The last feed

A year ago today Smalley had his last feed. Mark and I had a night for ourselves coming up meaning Albug and Smalley were off to their grandparents for a night away. 

I hadn’t planned to stop feeding that evening, I trusted that he would be fine with them just with a cup. In fact I suspected, as turned out to be true, that he would settle really well for them and sleep better for them than he did for us. 

But it was time for us. At that point he was only having a feed at bedtime. And it had got so that point where I wasn’t sure how much he was feeding, it was more playing and a favourite hobby than nourishment in the nutritional sense.  As it is, he accepted the last feed without fuss and I’ve only ever looked back with nostalgia, never regret.

I feel it’s important to highlight though that Smalley loved feeding. Loved it. From the age of two he would giggle, cackle and kick about with joy when he knew a feed was coming. He would continue giggling through the feed, looking up at me with his big smiling face! Even now, he has the classic breastfed baby instinct of trying to put his hand down my top when he needs comfort. Or anytime really; the bonds made run deep. 

And not only that, for me, it stopped me from getting so caught up in life that I didn’t make time for him.  Having my day out with Albs at the end of the summer holidays was so special and exceptional because with no other distractions we could be so close. Every queue, even though they were short, we pretty much hugged through. I kept lifting him up so he could be at the same eye level as we chatted. We held hands as we ran from ride to ride. 

Without breastfeeding, George could have sorted himself out, fed himself with a bottle, without me needing to be near. Without breastfeeding that regular prompt for affection wouldn’t be there and as I’m someone who does find it easy to get caught up in life, and as I encourage my children to grow and be independent I’m so grateful that breastfeeding kept me in check. Kept me ensuring that for at least ten minutes every few hours, I was prioritising my child and responding to his needs.

However, I know that us ardent breastfeeders can lose sight of the fact that there are lots of ways to bond with your baby. And at that age, Smalley was getting cuddles every second and was being carried everywhere (which, really is very similar to now if we’re honest).  Knowing that as he started approaching his third birthday we’d be nearing the end of our feeds I’d already started reading him two books about the last feed. Both books were simple but great. They highlighted how special feeding is but how special everything else could be. I think they helped prep him, I know they helped prep me. Reminding me of all the other ways we can show love - not only to our children but to all. 

As I finish this post Smalley is lying on me, as of to prove a point about the depths of unconditional love. He fell asleep in the car on the way home having struggled with a cough all day and is now asleep in his school socks, jumper and shirt (plus a nappy). 

I always knew I wanted to breastfeed. I’d had a complicated relationship with my breasts growing up - being larger chested came with attention I never wanted, but it meant I went in to breastfeeding determined it was going to work. That my body was going to excel at this as it’s way of paying me back for the discomfort of my teenage years. And it did. The whole process was an absolute breeze and I’m so grateful for that. 

Whilst I entered breastfeeding with a clear, determined goal I’d never worked out an exit strategy. I fed Albs for 19 months, Smalley for 31 months. And whilst it did have to end at some point, I’m bloody proud of how long I kept going for. What’s more, most of the boys early months/years are a sleep deprived blur with big gaps in my memory but I do remember the feeds - I remember sitting in the hospital chair with Alby feeding him just hours after he was born, I remember having to learn how to feed Albs in the pouch for the first time when he had a meltdown in Wilkos, I remember the night time feeds, the TV feeds, the embarrassing public feeds where I almost definitely showed more than I should. I remember Albs used to cough on the let down causing him to release and me to spray (such a glam thing breastfeeding!) And I remember them feeding for comfort, not needing milk but needing to be close, to be lost pressed up against me. 

Breastfeeding empowered me, grew the respect I have for my body and was an amazing thing to have available in my boys early years.  And, as I write this post feeling quite overwhelmed with nostalgia, it reinforces the truth of how important human touch is in all our relationships as well as the importance of making time for each other. 

Rugger!!

Try time!

Today (and I hope I do post this today as I have old posts waiting to be written let alone posted)  Albug took part in his first rugby tournament.

Albs started at the local rugby club in September, with Mr B quickly getting pulled into being a coach there too, so our Sundays are now spent with the two of them running around in the mud.
 
As I suspect you can guess, getting 6 year olds to grasp the basic rules is a somewhat challenging, utterly chaotic experience. To them the posts marking the pitch are nothing but a trip hazard to be dodged as they run over them, passing the ball at all is an action they'd all like to avoid, with passing backwards only achieved by them turning completely around and then lobbing it away as hard as they could.  Not so much passing backwards as passing forward but facing the wrong way.  Class.

