wake him up instantly). 

On the plus side the washing up is done, the kitchen surfaces are clean, the furniture has been beeswaxed and the fridge cleaned out.  The toys have been put away, the kitchen floor moped and the bins emptied.

So I haven’t got the whole work-mother-life balance sorted yet.  I suspect if you show me a lady who has you’ll be showing me a liar.

Stairs are climbed step by step

Trying to film Alby is incredibly tricky as he just grabs for the camera.  Eager to show footage of him making his way up our stairs though we’re going to have to ignore the dodgy camera work, the grabbing mitts and pretend instead that Alby’s progress is nice and smooth.

The smacking of each step isn’t a random thing – well it’s random, but it seems Alby has to check each step before climbing and so each stair climb comes with it’s own dose of banging.

If you wonder about the dark patches on his dungarees he had just turned Percy’s water bowl over himself before the assent. 

Birthday snaps

My parents came up for the weekend.  It was fab having them in the house.  I’m incredibly fortunate in having two great friends in my parents.  And not just that but they cook a mean dinner, tolerate In the Nigh Garden and are pretty good at washing up too! 

The icing on the cake with their trip was that they left behind a memory stick with pictures of Alby’s birthday on them…

 

My mum emailed today to say that Dad had recorded the week’s worth of In The Night Garden to ensure Alby has a Merry Christmas – you don’t get love like that just anywhere.

Alberistics - bookworm

Alby loves books.  At least twice a day he will get out all of his books and spend a good twenty minutes going through each and every one of them.  Every third book or so he will bring one over for you to read.  He will turn the pages (sometimes working front to back but usually back to front). He will use his magic pointy finger to rub over different textures bits or push down on buttons for noises. He will skip over the boring bits. 

Just having a little read before bed

He has his favourites which are currently:

            This little builder…

            The hungry caterpillar (with sound)

            Little Kingdom: I’m an elf

            Farm yard noises (which is freakishly realistic)

Choosing the best buys at Waterstones

In addition to reading his own books, Alby rates himself as a bit of an intellectual and rarely misses the chance to also read the adult books.  He has taken a particular shine to my university books and will routinely pull down all the books on the shelf (I think he is trying to show me up for the pretentious so and so I clearly am). 

Littering Percy's bed with a few scholarly books

Percy has no such interest in books and even when Alby empties the entire shelf onto his bed he refuses to acknowledge any of it.  So stubborn is he that he will even sleep with thick tomes on Chinese history under each leg whilst Alby drops more books on his head.

To Durham and back again

Yesterday proved far more eventful than I would ever have wished with me spending four hours in the car to drive to Durham and back and back again.  Ahhh the joys of passport application forms.

The day started well enough with Alby and me leaving the house in plenty of time to get to the passport office (yup I know, I was as shocked as the rest of you to discover that I’d left on time). The plan was to see the Passport Office and then meet up with my parents for a lovely family afternoon in Durham.  As I’ve said before in this blog, “the best laid plans…”

Our 9:30am appointment involved one security search, plenty of smiling (by me), a bit of blagging around the counter signatory’s address, Alby chasing two girls around the waiting room whilst our counter signatory was subjected to an interrogation over the phone, a bit of extra waiting and then the application being rejected as the photo whilst counter signed didn’t have all the associated waffle accompanying it. 

And so, Alby and I went for a wander around Durham (lovely city, must come again) whilst waiting for my parents to arrive.  I met up with my parents in a dodgy car park, exchanged Alby for some smart and witty comments from my father and then drove back home to re-do the photo. 

(As a little side note, I was feeling terrible when I drove away as Alby was in tears.  At the time I put it down to him being tired but on reflection realise it was far more likely to be because I was flapping, trying to feed him, move the car seat, set up the buggy and change his nappy all at the same time and in the most brusque manner I possible.)

Two and a half hours later I was back at the passport office.  Alby meanwhile had spent a lovely afternoon meeting St Cuthbert, waddling about the cloisters, stomping through the indoor market and tucking into a chicken salad sandwich (sightseeing makes for hungry work). 

Another hour of driving, a raised heart beat, £91 and a dramatic trip (in more ways than one) later and I was back home with the very definite feeling that Durham would no doubt be lovely in the spring and didn’t the cathedral look inviting!  Alby’s passport however is now on its way and Paris here we come so alls well that ends well.

