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.

Hello George

On Wednesday life as we know it completely changed as we welcomed baby George into our lives. It's been three years since we had a newborn around. Last time the great challenges were negotiating broken sleep for the first time and worrying about whether or not staring at your newborn for seven hours a day was healthy love or dodgy obsession. This time we've got Al-bug to keep us on our toes. Our wonderful, demanding, cheeky, brilliant three year old who only last week was our cute little toddler.  Now, compared to George, is a loud, giant size ball of energy.
Juggling the hormonal changes of the last few days, trying to get through some of the jobs George's early arrival cut short, trying to get my head around the crazy story that was his birth and trying to remain a good mum to Alby and George, wife to Mark and owner to Percy has dented my newborn staring time somewhat but I'm pleased to report I'm still getting in a good quota of daily joys.
I love his noises. Alby used to him with every breath; I never had to worry about whether he was breathing or not as I could always hear it. George sometimes does that too - and is now as he sleeps on my chest. But he also squeaks his short, high pitched squeak which comes from nowhere and disappears instantly once or twice a day which always makes me smile.
I love how much he adores skin to skin. Face nuzzled into your chest, arm, tummy he likes to be as close up as possible.
I love his ugly bug ways. He has thick ears, a dimpled chin, long fingers and feet, skinny little arms and legs and a tongue that sometimes refuses to go in. I don't know where he gets these traits from. But he also has Alby's eyes and general look so that sometimes I feel like I'm calling him by the wrong name.
I love having him sleep on my chest. Alby used to love lying on my legs but with George it's as though he's pretending to still be in my belly.
I love how soft his hair and skin are. Who knew skin was made this soft? You can't stop admiring it.
I love how he tucks himself up. Knees bent, head nuzzle in, hands tucked up under his chin.
I love how the new born tucked up back bend that they do when you lift them out of a seat or off the floor. One big rigid curve.
I love how little he is. How calm he is. How gorgeous he is. Alby is one smitten big brother and I am one smitten mummy. Xx

My favourite sound

Mondays and Wednesdays are Alby and mummy days.  It’s no lie to say that I really appreciate having two whole days every week with my little man and that I’m fortunate enough to be able to work part time is something that I truly don’t take for granted.

When Mark comes home from work and asks about our day it’s often a case more of what haven’t we done than what have we done.  Today we took Percy for a walk, went to music class, visited the doctor’s, topped up on groceries at the supermarket, got the car washed, headed home to watch a film together, did some chores around the house, took Percy for a walk stopping at the pharmacy, library and post office along the way, came home for dinner, puzzles, stories and finally bed. 

Along the way we sang songs, told stories, talked about racing cars (a lot) discussed our plans for the rest of the week and shared snacks.  Let’s not go pretending that the day is a breeze with Alby and I in total harmony.  There were several mummy fails and toddler fails along the way as there always are (the first one today being when I had the audacity to turn off my bedroom light whilst Alby was in the toilet.  As he was quick to inform me, with much flailing of the arms and stomping of the legs, that is his job).   But there were also cuddles, giggles, kisses, silliness and giggles too.  Alby’s laughter nourishes the soul.  It keeps me smiling and I love him for the happiness that he has and the happiness that he shares.  

Alby at 3 years and 3 months

Conscious that I don’t write anywhere near as much as I’m used to I wanted to spend a little moment summing up Alby as a three year old.  Cos he’s a great little kid really, full of character and in ten years time when I’m dealing with a stroppy teenager I hope that I can look back on this and smile at the little boy who was.  And very possibly pick up on a number of things from now that already reveal the type of person he will grow up to be.

Alby’s vocabulary continues to grow at a crazy pace and he keeps coming out with things that make me laugh.  Today after baking fairy cakes I thanked Alby for his help to which he replied “it was my pleasure”.  I’ve never heard him say that before. 

Whilst two year old Alby appreciated a “good idea” nowadays ideas are more likely to be “great” or even “brilliant”.  Things are no longer big but rather “huge” or even “enormous”. 

Alby has a bit of an obsession over height.  He talks a lot about when he will be taller and how tall he will be.  In response I’ve become the clichéd adult begging him to enjoy being small and a child for as long as possible and not being so concerned about growing up already.  But despite my comments, being tall is still the ultimate prize.  And so from sticks to cutlery to pens to books we get the constant question “which one’s taller”?  Or, more frequently, the statement “my spoons bigger compared to yours” or “my sticks bigger compared to yours” (keeping the gender stereotypes alive and well here).  To Mark’s constant amusement Alby can’t actually say the word “compared” however and instead it comes out as “bedared to” and so our house is filled with chatter like “I’m taller bedared to little Milly” or “King’s bigger bedared to Lightening McQueen”. 

