Stabilisers are for sissies

For the past week the Beebe family has been praising the brilliance of balance bikes.  Well actually we’ve been praising their brilliance for the past 18 months.  Alby’s bike means he can keep up on every dog walk and it keeps him challenged and entertained – as witnessed last weekend at the Rundle Cup when Alby went kamikaze down the steep bank squealing for delight.

Just before George was born Alby broke the back wheel of his balance bike, Runner.  Mark stepped in with Daddy DIY and seven cable ties and a generous application of gorilla glue later the wheel was saved.  Realising that Alby cycles around 10 – 15 miles a week and that Runner, a £25 bike from Lidl, probably wouldn’t last much longer had us quickly searching through the internet for a replacement.  And a good job too as just a few weeks later a downhill race ended with Alby in a hedge, leaves in his hair, dirt on his shorts and a very sad expression on his face: “I was just looking backwards to see you and I went crash.”

I think it is fair to say that Alby regarded Runner as a true friend.  When we first discussed the idea of getting a replacement balance bike he started crying, Runner was just too important.  Thankfully he’s a resilient young chap and his new balance bike (which, showing an untypical lack of imagination for Alby, he has called Runner) has been warmly welcomed – helped no doubt by the existence of a stand “just like motorbikes have”.

And then, Mark’s assistant at work came in the other day with a pedal bike with stabilisers her children and have grown out of in case Alby wants it. And yes he does!  It’s red and has “Fire Chief” written across it which makes it super cool with or without pedals.  And so we tried him on it and he struggled. It’s heavy and turning was really difficult and he got frustrated.  So Mark took the stabilisers off and the boy is a natural. He needs the tiniest bit of help getting started and then there’s no stopping him.  I’ll say it again, balance bikes are brilliant.  No way would he be able to do this without all the practice he’s had on Runner. 

And obviously I’m just swelling with pride for my awesome little man.  Love him to pieces. 

And for the record, Alby is thrilled with himself too.  Every time he sees the stabilisers in the back garden he says "I don't need those mummy.  I don't need stabilisers.  I don't need them."

Twelve weeks

In just a few hours time George will have been on this earth for twelve whole weeks. I can't believe it. With every passing week this loud shrieky siren goes off in my head blasting me with the news: "X WEEKS, X WEEKS, X WEEKS".
It's such a terrifying sound I'm can only guess that it's trying to shock me into a state of suspended animation, something it is sadly failing to do.

Already I feel like George isn't a little baby anymore. He wears proper clothes (though not much this week as the current heat wave is ensuring plenty of naked time for my smooth bottomed lad). He has doubled in size (as proven by the health visitors scales). He can follow you with his eyes, has some control over his arms and legs and cannot stop stuffing his whole fist into his mouth (ahh teething how I've missed you).
George likes having little gurgling conversations where we mimic each other for a good twenty minutes or so a couple time each day. Sure we're not putting the world to rights or anything so grand but I mimic his gurgles and coos and we generally make noises at each other. After that he's bored of my chat and moves on to more feeding / sleeping / fist eating but there's something magical knowing these are my first conversations with my littlest fella. (And the quality isn't that far off my chats with Mark if Friday night's drunken fun is anything to go by.)
He's got better with his activity gym and will happily lie under it kicking the different dangling toys about. He's also started moving himself - nothing do dramatic as rolling but his legs are strong and he pushed himself about so whenever I leave him to put the kettle on / pop to the loo... he's always facing a different wag when I return.

I thought having two children would be tough and yes it is but the overwhelming feeling I've had for the past week or so is of pure, unadulterated joy. Obviously the arrival of summer, and what a glorious summer it is proving to be, has put an extra spring in my step. But as I break through the brain fog of the first three months I'm just feeling utterly blessed. George highlights how brilliant being a mum is. Sometimes the combination of work and toddler demands can skew ones perspective and having a new baby, having my priorities shift, having the space to focus so much on my family and being blessed with such a good family - and a little shout out for George here as I don't give him half as much credit as I should for his well behaved he is, has put a real smile on my face. For me this is true happiness and I feel very content and complete.

Time is movng far too fast but if that's my only complaint after twelve weeks then I think I must be one of the truely lucky ones out there.

Oh hello guilt

Eleven weeks today.  George has been with us for eleven weeks today. I won’t write down the profanities currently swirling around my head over the fact that my littlest fella has been on the planet for almost three whole months now but suffice to say that I’m baffled bewildered at how a whole eleven weeks have passed.

For George, the story so far has been one of sleeping, feeding, changing, little sick ups and being ferried about after his big brother.  Over the past two weeks the awake moments now include actual looking – following his black and white mobile which he seems to enjoy, tracking faces and turning towards noises (or away from them when it all gets too much). And we’ve got the smiles of course, the smiles that started as fleeting twitches of the face in the morning and are now big grins that can be found at all hours of the day. ­­­

Whether he knows it or not the story so far has also included being lied to on a daily basis by his mother.  Throughout the day I will, all too easily, shout out “mummy’s just coming George” or “don’t worry George I’ll be there in just a second” when such is absolutely not true. Based on the introduction I’ve given him so far I doubt if he’ll ever truly understand what honesty, time or time management really are. 

