Proud mummy!?

Boychild is a bit bright.  Well actually, he's very bright. 

There I've said it. The world didn't implode, nobody died and nobody is any worse off now it's out there.

All children make their parents proud and there is no better feeling (when you're a parent, that is) than when your little one reaches a milestone, be it walking, talking, becoming potty-trained etc.   And, as parents, we do like to share these little titbits especially with our peers.  It's not meant as one-up-manship or belittling their own offspring's efforts if they have not yet achieved them, it's just our way of being proud.  

I've always been cautious and tried not to be a baby bore but yes, I did announce 'we have a walker!' on Facebook at the appropriate time.  But generally if a reference is made to Boychild's abilities it's usually because it's part of an amusing anecdote rather than being the focus.  For example, I recently posted something on Facebook about him not quite 'getting' the Christmas thing as even into January he is insisting on eating from a Christmas bowl, keeps singing Christmas songs and looking up our chimney to try to find Santa.  A friend of mine posted that her child won't even say 'mummy' yet, let alone sing a song! Her son was born on the same day as mine.   So what did i do?  I dumbed down my comment and suggested that he wasn't exactly Robbie Williams just yet (he's really not!) but as a mum you can understand the jumbled words that come out of your own child's mouth more than anyone else. And I'd deciphered 'santa', 'chimney', toys' so knew what he was trying to sing.  

The one who makes me laugh every day. 

What I failed to mention was that if I sang along with him, he interjected those words in the correct places and la-la-la'd along in all the places he didn't know the words. 

I know that my friend will not be concerned that my son can do this when hers can't (she's a pretty clued up kinda gal) especially as she already has an older son, so she knows the score.  She also knows that her little boy had a beautiful shock of hair and mouthful of teeth before I had even worked out what teething powder and baby shampoo was even for.  He was pretty advanced on that score and, even now, Boychild isn't blessed in the teeth department!  But other readers would be looking and judging and making assumptions about both of our children - good and bad.  And probably making assumptions on our parenting styles too.  But they would never say, oh no. (snigger) 


But I have to have some kind of output for my happiness that my son is a mini-genius (okay, perhaps that is a little exaggerated...). He's just 20 months old and knows all his colours, can count from 1 - 12 depending on who he's with and whether he can be bothered, he feeds himself (unless he's being lazy), chats away to his toys (coherently), makes himself understood about what he wants when he asks a question, understands that people he can't see do still exist and where they are at that time (quite a massive concept for a small child), can form pretty good sentences and is well on the way to understanding consequences.  He also recognises emotions and tells us when someone is happy or sad, and then tries to comfort the person or toy in question.  He understands jokes and misdirection. He understands the concept of sharing and tries to share his food with us and his toys.   Things that often children don't understand or can't do until the age of 2, 3 or 4. 

I knew most of this , but the rest (especially the 1 - 12 counting) was told to me by his key worker at nursery last night at parents evening.   Boychild adores CF, his key worker, and it's clear that she adores him too.  He talks about her when he's at home and she will often attempt to have her day off on a day Boychild isn't at the nursery.   But, even if she's not there, he is still perfectly happy to go to any other carer and then comes home talking about them too. 

I am immensely proud of my little munchkin and I love him enormously but the fact he can do these things has made our life a little different to many of my friends with children of a similar age.  We've struggled to travel much or eat out (or shop!) as he is difficult to keep entertained when confined to a chair. He was a terrible sleeper for over a year and responded to none of the tried and tested tricks - even the Health Visitor was at a loss. 

He will seldom just sit on your lap  - not even when he was 4 months old.  He wanted to be on the floor to roll about and explore his toys.  

At first, this upset me.  I felt like the odd one out and whenever I went for coffee with other new mums, I was always the one standing and jigging about entertaining a newborn whilst the others slept for HOURS in their prams or on their mother's laps.   I was the one on my knees with exhaustion when, even at 12 months old, he needed attention several times a night for no reason other than to say 'hello'.  I was the one feeling jealous of mothers going shopping as their tiny babies slept peacefully, waking only for a feed and cuddle as I watched on with a screaming child who settled only if you kept walking and never stopped to browse or make a purchase. To the point of me failing to even try after 3 solid months of hell. Bring on grocery deliveries and online shopping!