Mr B was a referee at the festival and I am truly amazed by the patience he showed and the attention, direction and support he gave the children even after two hours of rugby ridiculousness. And it was hot!  True to form so far this autumn, having headed out this morning all layered up in the freezing cold, within a few hours were all baking alive, peeling off layers as quickly as possible. 

Medal pride!

Despite the heat, everyone had a wonderful day.  Even Percy enjoyed being admired/mocked by the crowd.  Smalley did great - he spent three hours on the sideline without a toy and didn't complain once about being bored but had fun watching and chasing the bigger boys around between games (which last a whopping 10 minutes each).

Obviously I'm completely biased but Albs was brilliant, scoring a good number of tries, making lots of tags and even tackling down one child (followed quickly by a blow on the whistle by dad who highlighted this was a non contact game.  Albs quickly defended himself "I was just trying to get his tag."  Poor chap, it's not his fault getting the tag meant getting low and blocking with force!)  The apple doesn't fall far from the team it seems.

Back home for Despicable Me 3, lego all round the house and food followed by food followed by food.  Rugby all morning makes for bottomless stomachs. 

Two boys, two days and a whole lot of smiles

To mark my last non-work Thursday (30 August) with my littlest man, Smalley and I headed off for a day of fun at Paulton's Park, a theme park not too far from here
Having absolutely freaked Georgie out taking him on a "Thomas train ride" a year age (it was ridiculously fast and led to Smalley clinging hold of me, with his head pressed into my side whilst shouting "Slow down Thomas! Not so fast!  Slow down Thomas!") he refused all the rides that went over 10mph but for the slow and steady ones he was the happiest of boys.  Actually, he was the happiest when running around the water park in his pants.  Considering that it wasn't the warmest of days and grown ups weren't really allowed in I thought he'd go in and be back out in five seconds.  As it is, he zoomed around with such manic energy and random direction I was constantly losing sight of him.  The five seconds I'd predicted turned to half and hour; only then did he come out admitting that he was "freezing cold" and in need of a huggle.
The whole day was full of huggles in fact.  Huggles, no rushing and no distractions. It was perfect.

Five days later I was back at another theme park, this time with my biggest lad in honour of the time he put in all summer reading, writing and working out sums even when he really didn't want to.
On the way to the theme park the motorway signs hung the message "Legoland full" over the way to prepare us for the madness that would await at the park.  Having queued to get into the park, queued for parking and queued (a little) to get through the gate we decided to upgrade our ticket for the extortionately expensive queue jump ticket.  Two days previously I'd laughed at the idea of anyone spending that much, as it is it's the best money I've spent in ages.
With every ride boasting at least a 45 minute queue, our ticket cut our queue to ten minutes in some cases, seconds in others.  A week on and the feel good factor of not having to spend a day entertaining a 6 year old in line has yet to wear off.
I'd anticipated that we'd manage about 6 rides, as it is we got through 12.5 (the .5 because the Ninjago ride broke down whilst we were on our third go - probably for the best, the 4D action packed experience had my arms aching all over).  We also managed to get down to the lagoon for the pirate show which once again lived up to expectations.
Two years ago Albs went to Legoland with my parents, brother and nephews.  On that trip he went down the log flume, an experience which has been immortalised in an incredible photo depicting the humour of the adults and the horror of the children.  Learning from his last experience, the first time he went down he ducked down so low it looked like I was the only person in the flume.  Shamed for his cowardice we went again - this time he took the full on splash!
Truth be told I shouldn't call him a coward.  His second ride of the day was on the pirate ship where he went to the very end, row 9, for the full swing experience.  Cue lots of laughing until the heighest swings were he went quiet until I reassured him we were slowing down and going lower.  Once reassured the crazy laughter started again.
It was a day just the two of us.  A day where we made up for all the hugs he doesn't get when Smalley is around, hanging off me, climbing over me and generally being a large pre-schooler presence.  We talked, we held hands, we ran together, we hugged, we spent the short queues with him up in my arms we conquered!  It was awesome / epic (whatever the cool kids are saying these days.)

That's enough from me.  I'll let the rest of the photos fill in the blanks....

Digger ride

Woodland walk

On the Paulton's train

Ready for Splash Mountain 

Alby learnt after his last trip and completely hid when coming down the slide! 

