An honest account of being a first time mum

Posts tagged ‘babies’


Baby2011 is making me pasta, custard and tea. Then I expect he’ll pull up his tiny stool, sit down at the keys and serenade me on his piano (microphone included!) whilst I pick the Weetabix off his high chair and persuade the cat to get down off the top of the fridge. He plays a bit on his own now. As much as I’ve longed for this freedom I feel a but redundant.

Anyone would think it had been Christmas. My conservatory (posh eh!?) is like a toy shop. Flashing lights, joyful songs, and a bit chaotic – bit like dad2011 on Christmas day (boom boom). Baby2011 running excitedly from fireman Sam toys to Thomas the tank engine and he looks so thrilled.

In the run up to Christmas baby2011 and I hit the Toddler Group Christmas party. We survived. 50 under 5s making Christmas crowns (baby2011 insisting on wearing one he didn’t make upside down the whole time!) dancing and singing with Jo jingles and a few ounces of sugar made father christmas’ reception – well, Interesting.

Poor bloke probably wished he was in the pub opposite or at home in an arm chair watching deal or no deal with a cup of tea rather than absolutely terrifying each child there. He was a lovely chap but it was hilarious as each child was called they clung to their parents knees looking as terrified as a turkey at Christmas. They were sh*tting themselves. Parents of more than one child in hysterics or rolling eyes and first time mum’s trying to jolly up screaming child and explain the magic to them (no one wants the screamer do they!?).

Thank god a warm bottle of milk sent baby2011 to sleep that afternoon and me and a friend thought it would be best if we checked the mulled wine stock was ok for our husbands.

On Christmas eve baby2011 had been washed, fed and watered and put in a nice cosy bed. He’d put a carrot out for the reindeer and a triple jack Daniels for father crimbo and he was asleep. Bliss…my mind began to wander. Romantic notions of opening our stockings in bed on Christmas morning, laughing and excited filled my head.

The reality was that we we were woken in the night by the puke monster. Baby2011 and his spectacular vom made for a night of washing machine loads, carpet scrubbing and half sleeping, waiting for round 2.

The moral of this Christmas tale. You’re not the boss, you’re not in control, but with friends, family, children and wine…you’re definitely winning.

(I think I’ll need a hip flask once he hits nativity play age)



So there was the phase when I couldn’t have a 2 minute shower without shouting down the stairs “is he ok?”. Oh yes and even before that (how could I forget) the phase where I felt like dolly Parton and was walking like John Wayne…girls you know what I’m saying!?

Then there was the phase when breast feeding baby out and about filled me with dread as he was so nosey the whole of Surrey had seen what they weren’t supposed to by the time he was 3 months.

Then there was the “wouldn’t take a bottle” phase, then there was the dummy falling out a million times a minute phase. Oh yes and the pack 20 lunch boxes of weening food and beakers and milk for a quick trip to asda-all which was thrown on floor or refused phase. Particularly challenging and time consuming. I won’t bother next time around.

Then there was the crawling backwards phase, stuck under sofa phase, eating sweetcorn from under the sideboard phase.

Then there was the rotovirus phase, then the hacking cough phase. Then there was standing up phase, the walking phase, the running phase and now the talking phase. I use the word “talking” loosely however he has mastered the work “potato” just this morning and this confirms to me that he’s a genius.

So the wont sleep day or night phase and up at 4.55am phase persists but it’s definitely much more rewarding and fun looking after a toddler. A walking, talking, nutty toddler.

A toddler who waves at people from the window and cracks up as though they’re losers for waving back. A toddler who thinks its very funny to see mummy get wound up when he refuses to call a dog a dog and insists its a cat. A toddler who when I can smell him from 20 paces insists that he has NOT done a poo.

A toddler that wants to push the trolley round the supermarket and then hides amongst the cat litter shelf giving me a heart attack.