As time has gone on, I do know of one or two other parents with children who became more like mine when they hit walking and talking age and that makes me feel better.  To be honest, my biggest fear is being able to keep him entertained and stimulated enough as he gets older.  But I'm sure it won't come to that. 

I also know that the children who haven't reached the same milestones yet, will do so very soon.  There is no right or wrong.  All toddlers are different - thank goodness! - and at what point they speak or count or walk will not matter a jot in the future.  They all level out eventually and I'm sure that by the time they hit school age, none of us will be able to tell who did what first. Likewise, if we have a second child, I'm sure that he or she will be more in line with regular expectations and that will probably confuse me all the more as I'll have to learn to deal with a whole new set of challenges.

I suppose what I'm trying to say is that unfortunately I see myself dumbing down and belittling Boychild's achievements and efforts to avoid upsetting or worrying my friends because he can do something that their child cannot. I know there will be camps of people who think that we've been drilling our little darling at maths and english and lord knows what else, but we really haven't.  All we do is what most people do.  We play with him and we talk to him. He watches TV, he builds with blocks, he pushes his cars and trains around, pretends to make us a cup of tea, talks to his soft toys and calls them his friends and he looks at his books and we read to him.  All the stuff that most children will do most of the time.  I guess having a father who is a bit of a boff probably helps too though!  Clearly he's not getting this from his mother.

Anyway, I just want to say somewhere (here) that I am unbelievably proud of him  and I love him more than life itself.  He makes me laugh every single day. 

I am also thrilled and excited when you share your news that your little darling learnt to crawl today and that your munchkin said 'Daddy' and fed herself or successfully used the potty.  I want to share your excitement too as all kids are amazing in their own way. 

But for now I will keep my 'boasting' on here and not on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram as I know I will be labelled a pushy parent or someone who just wants to gloat.  I know that's not the case and most of my friends know that's not true, but we all know that once you get on social media there are plenty of people who like to stick their oar in.

Katie Hopkins - does it really matter?

After reading yet another scathing attack on mothers, of various varieties but predominantly ones that do not work (and get paid for it, as opposed to the work they do at home with the kids), I was about to launch into another round of Katie Hopkins bashing but then stopped myself.

Why?

Because, let's face it, in the real world - a world far, far away from the one Ms Hopkins inhabits - she doesn't matter and it doesn't matter.

She has some kind of ritual dislike of anyone weighing more than 8 stone and makes the assumption that if you are overweight you obviously smoke too and probably feed your children turkey twizzlers and lard for breakfast.  Likewise if you dare to recycle in any way, you clearly are a hippy who doesn't use deodorant, and washes your hair in rain water.  You probably aren't either of these types, but maybe you have traits of one or both of them.  But my point is ...SO WHAT!  

I don't agree with her views and I have quite a few of my own that other people may not agree with, however it's unlikely I'll ever be invited on Phil & Holly to row with Peaches Geldof about them (if the truth be told, I'd probably be on Peaches' side anyway).

Being a mum is a tough job.  Always has been and always will be. Our mothers and grandmothers may not have had so many mod cons to help them but then they also didn't have domestic energy bills that Solomon would have struggled to pay.  Chances are, our children will have a different set of issues to contend with, along with the standard 'terrible twos', sibling rivalry, food battles and sleep thieving.   And however they choose to take those battles on, there will always be a Katie Hopkins waiting in the wings to tell them they are doing it wrong.

We just need to learn to let it wash over us and stop telling ourselves that we should listen or take notice or be angry or frustrated.  Life is too short and on the whole, mums of every kind are doing an okay job.  Their charges are fed, clothed, educated, kept safe and, most importantly, loved.  Yes, they may not have had a proper face wash last night, and Saturday's tea might have consisted of a frozen pizza but the last time I looked, that never did anyone any harm. 

She doesn't matter and it doesn't matter. 

Let the judgement begin...

Something occurred to me recently, whilst attempting to calm Boychild down enough to eat dinner - we dared to schedule it 90 seconds into an episode of 'Timmy Time'.

We, as parents, are constantly bombarded with disapproving looks, comments and rolled eyes on trains, in coffee shops, in restaurants and in shops, for the crime of having a child who has decided to choose that moment to throw a tantrum within eye/earshot of a childless person.  If that wasn't enough, we then have to put up with endless online comments on how bad we are as parents to put up with that kind of behaviour and 'allowing' our offspring to ruin the atmosphere and quiet for everyone. 