Why are pirates cool?  Because they....arrrrrrrrrr!

Viking boats!

Rubik's cube obsessed

Ever since our neighbour came over with her Rubik's cube, Albug has been fascinated by them.  Today, after a year long wait, he used the money he has raised over the summer to buy his own cube.  It took him less than one minute to jumble up the squares to the point of not being able to get them back to their original positions.  It took the rest of dinner for him to jumble them further whilst declaring his advanced knowledge on how to get them back in order.  Smalley then got his hands on it. 

Riddle for the day: if it takes one Albug one minute to get lost in a Rubik's cube, how many years will it take to get it back to normal?
(PS handing it over to the Rubik's genius neighbour this weekend when she comes to babysit will be regarded as cheating.  Judge's rule's final. Though to be fair, the judge isn't worried.  Even if Eva does save the day/cube it will be messed up again within minutes the next morning!)

 

I broke a bone in my arm.

When Alby was 3 I had the pleasure of spending the morning in Salisbury hospital A&E after he
bashed his leg in something and lost the ability to straighten it. Despite much speculation from all members of the family, quick to offer a sound and robust diagnosis despite bone of us having actually attended medical school in any shape or form, we've still no idea what happened. However, the children's room in A&E was well equipped and the boys had a fun morning exploring the new toys whilst I made lists of all the jobs I needed to do but couldn't because I was stuck in the hospital.

Skip forward three years and a different but strangely similar scene can be witnessed. This time the morning wounded at Salisbury hospital were treated to George and his daddy in A&E. First came the meeting in the side room with the nurse, then the walk to radiography. With Albug this resulted in us discovering that little people have no knee caps. With Smalley we learnt that whilst its very difficult to break little bones - those things are just too pliable, they can crease, bump and buckle.

George  did say he tried to stop himself falling but couldnt. He did say his owwie wouldn't go away. He said he cried and cried. He did protect it, keeping it limp at his side and not trying to use it, not even for a thumb war. He also said he broke a bone, turns out he wasn't quite right but he did fracture it.

Alb's damaged leg went without a diagnosis. For George the x-day showed a bump on the bone, a buckle fracture, and the little dude is now fashioning his own red gizmo/ninja strap (name dependent on how much he feels like being a dinosaur hunter or ninja at any given time).

In some sort of weird twist of logic the red wrist brace has made him think he is invincible and he’s even more daring. The A&E visit was followed by a play date with Albug’s school friends at a local house and gardens. The place is immense and the boys love it as it is home to one of the best adventure playgrounds we’ve ever been too - slides two storeys high, sunken trampolines, boat swings, zip wires and a beautiful Japanese water garden that has proven itself a great spot for hide and seek. Smalley did everything including having a tantrum when I told him he couldn’t dangle from a tree like the other boys.  Back home and he was straight on the trampoline.

For the first few days he hated having to take it off and I was worried he’d be wearing it for life. We have two days left and he now hates putting it on, which shows it must be working!

Whilst we were waiting for the diagnosis my mum messaged, hoping he was well and commenting she couldn’t imagine him in a cast. To be honest, I’m amazed he’s survived this long without it.  He was walking at nine months, a fact that amazes me more now than it did when I was living it, and he’s never slowed.

I went KABOOM!

Originally written on 28 May - it's just taken awhile to post!

Ensuring some family time on the Bank Holiday Monday we went to the lakes to give Percy a good walk and the rest of us a change of scenery from the regular 4 dog walking routes immediately out our front door.
We come to the lakes every few month or so. It’s a bit run down but offers a decent circular walk, ducks to feed and plenty of other dog walkers; giving Percy social interaction and the boys moving targets to negotiate as they charge off on their bikes. There’s a children’s play park at the end of the walk allowing the human boys to burn the last of their energy whilst the dog boy recovers/sunbathes.

Smalley is a bit of a funny character. It appears he likes to object to things. He’ll resist bathtime and resist getting out of the bath with equal passion. At bedtime, when the last story has been read and his music out on he will defiantly announce that neither he nor you are to close your eyes, and then be asleep minutes later. When it comes to Percy walks he will routinely object to getting on his bike, really object, including regular deployment of crocodile tears, only to then jump on his bike and shoot off whilst shouting “I’m the winner.”

This day was no different. He resolutely refused to get on his bike only to then happily push along with his brother. The rocky, uneven path caused a few protests of “it’s too tricky” but they were quickly out to the side as we challenged him to races: “first to the tree”, “first to the bench”.  It had all the makings of a jolly fine walk. But then...I went kaboom!