Baby2011 will always be my baby, but his sense of humour, his stubbornness and his overall personality makes everyday so fun and yes, I’ve plucked up the courage to call him a toddler. Cheers!




Baby2011 is wrapped up to ridiculous levels to leave house in the
“cold snap” that has gripped Surrey, and has gone to the chemist with dad2011. I am lying on the bedroom floor (been here nearly 4 hours now) as my back has gone into sciatic spasm.

It’s not labour pain, but it still hurts and I cannot move a muscle or I screech and cry.

Painkillers of epic proportion are on their way! Thank god as I can’t even pick up the remote to turn off this god awful programme I’m watching upside down about grey people from Wales  buying antiques (term used loosely!) and selling them for a few quid more than they bough and then wetting themselves with excitement. Sorry in foul mood!

My back seized up this morning. I was holding baby2011 and bent down to feed cat and couldn’t straighten back up again. Luckily dad2011 is home and was able to grab baby2011 before he ingested the ” felix as good as it looks”. I then managed to crawl and collapse in a heap.

After a long while of trying to persuade a lady on the end of the phone that i wasn’t fibbing or being a hypochondriac she reluctantly agreed to put me on the list for a home visit from a doctor. But “they are very busy ” she said “so who knows when he’ll get there”. So here i am, frustrated by the pain and disgusted at the state of the carpet and cob web I can see below the radiator  waiting for emergency doctor.

Dad2011 had been in the loft at the time getting our Moses basket down to lend to friends expecting a baby girl next month (very exciting!). Whist drama unfolded downstairs our cat decided to ascend loft ladder and go crazy in the vast and only partially boarded loft. He was retrieved and thrown onto landing whilst baby2011 threw everything he could reach from his cot onto floor and I lay sobbing on the bedroom carpet. A really great morning, or as my sister would put it…an epic fail.

So here we are. What to do now. And how on earth can I look after baby2011 with a useless back.

When I was pregnant I remember being convinced I’d be bored caring for a baby. Bored not having any brain stimulation and thought i’d have lots of time to study for a professional qualification or do some artwork for the house or read Wuthering Heights. How naive I was! I barely have time to dust the front room or phone a friend.

And although I know I don’t sit down often because I’m so busy, I cannot for the life of me tell you what I’m doing that takes up so much time. And also what means once baby2011 has gone to bed means my house looks like the Tasmanian Devil has been raving with 50 mates in my kitchen.

But then I remembered. Everything with a baby takes not twice as long but 5 times as long as it should.

For example, baby2011 like cheerios for breakfast. I am not allowed to help or rush him when he’s eating his cheerios so I wait whilst he feeds himself one cheerio at a time. Breakfast therefore can take an hour.

A bottle of milk, simple to make and give to baby. Takes a few minutes I hear you cry! Well, once bottle washed, sterilised, kettle boiled, feed measured and bottle cooled. We have to put In the night garden on for a point of focus. Baby2011 will then want to play with the remote control and after hiding that (and you have to be convincing it’s gone now he’s bigger and cleverer!) he might drink an oz or 2 of milk before cat appears and he bats bottle away to wriggle down and chase him. It could therefore take up to an hour to give him his milk!

Even a nap. You think baby tired baby will go to sleep. Well not in our house. Baby tired, baby pulls grumpy face, baby throws dummy on floor (under sofa is the equivalent of being lost forever!), find clean dummy, get headbutted, place baby in cot. Baby2011 will crawl up and down cot, bump head and cry and then after about 30 minutes will go to sleep for a bit.

Heading out the door to see friends, baby2011 will do a big poo. Change nappy, he throws hat on floor, throws rusk (bribe to be happy whilst I load car) all over back seat, wiping hands on my only clean jumper that I’m wearing. Baby2011 falls asleep in car so I drive around a further 30 minutes to keep him asleep!

Emergency doctor arrived. Asked me why I was sitting on floor. If I could have got up I would have punched him in the face. Prescribed painkillers, instructed dad2011 to go and get them, told him wrong chemist was open and once again we have a fabulous experience with a GP.