So what do we do?  We find a way to hush them as quickly as possible.  We couldn't possibly upset the chap working from his 'office' in Costa Coffee or the lemon-sucking-faced couple with the perfect [read 'boring'] toddlers sitting reading Price and Prejudice on the 12.34 to London Bridge.  Anyway, I digress, we are hushing them up...And how do we do that exactly?  Usually in the way that we try to avoid most of the time - bribery.  Generally in the form of food, or more specifically, the food you don't really want them to have too much of.   Or else giving back the toy you had just taken away as they had thrown it on the floor in a temper far too many times.

In doing so, we are doing the things we don't agree with and would never do at any other time.   It goes against how we usually discipline and try to bring up our children.

So what am I saying exactly? Do you think the judgemental childless people in these establishments realise what they are doing?  Rather than helping to mould these kids they are, in effect, telling them they are likely to be rewarded for being a pain in the arse. They are helping to turn them into the little brats that we have been trying to prevent.  I'm not saying anyone should have to listen to a screaming child in a public place unnecessarily but, when dealt with correctly, tantrums rarely last that long. And believe me, if it looks as though one is about to go on too long, most parents WANT to vacate the area so won't subject others to it for longer than they have to.  But if we don't let them tantrum it out from time to time, they will learn to use their tantrums as a bargaining chip.

I'm also not saying that parents can offload the blame onto others either but just think about it... When that child screeches or even has the audacity to cry because it is simply a newborn and that it's what they do, do you think the parent wants to listen to it too? Do you think they have become immune?

NO!! They are embarrassed, often very tired, and acutely aware of how irritating their child or baby is being. At the point when said child is reaching their peak, if you look closely you will see other parents casting sympathetic looks across the coffee shop. And in the case of a new mother alone with her small crying bundle you may also see the beginning of tears.

There are plenty of annoying people in public most of the time but nobody would dream of picking on the fat bloke obstructing the pavement or aisle, nor would you confront the girl playing crap music from her phone or the commuter who refuses to switch off the annoying key tones whilst texting, so why is it fair game to tut loudly and comment loudly to parents who, most of the time, are doing the best they can?

 Perhaps all those Katy-Hopkins-a-likes out there should start looking inside their own glasshouses before trying to throw stones into other people's. 

Happy new year!

So it's that time again. Last turkey butty finished and decs back in the loft.  It's been an odd Christmas.  Five days of my father in law (enough to tip Mother Theresa over the edge) and a one year old who thinks sleep is for wimps and that's before cooking for 8 on Christmas day. 

But all the knackeredness aside, one thing that has consistently made me smile is my one year old's new found appreciation of music.

He's always liked singing (us not him)  but in the last couple of weeks everything changed. From starting to sing the odd word along to the Christmas song in the car to asking for a particular CD to be played so he can sing and dance along.   It seems that he also can't play with building blocks without singing either, every round of duplo is accompanied by some random lalala-ing. Brilliant to watch.

I won't lie, I'm a bit  of a soft sap. But there is something wonderful about dancing your little one around while he adds the 'shooby-dos' to Robbie singing 'I'm the king of the swingers' and I did well up a little when he wanted me to  dance with him as we watched some 'greatest dance moments' on TV on new year's eve as he tried to copy Thriller (hysterical!).  I'm pretty sure he's dancing or asking for the radio on every half hour. And the singing is getting more coherant and the dancing even wilder every time. He is amazing and it makes him so happy.

I know the old phrase 'dance like nobody's watching' gets thrown around a lot but that's the lovely thing about toddlers... They don't care who is watching and it only adds to the excitement and fun if someone is.  So that's my resolution sorted for this year. Dance more, smile more and worry less. Sometimes toddlers are smarter than we give them credit for.

Night out sabotage

Before I start, I will openly admit that I am a lucky mum.  Almost every Tuesday evening my parents collect Boychild from nursery and have him sleepover with them whilst they look after him the next day.  It saves them getting up at the crack of dawn to come to my house to look after him every Wednesday morning.  This, in itself, is a massive luxury and I'm sure that there are many envious parents out there.  However my parents are, pretty much, our only babysitters so unless we take full advantage of them on a Tuesday then Husb and I would never leave the house together between the hours of 7pm and 7am.  I think the last time we did was 6 months ago for my own 40th birthday party. 