Such dishonest declarations are issued frequently every single day: I shout it in the front of the car when we’re off to collect Alby, when I’m cooking dinner and am desperate not to overcook the food for once, when I’m pulling duvet covers out of the washing machine, when I’m trying (for the love of God) to get Alby to put his shoes on so we can get out the door. 

Each lie is followed soon after with me doing my best headless chicken impression as I run to you clucking “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry” but by then the damage is done.  The lie has been told and the feeling of utter abandonment by you is no doubt complete.

Ahh guilt – let’s not go pretending that you’ve been absent the past few years but oh boy do you like to let yourself be known in the early baby days.

Oh and let second time mothers know that hearing your baby cry is just as horrible, heart wrenching, stomach turning a sound as it was the first time round.  Even worse when the crying is caused by something stupid you did – bumping his tiny head as you weren’t paying total and utter attention getting him out of the car, splashing water on him as you do the dishes whilst bouncing up and down as he hangs from you in his sling or forgetting to lay a towel down on the cold changing mat so that when he lies naked on it the coldness startles him, his falling reflex overtakes him and he completely loses it. 

An absence of mummy fail titled blog posts should under no circumstance whatsoever be regarded as an absence of mummy fails around the house.  We’re eleven weeks in and I cried down the phone to the GP surgery after splashing him with my hot drink, have rearranged the bedroom after he rolled out of bed (who knew he’d managed to get enough body control to roll on a soft surface????) and I won’t go into some of the moments we’ve had in the car for fear of incriminating myself.  In summary, perfect mother I am not. But if you’re looking to pass a guilty verdict you’ll find me in the corner waving my white flag of surrender.

To keep things nice and fair it’s worth noting that George isn’t the only one that helps bring up this lovely emotion. When George is crying and Alby is trying to ask me something or tell me something and I just can’t cope with the double noise and end up responding to his speech about how a giant standing on Everest is the biggest thing in the whole wide world with “we just need to be quiet for a moment” said in my most firm voice, I use the following 6 seconds of silence to reacquaint myself with my old pal guilt.  It comes up again when I lose patience with Alby when he insists I take off his left shoe and start again because I did it the wrong way round, this time with the right foot. 

And I won’t even start on how neglected I’ve left poor Percy pooch.  How he hasn’t gone bald yet from lack of love baffles me.

Was I guilty of the same things with Alby when he was a baby?  I have no idea.  There was no other sibling then and for a large part, sad as it was, there was no daddy around either so I wasn’t having to juggle my little one around anyone else other than myself.  I take some comfort in the fact that if it wasn’t daily lies making me feel guilty it would probably have been something 

Unfinished business

There is a card sending love and joy in celebration of George's arrival on my bedside table. Another on the stairs. Another on the bar. They all need putting away.
The plants in my bedroom need watering.
I've successfully ironed around 30 shirts, trousers and tops today but Mark's uniform still needs doing and the ironing board and iron remain in position in the living room. Tomorrow morning they will symbolise optimism. By Friday they will be mocking me.
The dishwasher and washing machine were both loaded and turned on today. They need emptying. As does the tumble drier which has a load in it that was finished on Monday.
The mop has been standing in its bucket at the top of the stairs since Sunday. I finally emptied the bucket of old water yesterday. I was planning on putting it away today but no. By tomorrow we'll have reached the point that it needs to be used again. But I'm making no promises on when that will actually happen.
There are dresses hanging behind the study door intended for eBay. They'll make a lovely summer wardrobe for the lucky bidder but if I don't get move on the leaves are going to start falling from the trees once again and I'll have to put them away until the sun comes back next year by which time they'll be auctioned alongside all our moving house clearance items - get a summer halter neck and a cake stand in just one click!
I'm not going to touch on the rest of the study except to say that it resembles a teenager's bedroom - there is just stuff everywhere. I'm sure all of it has an easily reachable home but follow through is not my strong point these days.

For me this is what life with two trouble monkeys currently looks like. I've never been the best at finishing a job - that's Mark's strong point and I regularly wonder at hoe he doesn't lose it at my failure to complete (wonder and say a prayer of thanks). I'm more of an 80% girl - I'll do the most important part and then move on to something else rather than finishing something off completely. Or at least that's how I used to be. Now I think I'm more at the 50% mark, definitely creating more chaos each day than I'm clearing.
I've spent the last week or so a big confused as I'm sure things weren't like this with Alby. But then it dawned on me that last time I wasn't tidying around a 'fornally one' race or a dragon versus dinosaur war. I wasn't interrupted by questions on why people thought the world was flat (that's a can of worms I'm thrilled at having opened) or how people used to be monkeys and then they were people and next they will be kangaroos/dragons/Concorde jet planes. (Again, I'm equally delighted at having started conversations on evolution with a three year old. Clearly I'm not suited to this whole educating thing.) Three years ago jobs weren't stalled by having to fetch a glass of milk or get a snack, followed by opening every cupboard to reveal the foods we actually do have when asked to magic up a chicken pie or sausages with a moments notice.