Two months ago and a day like this would have definitely fallen under the “Really Day” category as in:  Really world, as if leaving the house on time wasn’t a big enough challenge for one day you’ve decided to add this to the mix too?  But the Really Days seem to have had their time in the sun and have now been superseded by the “ahhhhhhhh, of course” moments. Other such moments include the time I recently dropped a pint of juice down the stairs (it bounced the whole way down spraying it’s contents the entire way hitting wall, banister, window ledge and flower pot) or when I took Percy for a walk with the RAF jets soaring overhead and spent the full 20 minutes battling a dog who tried to turn home every three paces, or when I cleaned up the living room and walked into the kitchen to find all the Tupperware, chopping boards, trays and grill pan on the floor.

I like to see this as me moving on.  There is something very victim-like about the Really Days.  A sort of me against the world, I’ve drawn the short straw type attitude.  Ahhhhhhhhhh really feels more just accepting – I’ve fallen into the mind set of the passive submissive.  What will be will be, just get on with it and if you can do so with a smile on your face all the better. 

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I’m not going to pretend at all that I spent yesterday with a smile on my face.  I was annoyed, frustrated and exhausted.  But, the overall feel to such days has shifted, I like to think it is a shift in the right direction and I take some strength and learning from that. 

Self soothing

Read any baby guide and it will say that the single most important factor in being a parent is to get your baby to self settle.  Forget whether he or she smiles, eats well or hits his or her developmental milestones in a timely manner.  If your child can’t self settle then you have essentially failed as a parent.

Well, hand’s up I’ve failed on that basis as Alby hasn’t self settled since he was about 3 months old.  Since then our routine has been one of a feed with a story and if that doesn’t knock him out then he has a little play in his cot until he gets grizzly at which point he feeds more.  Once asleep I do my best to gently drop him into his cot without disturbing him too much.  Failure to do so just means a little bit more time feeding. 

I just don’t seem to be able to accomplish the whole “feed them until drowsy but not sleeping” – Alby simply cries if I try to break the latch before he is ready. Or will accept it for ten minutes and then wake up fully and be standing up in his cot by the time I have mustered the energy to go to him.

Alby has never taken to sucking his thumb, has never had a dummy, has never taken to a comforter and has a mother who refuses to go down the “cry it out” route and so, the only way to suck to sleep is either on mama or on his bottle.  As such, I find myself in the school of parenting that supports feeding to sleep.

Now, I have done the research which supports this.  Advocates highlight that it allows babies to slowly learn to self-settle as and when they are ready, removing any stress chemicals and allowing for a more secure and independent night time sleeper, and a healthier child all round.  I’ve read the articles, I agree with the logic and yet I still spend every bedtime concerned that I’ve simply chosen the path of least resistance, that Alby will still need to feed to sleep when he is five years old and that, in a nut shell, I’m dong it all wrong.

Either way, I think we might be turning a very small corner.  Whether it’s because of his recent stomach bug putting him off food or just him getting older a new, very subtle step has been added to the bedtime routine.  After the feed and story I have been placing him in his cot for a play and to wind down.  Rather than getting grizzly though, he’s been trying to fall asleep; lying down, squirming about, rubbing his eyes, drifting off and then waking up.  Once he starts crying out I pick him up and give the final feed which will send him into the land of snoo, but the point is not the final feed but the middle stage.  Maybe I’ll be reporting one day that the middle stage is now the end stage.  And what a clever boy he will be then.

Not only has a stage been added but last night I finally went to bed at a sensible time and so was with it enough to keep track of Alby’s bed time activity.  He went down at 7:30pm, woke with a start at 8:10am – no idea why but very distressed.  He woke again at 9:45 – I think disturbed by me going to bed, and then didn’t wake again until 3:50am and again at 7am.  Clever Monkey was able to sleep the whole night in his cot too.  Bless his sleepy self.

King of Chub

It has been an absolute age since I last had Alby weighed (around six months) and as I keep failing to make it to the Baby Clinic on Tuesday morning I decided to take matters into my own hands.  And so it was that first thing Monday morning a naked Alby was lifted into my arms and we checked the before-Alby and with-Alby readings on the scales.  And Albert the Bear weighs in as at the enormous 10.1kg – true heavyweight of the baby pool.



Well done my Chub Monkey – you’re gorgeous. 



This impressive weight places Alby around the 60^th percentile and as he has been hovering around the 50^th since birth this pretty much correlates with how he has always been. 