BUT, over the last 2 months we have managed to take advantage of this weekly reprieve maybe twice - tonight being one of them - as I swear there is a higher power looking down laughing and deliberately trying to sabotage date night.  In fact whenever there is a chance for us to spend time together, something has to happen.

The most recent highlight was 3 weeks ago. It was Husb's birthday.  We had both booked Monday off work to enjoy a lovely day shopping, lunching and going to the cinema whilst Boychild was looked after by his nursery.  But no.  On Saturday Boychild didn't sleep well.  On Sunday, at exactly the moment we arrived at a 2 year old's birthday party, he turned into limpet child and clung to me tearfully whilst barely keeping himself awake.  He didn't want food or music or games.  By the time we got home he swung between inconsolable and pretty unresponsive.  Finally we managed to get him to drink some milk... he promptly threw it back up all over his father.   NHS direct suggested a trip to A&E  - brilliant.  So we spent 3 hours in a germ-ridden, fluorescent-lit torture chamber to be told he just had a virus and he wasn't dehydrated  but to keep an eye on him and let him eat whatever he wants even if it is chocolate hob-nobs.

Well, we could hardly send him to nursery the following morning could we?  So we spent the day letting him eat what he wanted, watch what he wanted on CBeebies and nap when he wanted, whilst we bummed around at home (secretly quite enjoying the no stress family time) .  But alas, no lunch, no cinema and no unaccompanied shopping.

The following night (a Tuesday...) we planned to go for a curry with friends to celebrate Husb's birthday.  Before we left, I put the bins out (important point, not just an aside).  Two hours later, I was sitting in the restaurant pushing my fist into my back to try to unknot the muscle torturing me.  As I stood up to leave the restaurant I realised I could barely walk and was having trouble breathing!

A visit to the docs the following day, after a sleepless night and taking half an hour just to roll over in bed, informed me that, not only did I have muscle strain, but it had caused a bout of pleurisy! I ONLY PUT THE BINS OUT!!  Am I really that weak and pathetic?

A week later, I could finally walk to the end of the road and back without laboured breathing.

This is just the tip of the iceberg.  If either of us is due a stomach bug, urgent work deadline, family crisis (delete as applicable) it will always happen on a Tuesday evening. I can guarantee it.

I am due to meet Husb and several friends in a pub near Waterloo in an hour.  I am still waiting for the phone to go and someone to tell me Boychild has chicken pox or that we have been burgled, or the pipes have burst.  I am almost frightened to go brush my hair and change my boots.  

Wish me luck! 

When does the crying stop?

No, not my son's crying ... my own.

I have always been a 'bit of a sensitive soul' - not that I'd ever admit it.  I managed to hide my cinema-sobbing from my hubby quite well for at least the first 3 years of our relationship and a well-timed 'scoff', poking fun at the corny romance of a film served me well on many an occasion to mask my impending tears!

Then came the hormones.  Not the pretend hormones that creep up every few weeks, I'm talking about the full-on Rambo hormones that descend in early pregnancy and disappear around...well, I'm not too sure when they disappear. At this rate I think they will be putting me in my box before they finally leave.   These Super-Hormones make it impossible for you learn any sad news without blubbing like a toddler who's had his teddy taken away. 

This week, I was privileged to attend a private screening of a new film due to be released in the Autumn.  Philomena, featuring Dame Judi Dench and Steve Coogan.  I think I was barely 10 minutes into the film before I was silently wiping my face and chin.  This continued during regular intervals throughout the course of the film. On this occasion though, I would defy anyone not be moved by parts of this story - based on true events.  A young woman in Ireland gives birth to her illegitimate son without proper medical intervention and then has him taken away from her as a toddler so he can be 'sold' and adopted by a wealthy family.  The film tells of her 50 year silence, covering up her 'dirty little secret' until she finally has to find out what became of him.

It is a wonderful film but it's difficult to say that I enjoyed it because, in reality, it broke my heart.  The cruelty and ignorance of a bunch of nuns (don't get me started on organised religion...) and the damning of innocent young women by society makes my blood boil.  

I know that if I had watched it 3 years ago in the days Before Boychild, I would have had a little sob, but watching it now I was reduced to a snivelling wreck!  The thought of anyone taking my son away and giving me no information on his whereabouts or well-being would probably kill me.  I only have to think about the film and it brings tears to my eyes.