And when I say the house is filled with chatter I’m not joking.  Alby keeps a running commentary going during car and train races, dragon fighting, duplo construction and playdough squishing.  Or even when just walking around the house.  Mark’s giggled a good few times having asked Alby what he’s talking about Alby replies “I’m just talking to myself daddy.”  For this I am no doubt completely responsible.  Before Alby could talk car journeys were generally spent with me just talking at him – more than to myself than anybody else – and it’s only now that he asks “what are you talking about mummy” that I’ve started shutting up.

As well as stumbling over the word “compared” Alby’s also yet to get his tongue around “pretend” and instead tells us frequently that “I’m just tending mummy / daddy”.  And we do a lot of “tending” each day.  We “tend fight”, we “tend to fly” (when we’re tending to be Superman), we “tend” to cook our playdough and sometimes we even “tend to eat” it too.

Superman has somehow flown into our lives and we’ve no idea how or why but he’s proving quite fun.  Alby’s superman t-shirt and cape that he got for Christmas stayed on for 3 whole days (I had to stay up late and wash it in the night to prevent my child from being too disgusting come Boxing Day).  Being Superman can be hard work and Alby finds himself having to do a lot of rescuing and flying around.  Thankfully he has his friends to help him: Spiderman aka Daddy and Batman aka mummy (having recently been promoted from the position of “other Superman”).  Sometimes Superdog Percy also gets to join in the fun.  Don’t think for a moment that this is just a fun little game.  Alby takes it very seriously.  I’ve been told off on numerous occasions for calling Alby by his name: “I’m not Alby, I’m Superman”.  Similarly, referring to Mark as Daddy rather than Spiderman has had me equally chastised and there have been times when Alby will only play with Mark if he’s taken on his superhero persona.   We are big fans of the Shirley Hughes Alfie stories but, to make them more special, we change Alfie to Alby when reading.  Recently Alby decided to take this a step further and insisted Mark read Alfie as Superman in every story instead.  No doubt a way to keep him on his toes.

Alby is fascinated by feelings and any books relating to emotions that we’ve taken out of the library are always incredibly popular.  When I pick him up from nursery he enjoys telling me how bossy Indah has been or how bossy another child has been, though he appears quite blind to his own bossy tendencies.  Something which makes Mark and I laugh, especially when he tells us off for being a “bossy boots”.  We get bossed about for everything.  If we do a running races we get told where the starting line is, who is going to win (always Alby), and who is going to do the countdown (always Alby).  Failure to follow his instructions or even preventing him from going through all instructions can result in a meltdown.  We get bossed about what spoon he is going to eat with, which cup he is going to drink from, what colour counter we can be when we play his new (and only) boardgame: Orchard Toys, the three little pigs.  Even putting him into the bath (bottom first, always) requires direct and repeated instruction.

He loves riding his bike, climbing, bouncing on the bed and throwing himself off things (bed, stairs, sofas) into your arms.  He often finds he runs low on energy when out riding his bike.  Usually this can be fixed with a quick pit stop (parking his bike on the curb for a moment) though sometimes only going on shoulders is the only solution).

He loves a sword fight, Peter Pan, Captain Hook, pirates generally alongside knights and dragons.  You can fight normally but every now and then, for a bit of fun, he demands “crab fighting” which basically involves taking more of a jousting stance rather than straight on which Alby has yet to realise makes you a more efficient fighter.  He just thinks it’s funny as you look like a scuttling crab.  

Sword fights can also be interrupted by the need for a quick Swashbuckle salute (CBeebies you have a lot to answer for): “Hand on your heart.  Okay, eye patch, eye patch, pirate hat, pirate hat, Swashbuckle cheer, Arrrgggghhhhh”.

He is pretty good eating vegetables provided they are carrots, broccoli, beans, peas or sweetcorn.  Often finds that his tummy “isn’t filled up yet”.  Would happily eat six pots of yoghurt a day if only he got the change.  Loves the idea of cake but doesn’t actually eat it, believing that licking off the icing is all that he needs to do.  That said, he’s recently come to identify that some foods are sweet and others aren’t and spends a great deal of his time demanding “something sweet to fill up my tummy”.  Only occasionally will he accept that apples and carrots are sweet foods.