Dad2011 returned. Painkillers spaced me out. But it was the glass of red wine helped me to walk about a bit.

Wish I could explain to baby2011 why I’m not chasing him around and scooping him up for a cuddle. He looks confused. Dad2011 of course is being amazing but I feel so guilty not being able to do anything.

Hopefully I’ll be on the mend soon and able to cuddle my baby boy.

Times like this, sitting back and seeing what’s going on without you make me realise how lucky I am. A wonderful mum, mother in law and friends all offering help and sympathy.

How hard must it be for mothers who don’t have that support, who are on their own or who are truly  poorly? A wish and a prayer for them all. I’ll stop moaning now.

God I hope I’m well enough to hoover soon, the carpet really is a disgrace :0)


When baby2011 was about 5 days old he fell asleep after a feed. I wrapped the fragile, tiny newborn up in a blanket more carefully than you would a million £ antique. I tip toed up the stairs quieter than I’d ever done before. Then I crept over to the bedroom, his  Moses basket in sight and…wacked his perfect new born head on the door frame. “Waaaaaah!”

That’s confession one! There are, unfortunately for him, quite a few more.

I do think as a mum you’re under a lot of pressure to be perfect. My health visitor wisely said to me (3rd visit after the first fateful one!!) that the only pressure mothers are under is pressure from themselves.

We are the only ones who freak if our babies cry in Tescos or puke on the floor in Starbucks. Let’s face it, it’s not like you can control it!

I definitely felt (and still feel) the pressure to be perfect. To have the perfectly behaved baby and to appear like everything is straightforward and easy peasy.

Eeeerm, well thank the lord for gcse drama and a level theatre studies! Maybe I’m fooling a few.

God I’ve done so many stupid things since baby2011 arrived. I blame sleep deprivation. And hormones! Yes it must be hormones.

And seeing as this blog is becoming somewhat cathartic I confess to being less than perfect as a mum.

I once (actually maybe more) swigged jack Daniels out the bottle at 08.45 when baby2011 was a few days old. Arguably it did us both good.

The first time baby2011 wee’d up in the air with no nappy on I put my hands up to stop me getting a face full and it all went back all over him.

I always did and still do let baby2011 sleep in my arms so I can watch This Morning without having to run up and down stairs.

If baby2011 throws his dummy on the floor I lick it and he has it back.

I have to put In The Night Garden on to persuade him to eat, sleep and play nicely for 5 minutes so
I can unload the dishwasher. I’ve watched 6 episodes today and I really dislike upsy daisy (tarty!) and wonder whether the tombliboos are well looked after…i reallydon’t understand how makka pakka is smaller than iggle piggle but whatever!

Baby2011 sleeps on his front and his nursery is 21 degrees.

When the little monkey won’t eat any of my homemade, slaved in the kitchen for hours to make meals he has fish fingers, garlic bread and chips…

Baby2011 probably falls and bangs his head about 3 times a day.

Yes, I have visited lots of baby modelling websites to see how much he could earn us. And yes, he was so much cuter than any of the uglies on the site!

At baby2011’s first derby day I drank 3 glasses of champers and 2 glasses of wine and then
breast fed him in a tent listening to the commentary of my horse (Pour Moi) winning me about £60.

I still walk him round and sway until
he falls asleep. Then place him in his cot holding my breath in case he wakes as he touches he mattress.

I turn the plug off and let him play with my phone charger. It keeps him
Quiet for 5 minutes…

I’m liberal with calpol.

Baby2011 and i have had some awesome times and he can’t even talk yet! He’s my best mate that little fellow.

Being perfect is soooooooooooo dull!

Eye gouging

There are severe punishments for eye gouging in most sports. Fish hooking (sticking your finger in opponents mouth and hooking their cheek) is even banned from wrestling. Head butting (the stag do favoured show of testosterone) can see you in prison. Hair pulling, doesn’t warrant the same severe punishments as the aforementioned actions, but it bloody hurts.