Oddly I had a little panic that I was totally over feeding him when this new weight didn’t sit neatly on the 50^th line, thinking I should move him onto semi-skimmed milk and the like.  Thankfully my little ‘in a neurotic bubble’ moment didn’t last long.  Alby may not be sitting pretty on the 50^th exactly, but walking is already causin his body shape to change slightly and I’m far from ready to see his ankle and wrist creases disappear. 



Alberistics – ah ah ah ah

According to the books, around the one year mark your child will start to point and reach out for things that they like.  That sounds about right to me. Alby will lean and reach out with both arms for things that he wants, will raise his arms if he wants lifting and alongside staring has added pointing to his list of social faux pas to excel in.

Recently however, he has upped the ante on reaching out, adding to it a nice little “ah ah ah ah” cry to accompany his reach. 

Don’t go thinking that this is done with any subtlety; it’s not a noise you can ignore. And along with it comes a greater sense of himself and his wants. Before, when he reached out I could give him the item I wanted him to have – his doidi cup, bottle or book. If he then rejected it I would put it back and if he reached out again, I’d offer the same thing again.  I can’t do that with the “ah ah ah ah”.  If I pass the wrong thing it gets dropped on the floor or swiped to the side and the reach and “ah” just continues.  The only way to get around him is by hiding things so he can’t ask for them.  So far today I’ve hidden two bread knives, a can of Diet Coke, a packet of chewing gum, two glasses, a pair of scissors and a plate.  Now to try and find them all…

Open wide

Today marks Alby’s first trip to the dentist!

 

It has taken me a truly embarrassing amount of time to register with a dentist, and an even more embarrassing amount of time since I last went to a dentist so in the drive to get organised after Mark left I got myself registered with a lovely practice in Thirsk. When I booked in for my check up Alby got booked in too. 

He was a little star – sitting happily on my lap for my check up and then chewing on the little tooth mirror like a pro when the dentist checked his teeth.  He is now the proud owner of a dental record (and a sticker!).  We did have a few tears when he was taken out of the room whilst I had my teeth x-rayed (he was fine until the door opened and he could see me but wasn’t allowed to get to me) but the dentist was fast and efficient so no real damage.

I was hoping to be able to get a photo of him sitting in the dentist’s chair but my professionalism got the better of me when I was in the room and I didn’t ask.  He’ll be back in six months so I’ll try again then – or get Daddy to do it.

Sadly, I’ve gone and given myself the need for a filling (I knew living off Diet Coke and apples would catch up on me one day) so will be heading back sooner.  I can’t work out if I’m impressed that I’ve made it all the way to 30 without a filling or devastated at only making it this far.  I’ve tried some google searching to see how happy or sad I should be with myself and have read a fascinating 22 page summary of a UK dental health report but no age specific facts are given so I’ll just have to live with my emotions in confusion – no change there then!

Mummy fail #378 and #379

My brain died exactly one hour before I went to bed last night and despite having the best intentions in the world to add a post to this here blog, I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Alby was keen to ensure that my dry-spell didn’t last long however and so, kindly, on the basis of providing me with inspiration, rolled himself out of bed at 5am landing with a bump.

Followed by a yell. And plenty of tears.

There’s an awful lot of research about the connection between mothers and babies when sleeping and I believe all of it.  From a state of deep sleep I was and aware of Alby falling before he hit the ground.  This is the second time Alby has fallen from our bed in the night and my stomach and heart lurched as much on this occasion as they did before.  I clasped him to me and whispered my apology again and again and again until the tears calmed and sleep was restored. 

Why do I keep co-sleeping now that Alby can roll?  Well, for totally selfish reasons really.  When Alby wakes in the night I walk into his room as a zombie, pick him up, bring him into the bed, feed him and we sleep together.  When we wake in the morning I have no recollection of when I brought him into the bed or which of us fell asleep first.  I don’t even remember going to get him. 

If I could get myself to bed earlier each night then I would probably have more wherewithal to change it and that is the end goal, but my efforts so far in that area have been found wanting.  In this respect at least I’m hoping that Christmas followed by Mark’s R&R will help to break these bad habits but I have to accept they won’t change over night.