He loves hiding under the duvet in our bedroom aka Daddy’s tent and we’re currently getting dragged into daily games of hide and seek.  He’s not bad at it – he actually properly hides rather than just sitting in the middle of the dining room floor as he did six months ago and waits for you to find him rather than jumping out the minute you walk into the room.  However, he enjoys hiding so much that he giggles like crazy and the duvet / cushion or curtain that he’s hiding behind shakes like mad the closer you get and the more you pretend to struggle to find him.

Alby has a big heart.  He’s good at huggles and when tired often leaves his toys to come and see me and request a huggle.  It makes my heart melt.  He tells us often that he loves us “to the moon and back”.  Again, another heart melting moment.  Over Christmas I told Alby to kiss Mark on his honker, meaning his nose and Alby thought I said “tonker” so now we get daily kisses on the tonker as Alby’s special treat for his hard working parents.  Mark can’t leave the house for work without three kisses, three huggles and three high fives and at bedtime I have to give him a kiss for every room of the house as well as doing a circle of kisses around his face before he takes my hand and falls asleep.

He’s a ball of energy and whilst I’ve refrained from talk of tantrums I assure you that we are no stranger to them.  Sleep is still broken fairly frequently and he’s as particular about things as Percy.  His hair won’t lie flat, he takes pride in how good he’s become at getting dressed by himself (mostly just pants and trousers but still a big improvement on a few months back) and he loves telling me all about the world.  He sings like nobody can hear him (we all can), dances like nobody’s watching (we are and we’re laughing) and smiles often.  He’s a joy, a Trouble Monkey, a Cheeky Monkey and one of our most favourite people in the world. 

A flamily venture

My super boys

 Today we turned our back on the pile of clothes waiting to be ironed, the living room floor in desperate need of a hoover and Alby’s latest unfinished art project and headed off for a family walk on Salisbury Plain.

Adventure bullhound

We started the walk under a grey cloudy sky being buffeted by strong, oh so cold winds and… it was glorious.  Too often we fail to give enough time to actually spend time together as a family. Weekends can pass in a blur of chores, dog walks and grocery shopping.  Whilst we do whatever we can together, working alongside each other (Alby is becoming a dab hand at dusting, cooking, loading the dishwasher and woe betide the fool who tries to feed Percy without allowing Alby to help out) we collapse into bed on a Sunday evening wondered where the weekend went.  Or at least I do.

Not today though.  Today we went out together, we worked our way across the undulating landscape left from the Stone Age, claimed a hill, listened to Mark’s stories of training nights out in the area during Sandhurst days, map read, found sticks to tackle thorns with and even tickled Highland cattle (well Mark did).

Fluffy friends found on the way

In Alby speak, it was a great Flamily Venture.  I don’t know when the next one will come. No doubt as the new year gets further underway work craziness will come knocking at our door once more which is to say nothing of the fact that in around 15 weeks we’ll be dealing with the brilliant, challenging ridiculousness that is life with a new born.  And to be honest I don’t really care when the next one comes.  Today we took a break from living alongside each other to being together and it was lovely. 

Turning three

Albert the Bear is now the ripe old age of three.  Or as he told me the day after his birthday “I’m almost four now mummy….I’m almost a grown up”.  Considering that he’s been insisting that he’s a big boy for the past four months the move to grown up shouldn’t really be surprising but I still find it hilarious coming from such a little person.

Alby managed to squeeze in three parties as part of this year’s birthday celebrations – a precedent I fear he will demand seeing repeated in the years to come.  The first party was the nursery Halloween party, held the day before Halloween for some random reason, which Alby went to dressed up as the Big Bad Wolf from the Three Little Pigs.  This is one of his favourite stories at the moment, however in typical Alby fashion he has decided to side with the bad guy and thinks the wolf chasing the little pigs and blowing their house down is hilarious.  I’m not sure where this dark side comes from but it’s there.  When sword fighting he prefers to be Captain Hook to Peter Pan, admires the Bone Cruncher in the BFG and when watching Sleeping Beauty he cheers for the dragon and gets his bottom lip out when it gets slain.  Clearly there is still much for me to teach him about good and bad.  I’ve clearly failed on such so far (one to add to the Mummy Fail list) but maybe 2015 will be my year.  I doubt it but positive thought rarely hurts.

The second party was on his actual birthday.  Cake, party hats and more fancy dress (this time a roaring lion to continue the ferocious streak) with his nursery friends during the day followed by balloons, cards and gifts when he got home in the evening. 

