Home sweet home

13728971_1962498990643196_2599286044627108033_nIt is 9.06am and my son is still fast asleep beside me. This never happens; but it has been hot, and we’ve had a busy few days. I’ve just made myself a cup of tea, and as I walked to the kitchen, the sun casting pretty patterns on the tiles – I was reminded how much I love our home. In October I will have lived here for 2 years [which means I’ve already been blogging for 2 years …], and it is lovely to see these four walls develop into a family home …. the type and size of toys changing, the evolution of photographs on the walls … and the pitter patter of toddling feet along the hallway. It is happy, bright and lived in. There is always more I would like to do to it, but Flat 7 has always felt like home, and moving here was such a good decision. How fast time has gone, since I sat with a huge Freddie bump on the Chesterfield [in a much tidier and sparse lounge] trying to imagine what life would be like post partum; since I sobbed in the shower wondering if I could do it all. Then of course it was here where I brought my newborn in his moses basket, squishy and gurgling. This modest flat has provided for me, for us; a security, our own little haven; and I don’t think I will ever want to leave … the memories here have been the best of my life … and ones I will cherish forever and tell Fred about when he’s older.

Perhaps I’m in a philosophical mood, ignited because my beloved father is embarking on his 4th week  in hospital. It raises so many emotions; watching a loved one suffer; having to trust other people to fix them, and dealing with the reality that life is fragile, unfair, and short. There has been a heaviness these weeks; that Dad can’t be with us to enjoy the little things. Life isn’t as joyful when he’s not home. I’ve spent time in hospital myself, and the days are long. I’m hopeful that this week we may have a plan … but it has certainly provoked a lot of thinking and sadness, knowing my dear Dad is so poorly and that there is very little I can do to help him. We take our health forgranted ….

I’ve held Fred a little tighter, a little longer, recently …. ever aware of how quickly he is becoming a little boy. There are no words to describe the love for this little chap; the surge of protection, and the pride at the cheeky faced fun loving boy he is. I can’t imagine a time when he wasn’t in my life; and still pinch myself that he’s mine. How on earth did I unintentionally create something so utterly wonderful? I’m sure all parents think the same … but it’s the motherhood miracle which I’ll never quite get my head around. Sure, some days I’m pushed to my limits and long for bedtime, but when bedtime comes, I sit looking at my sleeping boy and forget about the housework which needs doing.

It’s now 6.30pm, and another Sunday is nearly over. My baby is once again sleeping peacefully beside me. I hope one day he looks back with good memories on his childhood, and remembers this home as a fun filled loving place to grow up. I want to get this right; and I feel the time is slipping through my fingers like grains of sand. I just brought a newborn home, surely?! Oh Freddie, you give me so much, and I’m loving watching you develop and grow … it’s great, this adventure.

Advertisements

Wine on a Tuesday …

13619922_1952615981631497_7171196182986399783_n

The calm before the storm

Is it really only Tuesday? At some ungodly hour last night I remembered I haven’t yet blogged about our holiday to Devon 3 weeks ago; and that will have to wait [it was good, by the way, although we might’ve put childless holiday companion off ever utilising her uterus]… because I need to explain in intricate detail the baptism of fire I experienced this afternoon. My Freddie is 16months old today … and today I encountered my first “what the fuck do I do” moment of parenting through a tantrum. I think the easier option was 16 months ago in the birthing pool [all hail the vagina].

Thus far I’ve muddled through motherhood with a laid back; softly softly, don’t read any parenting books, approach. He’s still breastfed, and we still co sleep … life has been filled with chuckles and adventures, and those gappy gummy smiles which melt ones heart. I never thought I could feel such love for another human being. I work 16 hours a week, over 4 days. We’ve just come to the end of yet another course of antibiotics [tonsilitis – again -all associated with these pesky gnashers] – I’ve now dosed us up with multivitamins and black elderberry which promises to improve the immune system. The disgusting iron syrup I’ve bought myself states it will alleviate tiredness and fatigue. I can sue, right, if it doesn’t?

So, I needed to pop to Halfords after work, to pick up some car mats for our new car [tomorrow, I collect my new car tomorrow!] and a sparkly new air freshner. Oooh, Freddie can walk now, I thought to myself … he’ll love holding my hand as I walk round to choose the things I need. REALLY. REALLY? What the fuck was I thinking? What really happened was, as I struggled to lug the new mats, and various other bits I’d chosen, I had to chase an inquisitive destructive toddler and stop him from throwing cans of car spray paint across the shop floor; looking like the worse parent in the history of parenthood; NOTE TO SELF; take the pushchair next time. NEVER just amble in, thinking it will all be okay. Checkout lady carried my items out to my car looking mildly amused, whist I had Fred horizontal under my arm, screaming and kicking because I wouldnt let him destroy the keyring display at the till; or eat my debit card.

In car. Regain composure; sing the Grand Old Duke of York and ask Freddie where his head is. I can do this, I thought. Next stop, tea and cake with a friend, in a very quaint little tea room. I should add at this juncture that this morning I wore a dress for work, which meant my boobs were inaccessible without me showing far too much flesh in public [I had my granny pants on too]. Freddie doesn’t really *need* boobjuice in the day now, so I hadn’t thought it would be a problem …. yet today I realised that boob is my one comforter during a meltdown. In the words of a very wise fellow mummy “if in doubt, whack them out” …

There was screaming, there was throwing [oooh a cookie, yes, I quite want this cookie, but I want the smartie off the top of it, and I can’t quite get it off, but I don’t want momma to help me … if momma helps me I will throw it across the room and squeal] – I tried to distract with a book, with a toy car, with a drink … with a spoon … and nothing worked. There was throwing and flailing of arms, screeching, tears …. a red sticky, sweaty, much loved face.

And I realised this is it; toddlerhood.

I was trying to simultaneously shove a bacon and egg sandwich into my mouth without letting the yolk dribble down my chin, and appear very composed at the chaos. Does one just keep calm and carry on [must carry gin in hip flask for such occasions] – even when people are blatantly staring, or moving to sit outside. The floor is now smeared in cookie crumbs and dropped spoons.

“I’d let your husband look after him one afternoon” said an old lady -didn’t like to tell her I’m a single mum.

“He’s not normally like this” I said

“They all say that” said her friend.

And so after gulping our tea, we got in the car and came home.

My darling little boy is now asleep beside me, looking angelic and peaceful. Its 19.16 and I’m ready to join him, once I’ve finished my glass of merlot. Maybe I should read a parenting book? I love the bones off this little chap; he makes me laugh; in fact – sometimes he makes me laugh even when being naughty, and I need to work on my serious face. Once upon a time there was a little girl who was also very strong willed and defiant. I’m still chuckling to myself though, that I thought it would be a sensible idea to just mosey into Halfords ….