The other mummy fail actually came before the bed falling incident.  As Alby has been poorly this week he’s been staying home rather than heading into nursery.  As I was typing away at my computer yesterday I suddenly realised that he wasn’t fiddling with the DVD player as I thought.  Nor was he in the kitchen upturning Percy’s water bowl.  He was in my bedroom pulling books and papers off Mark’s bedside cabinet.  Little Trouble Monkey had walked from the living room to the stairs, climbed the stairs and then walked into our room for a play upstairs. 

Mummy fail extraordinaire in having kept the stair gates open.  Honestly, considering what he has been through in the past 24hours it’s a wonder he’s still alive.

Lessons for my love

If Mark were back home today I would tell him:

Taking after his father Alby does enjoy putting things away these days, but hasn’t quite worked out what goes where.  Today I extracted two toys from the kitchen bin and a soup spoon from the nappy bag.  I decided to leave the Bickipeg down the toilet.

In his efforts to be a helping hand Alby will always ensure that plenty of toilet paper is ready rolled out for you in the bathroom.  If you prefer to do this job yourself keep bathroom doors closed at all times.

Whilst I wouldn’t say he has learnt how to use the DVD player, he has certainly managed to turn it on, open and close it and get it to start playing DVDs.  I recommend turning it off at the mains.  I also recommend moving all DVDs from beside the player as they are increasingly the victim of Alby’s feet.

Changing him is still a drama and counting has had its day.  Toy distractions seem to work best – that and being quick!

Alby loves being chased – grabbing him as he crawls away or running after him in some comedic manner is a tried and tested route to giggles.

Bed head and eggy bread

If you wake up grumpy one morning just look at Alby’s morning hair – it never fails to put a smile on my face.

He is a pro at crawling up the stairs but whatever you do don’t think the skill extends to going down them.  Alby is still under the mistaken impression that he can walk down stairs without the need to go backwards.  He is wrong.

Teething makes for sore patches – sudocrem for changes and balm on his poor dribbled-soaked chinnegan please.

Nothing in our home is sacred anymore and Alby can always reach two inches further than you would think.  In fact so thorough is he in turning the house upside down I think he might have learnt a thing or two from Hurricane Sandy.

 

Alby’s bite is sharp and painful – something Alby discovered the other day when he mistook his finger for a piece of the banana he was eating.  I’ve never seen tears come on so quickly (though I confess I found it comedy gold).

Gnashers!

I now sympathise with my father telling a six year old me “I’m not a climbing frame”.  At the time I thought he was being boring, I now appreciate he had been subjected to the same foot in mouth for five years.  Alby is no different.

And finally, if you are ever in doubt just present him with either Makka Pakka or Percy and you’ll be fine.

Happiness is a baby and bulldog

This is hands down my favourite video to date.  They say that a picture is worth a thousand words, well I think this video may have rendered the rest of my blogging ambitions useless...

Sick southern softie

On Friday night I had planned to post a little thing about trying to follow in Mark’s footsteps having blitzed the kitchen to a level even he would be impressed by.  On Saturday night I was going to give an update on Trouble Monkey’s walking having lost him earlier that day when in Tesco’s (he had tottered off and was hiding amongst the ladies jackets). 

As it was both nights were spent soothing a sick little baby and all I managed to do on the blog front was upload I post I had written a few days earlier. 

Once again the nasty bugs from nursery have knocked my southern softie of a son down and, almost identical to the time he was ill just after Mark left, I have a pale, sicky little boy on my hands.  Thankfully he isn’t anywhere near as bad as he was last time – or at least not yet, but I’ve still had to change the bedding on his cot and my bed twice over the weekend and am currently (somewhat embarrassingly) typing away still in a jumper which has seen better days. 

At 11pm on Friday night Alby and I cuddled in front of the telly watching Baby Einstein: Beethoven, whilst Percy snored at my feet.  On Saturday night, having cancelled a Skype date with my best friend to do yet another emergency laundry load, I found myself waking up at 3am, lying across my bed, still in my jeans and jumper, with Alby beside me.  And tonight I have just, very carefully, climbed out of his cot hoping that my movement doesn’t wake him.

Poor little pale treasure.

Whilst I did manage to finish cleaning the kitchen yesterday, scrubbing areas I don’t think even Mark has managed to touch in the past year, sickness in the house just seems to render me useless. 

My brain turns off – I can see the crumbs on the floor, the dishes by the sink waiting to be scrubbed but I don’t have the wherewithal to actually pull it together get the jobs done, not even when Alby is sleeping. (In part I guess as I’m side tracked by the growing mountain of laundry but I think biology may also play a part).