The finished story cake book

From the Gurffalo

And then came the actual birthday party with friends.  A supposedly low key affair which involved about two months of preparation from me cutting out shapes and making templates of forest animals for the children to do collages, buying random playdough paraphernalia for the playdough table, making a selection of lists with instructions on what still needed doing, buying and packing and then lists of the lists when my random additions and deletions made a mockery of my attempts to be organised.  And I haven’t even mentioned the cake yet.  Why why why do mothers feel the need to make their child’s cake from scratch?  I’m not arty. I never have been and whilst it’s taken me awhile to accept it, I’ve made peace with the fact that whilst I’ve reached the age where Facebook posts are filled with images of the crocheted hats, handmade cushions and children’s fancy dress costumes made by my friends fair hands they aren’t going to see the same from me.  The last cushion I bought came from Tesco and Alby’s Big Bad Wolf costume came from Ebay.  I can shop but I can’t create.

Until it comes to the blasted birthday cake where I fall hook, line and sinker for the ridiculous notion that making a birthday cake from scratch is some integral part of being a mother.  As though it’s this annual rite of passage which I must survive if I’m to go anyway in undoing the Mummy Fails of the past 12 months.

And so I visit the cake shops, I buy royal icing like it’s going out of fashion.  I google tutorials on modelling icing.  I practice.  I mean who practices baking and icing a cake?   Crazy mothers that’s who.  I stay up until midnight cutting icing with a ruler to ensure the lines are perfectly straight.  And by the end I’m not even impressed with what I’ve achieved I’m so blurry eyed with exhaustion, frustrated at the cracks and creases and numb to any feeling other than that of utter respect for professional cake makes – a career path I begin to feel has been under-represented and under appreciated for years.  In fact, so high is my admiration at this point that I start to wonder if I can campaign on their behalf to raise their profile and secure them the respect they need.

And how did Alby react to his three day birthday bonanza?  By being sick!  Oh yes, poor little Alby’s filled up with cold spent his birthday party hiding out in the kitchen with me, refusing to leave my side with a burning fever and a very sorry look on his face.  Admittedly there were some lovely moments when he came out of his shell – having his lunch with friends, chasing Joey around the room, reading stories in the book corner we’d set up.  But for the most part he stayed out of the lime light and was eager for a bit of telly and his bed. 

 

Blowing out the candles 

Story time love with his favourites 

The day itself might not go down in history as his best ever party, but being three is certainly a milestone.  At three food has graduated from being “yummy” to “delicious”, water (or any drink really) isn’t tasty but rather “drinky”.  Alby will do almost anything for a chocolate – even if it’s just one mini smartie, and his best memory of going to Greece to be Auntie Katie’s page boy was the man from the restaurant opposite the hotel who gave him sweets every time we walked past (about four times a day). 

His favourite films are Sleeping Beauty (because of the dragon), She Ra and He Man (though he hasn’t quite mastered He Man’s catchphrase, shouting out instead “By the power of Greyscone”) and the BFG with the rest of his film collection (amounting to around 20 Disney classics) all coming in a very close second.

Cars remain his number one toy (Disney Cars or Hot Wheels are both acceptable) with ball games (rugby / football / tennis) a very close second and probably playdough and puzzles on equal pegging in third place.

We’d seen a few of the Toy Story characters for sale in the supermarket the other day which made him want to watch the film again.  That evening whilst on the sofa together watching Woody, Buzz and gang end up in a rubbish truck Alby announced: “I don’t have Buzz Lightyear.  I don’t need him.  I love my cars too much.”  Never a truer word said by that boy. 

He’s an ace on his bike and is completely fearless.  “Superman” with daddy is his favourite thing at the moment and involves him hurtling towards Mark, being lifted into the air and thrown into the sofa where he giggles and then somersaults across Mark so as to repeat the process again.  The “Daddy Rocket” may be no more but Daddy flying has yet to go out of fashion.

Everyday there are a million stories to tell.  It’s one big amazing adventure filled with plenty of laughter, constant new discovery and the fair share of frustration for parent and toddler alike.  I’ve yet to find the off switch with Alby meaning that I’m faced with a ball of energy, bossiness and stubbornness on a daily basis.  And the total and utter neglect of this blog highlights how packed and non-stop life seems now (not that I’ve ever been good at time management).  But no matter what I feel I think Alby’s words are probably the most important to close this post with: “it’s hard work being three”.