The path running along the edge of the lakes is mostly covered in weeds, trees and stinging nettles but every now and then you get to a clearing where you can wade in the water or feed the ducks. We got to the first clearing, a nice stoney patch, a short steep-ish descent from the path with a small step into the water.

We all know where this story is going. Mark led Percy into the water for a wade and drink, I got the duck food out of the backpack and was struggling to untie it, Albs got off his bike to walk down to the bank and Smalley...He went straight down the bank, on his bike, stopping only when bike and child were underwater.
I saw him shoot last me and called for Mark in hope he would display superhuman speed and accuracy and stop George from hitting the water. He wasn’t able to stop the inevitable splash and subsequent tears but did a heroic job scooping Smalley and his bike out of the water.

To note, the water was about a foot deep and we’re Smalley older he would have instantly stood up. As it is, he is 3 and my husband is a hero.

Smalley was soaked. Head to toe drenched. By some absolute fluke we hadn’t done our normal trick of emptying our bag of all but food and water and through the tears we were able to get him quickly changed into dry clothes.
Credit to the little fella, as soon as the wet clothes were off the sobbing had stopped. By the time his clean, dry clothes were on he was laughing: I fell in the water!! I went KABOOM into the water. Daddy saved me. Silly me!
He didn’t complain once about having soaking shoes (unlike the hero Dad who was less than impressed with how much silt poured into his shoe during the rescue effort).

The rest of the walk was as it should be. Completely pleasant and filled with races, fish spotting and duck feeding. We even got the chance to coo over some ducklings and cygnets that we’re hiding in a quiet spot.

On Thursday the boys and I went to visit a friend at a different lake. Nobody fell in the lake this time, though every time we spotted water Smalley regaled us with the story of the time he went kaboom. As it turns out we didn’t need to fall in the lake to get drenched that day - we got caught in a downpour whilst running between shelters that reminded me of my childhood in the tropics.

So there you have it. The story of the day Smalley cycled into the lake. Mark kept asking “what was he thinking?” I don’t think he was. He saw me, the duck food and forgot that you need to keep your feet on the floor when going downhill on a balance bike. The boy certainly knows how to make a splash.

Rather than ignore my child in order to find my phone for the perfect post splash soaking, sobbing photo to go with this post, I opted for wet huggle buggles and speedy action. You’ll have to use your imagination for that. Instead, here is a picture of a cygnet for you to coo at.

Eco warriors in miniature

After talking about it for months, I finally ordered some litter pickers and, this morning, making the most of the sunny weather the boys and I went out to clear some of the rubbish from the woods and paths near our house.
We started off picking up what we found on Percy's walk but there was so much to collect we slowed the hot and bothered bulldog down too much, so we split off so that Albs could litter pick at his enthusiastic but meandering pace.
We were out for almost two hours and managed to fill six bags of rubbish.  Stopping only when we ran out of bin bags (but having actually made a good amount of progress).  The boys loved it, stomping through the undergrowth, picking up cans and wrappers, dropping on the path and then disappearing again whilst I cleared their rubbish piles into the bags.  Smalley was obviously completely inept but very enthusiastic and used his picker as more of a pointer: "Here's some rubbish mummy.  Come and get it!" (Managing to both clear rubbish and disturb the peace in equal measure).  Albs was in his element. It turns out picking rubbish is as exciting as using the "scan as you shop" mobile scanners at the supermarket.  He would have happily carried on for another hour but instead settled instead for a promise to clean more rubbish soon.

There's so many things we talk about doing but don't do. That we think about doing but walk past.  We may have not got everything.  We may have only put in a few hours effort. But why waste time thinking about what wasn't done when we can enjoy what was?
 I don't claim to be a true eco warrior but I do my best to recycle, ensure unwanted items are passed on rather than thrown away and buy almost all of mine and the boys clothes second hand rather than new.  And alongside all of this I try to teach my children to respect others and to respect the world around them.  And today proved how easy and fun this could be - especially if you sing the Captain Planet theme song on a loop as you go like we did! 😊

Meanwhile, as we picked litter, Super Husband was busy building a tortoise run for the garden.  BBQs, gardening and DIY; it's been quite the Bank Holiday Weekend of dreams for my man.  The tortoises showed their delight with the new run by walking the perimeter and before investigating the foundations.