Slow down lil britches

Helping out with my jobs

George celebrated his first Christmas by taking his first solo step.  Two months ago at my aunt’s house in America he started pulling himself up, eight weeks on and he’ll walk around the house quite happily just holding onto a few fingers of your hand.  Admittedly he doesn’t walk for very long before going back to a crawl, but it seems like there is no stopping the little guy. 

As Baloo says in the Jungle Book (or at least Disney’s version of it).  “Slow down…if you act like that bee acts uh uh.  You’re working to hard.”

I don’t know about working but the boy loves walking.  And he lover his walker.  A lot. We first got it out after the America trip but after him spending a day crying as he kept pulling it back onto himself but we started him on it again at the beginning of the Christmas holidays and he will now happily bash his way around the house.  Steering is a skill he’s yet to master but regardless of whether he’s charging down the straight or repeatedly bashing into the bookshelf Goblin can be found grinning from ear to ear.

Shutting himself into the bathroom - such fun!

He also loves going up the stairs.  Thank you dearest Father-in-law for encouraging that little trick over the Christmas holidays ensuring that now, every time I turn my back to, I don’t know, prepare / cook / clear up from a meal (which with a pre-schooler and a weaning baby I feel as though I’m doing twenty times a day) George hightails it up the stairs. How we haven’t already had an accident I’ve no idea.  I keep catching him half way up, pleased as punch with himself, clapping away before he turns to go up the final climb.  And heaven forbid you close the stair gate when he’s finally at the top.  The little chap has no idea how to get down stairs yet but the Lemming instinct is strong in this one as we know from his repeated attempts to dive out of our arms to stop us from closing the gate.

Alby obviously finds all of this “hilarious” a word he says with a slight accent adding an extra level of comedy to an already ridiculous situation. 

In true baby fashion we’ve yet to see the first solo step repeated but that’s no wonder with all the other distractions that have sprung up over the past week. As well as fighting his first cold and settling into nursery, judging from the cries last night he’s also about to cut another tooth.  But honestly, the little fella has only just turned nine months. He’s a superstar.  

It's interesting, it's interesting

The gas man is here doing a safety check and Alby is amazed. He couldn't sit still at the table he was so excited about the gas man in the kitchen so we left him go watch. Cue hundreds of questions, naming of tools and intermittent and incessant shouting of "it's so interesting" or "ohh that's interesting" or "interesting part". Followed by much jumping and flapping about.

During the chat, where we learned the gas man is called Alan, that it's his last job of the night and that he will order us a new boiler (Alan is my hero of 2016), it was suggested Alby could be a gas man when older. He took the idea of being CORGI Certifird with enthusiasm but then suggested "or I could be a formula one driver like Lewison Hsmilton or a darts player that you can go how-woo too [referencing Wolfie Adams]. Or a goodie pirate."

So it's good to know the boy is giving himself options.

George meanwhile was climbing the stairs stealing my electric toothbrush from the charger and bashing it whilst shouting for joy.

It's just another manic Monday

Manic Monday buddy

I have a confession. Unloading the trolley of children and shopping this afternoon I took a moment to stand there in the rain and wonder "why do people have two children?" Really the question should have just been one of "why do people have children?"

The boys had done nothing wrong. They'd actually been on brilliant form all day. The question wasn't based any obvious parenting gripe - sick/snot on the shoulder, tantruming child, whining child... As I say the boys were on top form. But my body ached from carrying George whilst pushing round a full trolley complete with helpful 4 year old. Standing there with 2pm feeling like midnight and my mind completely focused on the most effective way to reach my caffeinated beverage of choice whilst also ensuring both children were safely strapped in their seats I asked the guilty question of "why do we do this."