Baby2011 has mastered all of these actions beautifully.

To get him to bed tonight I have been head butted twice, been scalped and he fell asleep with his fingers fish hooking my left cheek. I’m battered and bruised.

But this is a small price to pay for an easy bedtime with the next stop being the divine sound of fridge open, glass out of cupboard, unscrew, glug glug glug glug, sip, sigh, aaaaahhhhhh.

Injuries aside, I’m stupidly, head over heels in love with baby2011. Of course I always have been, but this week his character has developed even more. I know him better. I can see he understands me. It’s weird. But amazing.

I have spent most of the last week saying; NO *disappointed face*, and CAREFUL *shit he’s going to fall and clonk his head face*, and STOP *if you eat my bank statement or the christmas thank you notes I’ve just addressed and stamped I’ll give you to the gypsies face*. He’s hilarious. And boy doesn’t he know it!

Been talking to lots of friends old and new and they’re enjoying this silly little blog (thank you for reading by the way) and I started thinking about all the things you are just never told when you’re pregnant.

A baby’s eye gouging tendencies is one of them, but I’ve thought of lots more…

1.  When your baby smiles for the first time, you will cry
2. You will jump red lights, cut up ferraris and ignore police cars if your baby is crying in the back of the car for a feed or attention
3. When your baby sleeps the whole night you won’t
4. After a while when your crawling baby eats day old broccoli he’s found under the sofa you won’t really care so much…
5. Babyhood goes so quickly (actually everyone tells you this, but it’s the truest truth anyone does tell you!)
6. Being pregnant is easy
7. You will talk about periods, stitches, poo, boobs and your sex life with people you’ve only known for 30 seconds and it’s not weird
8. Returning texts, emails, straightening hair, fake tanning, eye lash tinting, toenail painting even leg shaving is ditched in favour of five minutes peace
9. You will use food to bribe your child
10. You cannot put in to words how much you love your baby, however sleep deprived, however much they wreck your house, it’s love like nothing else

And it’s so true what people are quick to tell you, it’s the hardest but most rewarding job ever. I’ll raise a glass (or 4) to that!


Hats with ears

So baby 2011 can sit up. He looks like a giant baby. He can roll too. Of course I think he’s terribly clever and he’s already down for Emmanuel college Cambridge. But naturally I play down his developments to other mums so as not to worry them or gloat and so they like me, but of course I’m incredibly proud.

It’s been just under 7 months since baby2011 arrived into world. It should have been 10 days earlier than this, but being a boy he was rather happy with his feet up in my tummy. And he’s changed so much. The weeks and months have flown by.

Everyday he does something new; reaching for toys, smiling, laughing, making new noises, rolling, eating and recently even the ability to be cheeky.

The most heartbreaking thing for me though has been washing and putting away his first baby clothes. Tiny neutral coloured sleep suits and hats, always with a matching hat with ears.  Neutral as we didn’t know if we were having a blue or pink.  Seems like a lifetime ago me and dad2011 were bickering over names and nursery paint colours not knowing our little fellow.

Originally these first clothes hung long over his tiny hands and his feet didn’t nearly fill the foot parts.  Now they look like dolls clothes. And looking at them just reminds me how much he’s grown. He’s over doubled in weight since he was born. Babies are amazing.

His toys also are being outgrown fast. The Bumbo chair to help him sit up he escapes from and the bouncy chair is boring now he can sit up. I guess we’ll be in the market for walkers and trikes very soon. Madness, he’s been here for less than 7 months.

I need to stop holding on to the idea that my boy is a tiny new born and begin embracing his growing up (sniff sniff). There’s so much exciting stuff ahead. He amazes me everyday. And the thought of not being able to hold him as a teeny, helpless bundle ever again…well that can be addressed.  He’d be an amazing big brother.