As a younger woman, my own mum and many others would tell me how, as a mother, you would lay down your own life for your child without a second thought.  I'll be honest, I always thought they were being slightly melodramatic.  But it's true.  I don't think there is anything I wouldn't do in order to keep Boychild safe. 

Anyway, I digress.  Even as I write this, my cousin has posted a picture on Facebook of the newly erected headstone at her sister's grave.  She died aged 34, leaving two children who are still only at primary school. I took one glance and I'm already off.  

Basically, I have to accept that I will be emotionally crippled forever.  I can't even read a book to my son without getting a little teary sometimes.  A few weeks ago he leaned in and gave me a sloppy wet kiss for the first time and it was completely spontaneous and unprompted.  I cried.  Somebody on Facebook recently implied I was 'abandoning my son to strangers' by leaving him at nursery to come to work and I was almost rendered inconsolable (followed by an overwhelming desire to punch them in the face).

It looks like I will have to spend the rest of my life travelling with a big box of tissues and wearing waterproof mascara.  And I don't care.  I guess that's what unconditional love does to you. 

Sad times

Today I had to turn the news off before I left home and stop reading the paper on the train all because of the story about  Daniel Pelka, the little boy tortured and eventually killed by his mother and her partner.  I turned it off not because I didn't want to hear about it but purely because I couldn't get myself in a state before leaving for work, nor could I sit on the train crying.

I have always struggled to understand how anyone could abuse or torture a child but since having a son of my own I am at a complete loss as to what the motivation is for prolonged abuse.  Yes, children are challenging.  Yes, they are frustrating and sometimes they will push you to limits you can only imagine.  But their innocence and unconditional trust in you is enough to (usually) melt the hardest of hearts.  And if it doesn't, feeling their arms around your neck whilst giving you a sloppy kiss will.

You often read stories of mothers with chronic depression and mental illness who ‘snap’ and kill themselves and their children, or about a parent at the end of their tether who lashes out a child and hits them.  It might sound strange but I can see how that happens. Mental illness, sleep deprivation, lack of support and desperation can lead people to do very strange things and it’s very sad when something like that happens.  But this story is on a whole new level that leaves me feeling sick.

At his death, this 4 year old child weighed 21lbs.  1½ stone.    My son is 14 months old and weighs the same.  And he is deemed to be quite small for his age.  Let’s just think about that for a minute.  A 4 year old weighed the same as a small toddler.

I’m sure there will be recriminations flying about all over the place now blaming teachers and social services but let’s not forget, it wasn’t them who inflicted the injuries on this child.  It was his biological mother and her partner.  Every article I have read details how he was locked in a cold room with no food, no access to the toilet and no contact with anyone else.  He was held under the water in his bath until he passed out.  He was force fed salt.  He was sent to school with almost no lunch and was found by teachers trying to eat from the bins, stealing from other kids’ lunchboxes and picking up food from dirty floors.  Teachers repeatedly flagged up concerns over his welfare, his continuing weight loss and appearance.  But what powers do they have?  None.  They can only follow procedures and report it to authorities and try to speak to the child’s parents.

Two things strike me about this story.  Firstly, how can a mother do that to her own son?  I understand that often women are frightened of a violent partner fearing for their own safety too.  However there is every indication that she was a willing participant in this exhausting torrent of abuse this child suffered.  Maybe I don’t have all the facts but I’m struggling to believe she is nothing other than guilty – as was confirmed by a jury this week.

Secondly, how was he left to suffer this by the social services.  How could someone think that an emaciated child is happy and healthy?  And if The Telegraph has its facts straight, a doctor deemed him underweight but nothing more 3 weeks before his death.  I hope that doctor can sleep at night.

If this was an isolated incident, it would be a very sad story and we would hope that nothing like this would ever be allowed to happen again. But it’s not.  I’m sure everyone remembers Baby P who died in 2007 after a similar experience.  That child was less than 18 months old.    Today I also found a story about a couple in Belgium who repeatedly abused their children for years.  I can’t even write about some of the things these children endured. 

read more about it here.

I don't know what the answer is, but for now I am just glad this beautiful little boy is in a much happier place.   And I hope it is a very long time before I have to stop reading a newspaper on the train again.