The answer is of course totally obvious. It's because we love it. Even the ones that do involve sick/snot on the shoulder and tantrums. It's all bloody brilliant but boy do I know how to make things hard for myself at times. Mondays being the best example. Here's how today went (and please note I feel the following should be sung along to some jaunty tune as if being narrated in a particularly peppy children's TV show):

Helping with the tidying (or not)

Got myself and both boys dressed, fed and watered
Fed the dog
Walked the dog
Got out the house by 8.45am
Made it to Albug's music class only two minutes late
Paid a cheque in at the bank
Purchased first caffeinated beverage so as not to get into trouble for pre-schooler toilet dash in high street coffee place
Went to soft play for an hour
Made it to George's music class - bonus points for being on time
Supermarket number one (whilst feeding and then carrying a sleeping George)
Got new keys cut
Went around supermarket number two
Filled up the car with diesel (less than £1 a litre, I couldn't believe it)
Unpacked the car, set Alby up in front of a film, fed and got George to sleep
Cooked soup (for tomorrow's dinner), kedgeree (for tonight's dinner) and pasta for Alby (because he asked)

And so to bed...

Walked the dog
Ate with family whilst reading the end of George's Marvellous Medicine
Got Alby to bed
Got George to sleep
Chatted with husband
Resettled George
Admired a bulldog
Made packed lunches for tomorrow
Packed nursery bags for tomorrow.

I am not claiming to be superwoman. I have friends with three children and I've even heard of some mad couples with five or six, heaven forbid. Nor am I making claim as owner of the busiest day. Hubbie set off to work at 6.30 this morning and didn't return for another 12 hours. Im just sharing my guilty secret, that if you see me staring into the distance on a manic Monday it is most likely to be a result of me asking "why?"

Cuteness

I should be asleep right now. It's late and we've had a really crazy few days. But I also had to post. Today we moved around a load of furniture in recognition of the fact that as idyllic as it sounds having the two little ones sharing a room, the reality would mean a house of broken sleep and groggy individuals. So now George's cot is in our room. The little, bedside one has gone and his big cot is over by the window, just over an arms length away from me. And he is fast asleep. Breathing deeply. Squirming every now and then. My angel.

People are always being told to slow down. Enjoy the moment. And it might be impossible to believe that I can truly do that whilst also typing away but I'm happiness personified at the moment. I glance up after every sentence and feel blessed. I should be sleeping but I'm in danger of just watching him all night.

My precious, sleeping angel.

A babbling Georgie Georgie

Over the past few weeks George has found his voice. He started with the occasional "mumumum" which came out when he was sad and hungry. And then he worked out "dada" and was so delighted with the reaction he got from Alby and me "silly Georgie, daddy's at work", that he has continued to say it. Sometimes non stop for ten minutes. Sometimes non stop for thirty minutes. Obviously as the one who has given up work to devote all my time with him I am thrilled.

When he was first learning to make the sound he had to really think about it, you could see him working his mouth trying to get his tongue and jaw around the sound. It was like he was chomping out the sound. Too cute. Too funny.

"Dadadadada" is his favourite but we're also getting the random "bababa", "yayayaya", "pp" and "hiya". At really chatty times you get the occasional squeal and squeak too much to mine and Alby's amusement.

One of the hard things with an Albug around is that George often gets shouted down. Albs hasn't quite worked out that you have to let Georgie speak and then echo back the sounds, despite me constantly trying to teach him. He gets too excited laughing at Georgie and shouting back "Dada's at work Georgie, Dada's at work." Poor George. And poor working daddy.

What I love most is that George will stay quiet for hours, for almost the whole day and then we take him for the evening dog walk or get him in the bath and he just doesn't shut up. As Albs would say "he's just so hilarious."

For the past two days as well as all the random noises George has started blowing raspberries again. Lordy knows why. Similar to talking he can do it for twenty minutes straight. We've put it down to teething, making a far fetched claim it must help with his gums in an effort to hide the real truth: we've got ourselves another cheeky one. And I love him to bits.

A new Christmas tradition

I have a memory from when I was about six or seven of my mum driving me through a blizzard to get to the theatre for us to watch The Nutcracker. Or maybe it was Swan Lake. Truth be told I don't remember the ballet itself at all. My memory is of my mum being a bit scared of the weather but carrying on anyway and of me being amazed that she was doing this for me. I remember thinking  'why hasn't she given up?' This is one of the many many examples of how impressive my mum is. And also explains my own grit, determination and sometimes downright ridiculous decision making at times.