Domestic goddess wannabe aside, even as a nurse I can be found wanting.  Conscious (as I was the last time he was ill) that feeding only makes him sick, I’ve tried not to just offer comfort that way and be more organised to ensure plenty of alternative sleeping options (Baby Einstein in DVD player, gloves and blankets by buggy).  But still there are times when he cries out and I just don’t know what to do. 

Whilst I’m sure medicine would do him the world of good he refuses it point blank.  My attempts to force feed him Tixylix have all resulted in me feeling like a bully as I pin my thrashing child day and both of us being covered in sweet, sticky glop (one of the reasons for the ever increasing laundry pile).

The silver lining to all of this is seeing my little man fall asleep beside me rather than latched onto me.  As I fret about feeing him to the point of sickness, three times now he has settled down at my side, our foreheads touching, my arm over his body.  It is the cutest, loveliest thing.

Remembering on November 11

For The Fallen

By Laurence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children,
England mourns for her dead across the sea.
Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit,
Fallen in the cause of the free.

 

Solemn the drums thrill; Death august and royal
Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres,
There is music in the midst of desolation
And a glory that shines upon our tears.

They went with songs to the battle, they were young,
Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted;
They fell with their faces to the foe.

They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning
We will remember them.

They mingle not with their laughing comrades again;
They sit no more at familiar tables of home;
They have no lot in our labour of the day-time;
They sleep beyond England's foam.

But where our desires are and our hopes profound,
Felt as a well-spring that is hidden from sight,
To the innermost heart of their own land they are known
As the stars are known to the Night;

As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust,
Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain;
As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness,
To the end, to the end, they remain.

The evolution of snoo

When Alby was born Mark and I recorded his every living minute in hope of seeing patterns in his behaviour.   Whilst sleeping through still eludes him he has always been very good at having two naps every day in addition to a good ten hours through the night (albeit with the occasional feed).  From day one until about a month ago his typical routine demanded a morning nap exactly two hours after waking up in the morning plus a mid-afternoon nap, usually an hour after lunch.

As Alby grows however, his morning nap isn’t needed with quite the same urgency as before and he can now go a good hour or more longer before wanting to crash out.  Indeed, why would one want to sleep when one can charge around the house making mischief and bashing into things?  The problem is that Alby is wanting his morning nap at almost exactly the time that I need to bundle him up and send him off to nursery. And no matter how tired he is when he gets to nursery he is always so distracted by the other children, toys, books and activities that he just fights sleep until the point of no return – which recently has happened both mid-nappy change and mid-lunch. 

Knowing how precious sleep is for babies (and yes adults too, but we’ll get to me another day) this has naturally concerned me.   Books talk about the importance of sleep for physical development, but I see the emotional side; the little boy in need of lots of cuddles and comfort feeds because he doesn’t know what to do with himself.  And whilst I love the cuddles and connection we have, I’d rather they come from a bright eyed Trouble Monkey than a Zombie with dwarfism.

And so yesterday, when Alby fell asleep during the ten minute car journey from Buggy Fit back to the base, I decided to let him sleep.  We could leave nursery for a little bit, and he could snoo contentedly in his car seat for as long as he wanted (which turned out to be 45 minutes).

Now before you start calling social services on me I did not abandon him in the car for 45 minutes.  Nope, not me.  With my work day about to start I went into the house, got a drink, my laptop and my phone and went back to the car.  I pushed the driver’s seat back and got on with answering emails. 

Not quite the image I had of myself as the “work at home mother” but I’ll take it.

Today when we did a similar mad dash back home from swimming and the same thing happened I tried out a new idea – I managed to gently move Alby from car seat to buggy without waking, covered him in blankets and delivered to nursery a well padded angel-boy. 

With his morning naps taking place later in the day his afternoon naps have also shifted.  But I’ve already got that covered.  The darker nights mean that Percy’s evening walk is now happening at 4pm, just in time for Alby’s afternoon snoo. 

Of course the success of the afternoon sleep depends largely on the success of the morning nap, but if today and yesterday prove to be more than just fluke, then I will feel as though I’ve won the jackpot. 

Ball skills

Alby has moved the "up down" game up a gear so that it now includes a toy. 