And so as we celebrate George making it to nine weeks and doubling in size in the process we pause and give a nod of acknowledgement to all the unfinished business surrounding me (just in case people are starting to think that I hadn't noticed any of it). I know you're there. And I actually do care. A little bit. But you ain't going to get done any quicker any time soon.

A smiler at six weeks

Granted new born baby smiles are incredibly elusive requiring perfect timing and crazy hard work but George does smile. He celebrated his six week anniversary by giving me an enormous, gorgeous grim first thing in the morning. I have no idea what I did to deserve such a welcome to the day but Alby and I now spend a significant amount of time smiling and coo-I got like idiots (or more accurately in Alby's case pulling funny faces just multimeters from George's face) in hope of getting another smile. More often than not we fail completely but every now and then success. And so brilliant is it that it spurs us on to continue to crazy face ritual for the next few days.
Truth be told George finds his dreams far more enjoyable than my face - a pint proven by the fact that he often gives a huge smile when falling asleep but that I reckon that's pretty reasonable.
When George smiles in his sleep it is completely natural, going from a plain face to a beautiful smile. When he smiles when he is awake you get a totally different thing as he consciously tries to get his mouth in the correct shape in his attempt to imitate you. It starts with a crooked open mouth that slowly and briefly lifts at one side and then the other before the smile is finally found. I remember Alby doing the same but as newborn smiles are so scarce I have no idea if that's just some odd thing my boys do if it's what all little ones start with.
If you are really lucky you get a happy gurgle of coo along with the smile which presents itself as a special gift reserved for favourites.

Whilst George's smiles may be rare Alby continues to privude plenty of giggles every day. His new thing is to ask did giggles: "mummy where have the giggles gone?" until you tickle him and blow raspberries on his tummy. And then he begs for you to stop and so you do only for him to jump up and ask again and again where the giggles have got to stopping only when you finally pounce.

George's first botbot...

...and first sick up on daddy.

We've had a lovely day today. We went over to some friends of ours from Yorkshire days for lunch. They are another army family now living just twenty minutes away, she works for a charity and their youngest is just four weeks older than Alby ensuring lots of shared experiences and understanding regarding just about any conversation topic. George did his typical thing if sleeping for a large part of the day, feeding a fair amount and sharing a good few grizzles with us all too. That says I'm convinced we're starting to get the beginnings of smiles - just glimpses once or twice a day which albeit brief and half formed still make my heart beat faster.
We've got the starting a if a good routine going on. George is proving more of a dirty stop out than his brother and whilst Alby is generally asleep by 7.30pm (usually earlier) George prefers a 9.30pm bedtime, something I've taken a bit of time adjusting to considering that it robs me if what used to be my most productive time of the day in regards to any household chores. Anyway, once Alby is out did the night I put George in the bath - if he insists on being awake he might as well have the chance to kick about and wash off the dribble / wee / nappy rash cream... of the day. After bathtime comes a cuddle, a followed by a feed when he starts crying and then he's rocked to sleep in the genius Phil 'n' teds carry cot we bought (thank you eBay).
Tonight daddy did bathtime and to ensure a bit more daddy time I warned up the bottle that had been sitting in the fridge so father and son could do some more bonding. As with most things concerning the second child I wasn't quite organised enough (I'll start feeds without having grabbed a book for Alby, start nappy changes without water or a clean nappy - we're doing a lot of the cuff with baby number two). So realising that the first daddy bottle feed is quite the milestone when you are only 5 weeks old I ran off to find the camera and then ran off again to let Percy out. Coming back upstairs I learnt I missed everything when I heard Mark say, in a very relaxed, loving voice "shall we burp you know?" This was followed by a gurgling noise and Mark shouting "woah" as George then threw up all over Mark's leg. Being the supportive partner that I am I reacted by bursting into laughter. I love my husband, honest.
So a double milestone evening for Mark and George. And maybe I don't have a photo record of if but I'm still smiling at the whole drama - nothing like children to keep you grounded.

Four weeks of George

In typical parent cliche fashion I can't believe four weeks have passed already. Where the bloomin' heck did the time go?
Four weeks since the chaos of paramedics and the dining room feeling like a sauna and looking like a crime scene.
Four weeks of big brother cuddles, kisses and requests to hold "my baby brother".
Four weeks of laundry, nappies and missed household chores.
Four weeks of flowers, cards and showing off the little fella (as Alby has named him) to friends, family and colleagues.
Four weeks of being amazed by how much Alby's heart has grown, how besotted he is and how tolerant he can be - I can't imagine I would be so accepting of a crying baby during my bedtime stories.
Four weeks of feeding, changes, co-sleeping, rubbing my cheek against newborn soft skin, staring at his ever changing face and admiring new fat creases.
Four weeks of humming, mewing, squeaking, grizzling, grunting and crying.
Four weeks of guilt, guilt that comes with every cry or twofold with a distressed shriek. Guilt that I don't cuddle him as much as I cuddled Alby, that I haven't spent as much time staring at his face as I did with Alby, that I might be doing it all wrong.
Four weeks of near identical photos.
Four weeks of living in a blur.
Four weeks of love.