My cheeky chubby cherub

21 weeks old

21 weeks old

20.07, sitting in bed with a cup of [decaf] tea, freshly showered, smelling nice [for a change], feeling quietly pleased with myself that the flat is all clean and homely [I even gave the windows a once over with some windolene!] AND there’s a sleeping Fredders beside me, also freshly bathed, full to the brim with milk. When I last blogged it had been a LONG sleepless week, and I’m pleased to report [whilst clinging onto the wooden bedside cabinet so not to jinx myself!] that sleep has improved. One glorious night my boobs were only required twice! Sleep is such a wonderful thing!

Freddie is 21 weeks old today; twenty one weeks. It will sound cliched, but I never thought I could love as much as I love this roundy doll [he is such a roundy doll!]. Even when I’m exhausted and in “Mombie” mode, there is so much to savour, to treasure; and so much to look forward to. I still sit here looking at him sleeping, amazed that he’s really mine, that I created and cooked such a cheeky chubby cherub, not to mention pushing him from the ladygarden.

We’ve had a jolly week, beginning with a rainy Sunday at a Heavy Horse Show, where Freddie met some piggies for the first time. We’ve been to a Beach Party at a local children’s centre where Freddie used a crayon for the first time [needless to say his creation is blue tacked to the kitchen door!]… and yesterday we went to baby yoga, today Moo Music. It’s none stop in the life of a baby!

Freddie enjoying playing with Thomas in his big boy seat!

Freddie enjoying playing with Thomas in his big boy seat!

When I last wrote, I bemoaned that it’s bloody hard work being a single mummy … and yes, it can be. BUT the flip side is evenings like these, when I sit here quietly proud of myself that Freddie is a happy baby with a happy life … that this time last year I hadn’t even viewed this flat, and now it is very much home. For fear of blowing one’s own trumpet [tut tut, we’re British you know!] – I’ve created this myself … and it is a satisfying feeling. I’ve never been so tired, but I wouldn’t swap any of it. I remember an old University lecturer telling us that we ought to be able to cope alone, always … and I think it is a very good skill. I am a tougher person since having Freddie, because I have to be, and because when he was born, so was my inner Tiger Mother! There are times when I would love someone to walk in through the door at 6pm and cook me dinner or entertain Fredders whilst I indulged in a long shower … or bring me a cup of tea at silly o clock … but no one has perfect … we all just have our fleeting moments of perfect.

All I want, from now and forever, is to be a good Mummy to my boy; for Freddie to always know that his happiness is the most important thing … at the moment his chuckles and smiles tell me that I’m on the right track … I just wish time could go a little slower …


20 weeks of Freddie in the world

11140228_1794504550775975_5362779007137257739_nAs you, dear readers, will know – there is nothing I love more than being Freddie’s mummy. It is 20 weeks today since this little chap burst from my vagina. However, I should like to utter eight words:


This week we have both had colds, mine a rather niggly not terrible but bothersome summer snotty affair. Freddie’s is more the teething variety; red cheeks, dribble, and chomping on everything in sight. I even lost my voice. I’ve had poo, wee, sick and breastmilk on bedsheets, exploding nappies, neglected housework, and wake ups every two hours in the night. Yes, you read that correctly. Sleep, how I remember you … how I miss you. 4 hours straight would be considered a total luxury.

In fact, I ought not moan this evening … as after a day spent doing very little [aside from successfully keeping baby happy and alive], I tentatively tried once again to get Fredders into his cot instead of my bed. I usually feed him to sleep and then try to place him gently in the cot beside my bed. Normally upon touching the mattress he goes bright red and screams … but tonight, he remained asleep, and has been asleep for half an hour! It’s 8.03pm and I’m trying to hold out until 8.30pm before joining him. I love having him close in the night, but it has been hard to sleep as he has got more active, rolling around and generally pushing me out of bed. Bless him.

Motherhood, I have decided, is the best job in the world, yet also the hardest. I worry about this little fellow so much, I love him so much; even at 2.43am when he’s deep in conversation with me! He’s quite simply the best. Little did I know, 20 weeks ago as I gazed into his crib beside me in the post natal ward … how amazing and how tiring it would be.