Whilst I am thoroughly impressed by this new skill of his, part of me is panicked.  If you have ever seen me with a ball in my hand you will know that I am not the appropriate person to be teaching Alby any type of ball skills.   When it comes to sports any feminist thoughts I might have are left at the door as I sign up completely to the stereotype that girls can't throw.
Come home now please Mark - I'm close to becoming out of my depth with this one! 

Bullhound baby love



Double trouble



One of the greatest joys is seeing the growing relationship between Alby and Percy.  From Alby, Percy has learnt patience, tolerance and the joys of fallen food.  From Percy, Alby has learnt bashing, biffing and the joys of putting toys in your mouth.

  

 I never really thought about how Percy would take to Alby.  Unimpressed I think was the initial reaction.  Unimpressed and balding.  But as Alby has grown Percy and he are forming a proper friendship. 

Over the past week Percy hasn’t been able to play with a toy without Alby getting involved in some point, nor has he been able to have a drink without Alby testing the water first (a process which involves both checking its temperature, depth and, more recently, under the bowl in case of hidden nasties), nor can he go anywhere without Alby checking the sturdiness of his legs via a solid bash with the walker. 

 

Alby finds and offers Percy some toy action

When we go for walks and Alby is a bit grizzly the one cure is to turn his seat around, start running and he will flap his arms and legs in glee and giggle – not at me running (although that is quite a sight) but at Percy trotting beside me.  If you get Percy off the lead and galloping Alby almost has a fit of giggles.

The pinnacle of Percy’s love for Alby happened one morning when Percy finished his breakfast, walked into the living room and licked Alby’s legs. 



Have a treat Percy - it's on Alby



The pinnacle of Alby’s love for Percy came the other day when Alby managed to pull Percy’s treat box out of the cupboard and push it all the way to the dog’s bed.  (I knew nothing of what was going on until Percy came a snuffling).



Life doesn't get much better than this - just missing one husband to oversee it all.  

Alberistics - a natural charmer

This photo was taken when Alby was having dinner.  What the camera doesn’t show is that this isn’t a candid photo.  When Alby saw me raise the camera to take yet another picture of his lovely face he responded by pulling this face.

When you combine with his love of sticking out his tongue you realise what a charmer the young man is becoming.

Mummy fail #370

Wow Mummy fails are coming along thick and fast at the moment.  Today’s was an absolute classic and there was something so slapstick about it that I’m actually still chuckling now.

Tonight’s dramatic moment occurred when we were taking Percy out for his evening walk.  We had just come to the path across the golf course which has recently been cleared.  Whilst I appreciate that the guys stuck with this job have been given it as suitable punishment for some such misdemeanour, you can’t help feel sorry for them considering they have been out in wind, rain, hail and snow. 

Anyhoo, I digress.  We get to the path and Percy decides he wants to have a snuffle about so I wonder off with him and don’t realise that Alby and the buggy are still moving.  Not usually an issue – a small bump on the curb or into the grass and alls well.  Not this time though as the curb has been removed.  Instead the soldiers have dug a 5 inch gutter alongside the path to help with drainage (one can only presume).  Buggy wheel went into the gutter, twisted and, in slow motion, the entire pushchair and Alby fell to the side and then forward. 

I swore, ran over, hoisted Alby and pushchair up again and would have been writing this with a very heavy heart if it wasn’t for the fact that Alby didn’t even blink.  He wasn’t shaken, he wasn’t upset and he looked at me as if to say “what are you doing in my face?” 

My brave boy! (Or should I start to worry that this could be a sign of serious brain damage…?) 

Whilst there is no doubt that allowing your child to go headfirst into the wet, cold, mud is a Mummy fail I’m feeling like a bit of a hero tonight as it is 10:30pm and I have sealed up the house, got ready for bed and will be turning the lights off just as soon as this post is done!  Not bad for a week night.  Not bad at all. (And it almost makes up for the fact that I don’t know where the car key is or my Tesco clubcard.)

The bright side

Be nice
Think happy thoughts
Champion silver linings
Love all things (not just cute things like babies and puppies) and when you do love, love like they do in power ballads (you know, on a cliff with the wind in your hair and your eyes shut, knowing you'll never know another love like this.)
Watch out for dog poo
Smile at people, even grumpy ones
Be nice (oh, I already said that)
Remember the anything is possible and whatever you do always try to look on the bright side.

Taken from Rachel Bright - The Bright Side