We were never silly enough to drive through another blizzard but my parents did ensure dance was a part of my childhood even after I'd outgrown my tutu and hung up the ballet shoes for good. For the past decade however, my exposure to ballet has been limited to cheesy films of ballerinas joining up with street dancers (yes, they are as bad as they sound). That is until today. The day Alby and I went to see our first proper ballet at the local theatre.

Yes we did go and see 'dogs don't do ballet' in Winchester last year but as it was based on a children's book about a ballet loving dog and performed by teenagers I've decided it doesn't really count.

Waiting for the show to start

Today we watched the Snow Queen. And despite having a fidgety, whispering, tired four year old next to me, despite my view being blocked every now and then from Alby sitting in my lap and despite having to answer his questions I spent the whole performance with a smile on my face. A smile made all broader each time Trouble Monkey sat upright, gripped the arms of his seat and stared transfixed at the stage (opening scene with the Snow Quuen breaking the looking glass, when Kay gets the glass in his eye and turns punchy, when the Snow Quuen puts Kay under her spell, when  Gerda meets the witch and finally - spoiler alert, when the Snow Quuen gets killed. Oh and the scene with the Pirates too. I don't think they really were pirates but trying to whisper an explanation of what gypsies are was beyond me.)

Albug got into all the clapping after each dance. The very first time we clapped, after the very first scene he looked up at me confused and asked "is it over?" making the row in front laugh. Hee hee. Sorry chap, we've got another 90minutes to go.

I loved it. It wasn't the national ballet, the Royal ballet or Sadlers Wells but it was well done, it was simple happy making. I had a date with my little man, we have already agreed to repeat next year and once Georgie is old enough to join us we will make it a family outing. Yay.

Whilst Trouble Monkey and I had our first date of the year George had his own first in the evening - he crawled into the downstairs restroom, found a bar of soap and tried eating it. Cue a very upset, soap-scented baby desperately sucking on his sippy cup for the next ten minutes. Think we'll dodge making this one a tradition too.

George's wonder week

We've had a bit of a wow week this week from the goblin. I guess in some ways I should have been prepared for it. George is seven months old and spends his time split between two activities : crawling and pulling himself up on things. He's not yet moved onto cruising, though to be fair he had a good go at moving up and down the ledge at soft play today, but that hasn't stopped him from filling this week with firsts.
On Monday he started waving. It's still a bit sporadic but walk into the room and give him a big hello and you will more often than not be greeted with a flapping arm from the smiling boy. A woman flaps her arms any she gets told off for being in a tizz, a baby does it and we jump up and down in celebration.
On Wednesday he cut his first tooth. Bottom front left. I'd said to Mark and few days earlier when George was being particularly grizzly (for him) that we should no doubt expect a tooth in a few weeks time. Well I was almost right, just got my time management wrong, which won't surprise anyone who knows me well.
On Thursday George started clapping - sort off. He had two toys from his shape sorter in his hand and was banging them together wildly and looked pleased as punch with himself. Alby and I held a bit of conference, decided it was clapping and so begun another round of George praise.
And if clapping wasn't enough, to top off a busy week, Thursday also marks the day he started saying "da da". Or more precisely "da da da da da da da da da da". He came out with "mumumum" twice about ten days ago but never again. Da da meanwhile was said non stop for a whole afternoon and has been repeated at least a hundred times since. On Saturday morning we got a "p p p" from him too. Percy bullhound is no doubt thrilled.
All this growing does come at a cost. The little goblin is currently sleeping in my arms having woken, screaming, 45 minutes after his previous crying episode. I wouldn't describe him as s big crier but he is definitely louder than I remember Alby bring and it seems to come from nowhere which is particularly unpleasant when it happens in the middle of the night waking you up in a confused panic trying to work out who is being tortured (George claims its him but his two sleep robbed parents have chosen to interpret things slightly differently). The cries are horrible but as I sit here with my babe in my arms I can't help feeling a little smug. There are few things so wonderful as being able to rock your baby to sleep, few things that feel so good as being able to all a crying child. To know that your love helped chase away the tears. The screams are horrible but thankfully parenting us never a one way street and in our home, thank god, I'm pretty sure the smiles and huggles outweigh the screams and tears.