Gosh, I have 20minutes before my self imposed bedtime, I could jolly well shave my legs! It has been a LONG time!

I really mustn’t be one of those Baby Bore Mummy’s … whoops! #toolate

The best first passport photos ever!

The best first passport photos ever!

It amazes me that when I started this blog, I was at the very beginning of my journey with Freddie. I didn’t even know he was a he, let alone that he would be called Freddie; or that my body possessed the ability to propel him from my vagina. He’s 18 weeks on Thursday, and I continually exclaim how fast time is going, and how fast Freddie is growing. We’ve been out most of the day with friends, and when I was tagged in some photos this evening, I looked twice – because as you can see, Fred is looking less and less like a wobbly baby and more like a chunky cherub of a little boy! So many emotions! I had to remove the newborn insert from the car seat last week; and then I’ve moved the seat on the pram higher so he doesn’t lie down flat anymore. Today I bought size 3+ PLUS nappies. I’m so aware of the fleeting nature of babyhood … how these 18 weeks I’ve wanted to hold him and love him and get to know everything about the little boy who grew in my tummy. I hope his smiles show that he knows how loved he is …

Happy Boy in his pram

Happy Boy in his pram

We’ve had a jolly few days, although the heat has been challenging for a warm baby … lots of coolish baths and no nappy time lying in the direction of the fan [yes, I’ve had a few wee-wee-fountains!!] He is such a joy; such a happy chuckling bundle of baby celluliite. I constantly awake in the morning to him in my arms [yes, haven’t quite mastered the sleeping in a cot thing yet, much to the detriment of my neck, arm and shoulder muscles] and look down on his chubby cheeks amazed that I could’ve grown someone so beautiful. Every day his personality emerges a little more … his squeals of excitement as he jumps in his Jumperoo … his recognition of the ducks in the bath, his engagement with Baby Sensory classes. It’s all amazing, and I feel so lucky. So lucky. Pinch. Pinch. For this, for him, I can forgive my own wobbly thighs and the bags under my eyes … [thankfully the post partum piles have now receded]

I remember writing a post when pregnant about little annoyances such as strangers fondling my bump. Well, current new mum annoyancies include those pesky, akin to gold dust, few and far between “parent child” car parking spaces. Personally, I think they should bring back hanging just for the ignorant, lazy, selfish oafs who use them without a child. In fact, I think they should solely be for those mums lugging car seats and prams around … who find themselves jammed in and unable to get said car seat into car, because some lazy sod can’t be bothered to walk a few more metres for their super size multipack of skips and tesco value burgers. Hmm. AND, more’s the point, there should be more of those “parent child” spaces. More of them, I tell you! More! Lots more! Get onto it Mr Cameron.

Secondly, it can be quite frankly traumatic walking around K-town with a pram. I’m not the best driver out there, but seriously – some people are just vacant. I’m fairly sleep deprived at the moment, yet have to be spot on with the reflexes to avoid ramming said pram into old ladies and [most annoying of all] PEOPLE WHO JUST STOP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE F*****G PAVEMENT.

THEN, there are those days when baby Freddie REALLY doesn’t like Boots. I mean, REALLY doesn’t like Boots. He will wail and wail, usually because he needs a nap and would rather cry about being tired than close his eyes [bless him, he’s a stubborn one my boy] – and somehow the lights and smell of Boots sends him into meltdown. But I need nappies and Diprobase and yet more breast pads … so we venture into the world of pushing a screaming baby around a shop. Now, dear friends who don’t have children – I remember being you, giving the dirty looks and rolling the eyes … I remember thinking how inconsiderate it was bringing a wailing child into a shop whilst I’m busy deciding whether to go for the teal or brown eyeliner. Well, I tell you … it’s pretty hellish being the mum attached to that pram. I can feel my cheeks going red, my heart pounding, as I hurry to the baby section and knock entire displays of nappies over trying to find the right size …. “someone’s not happy today” says an old lady looking at a purple faced Freddie, mouth wide open. I immediately take this as a criticism of my mothering skills, but smile and tell her he needs a nap …..

Baby needs boob. Will return …