But you wouldn’t know it. Otis thinks that perhaps the Snow Miser, a favourite villain from The Year Without A Santa Claus (the movie that saved my sanity when Peggy was a screeching newborn and Phil was on the other side of the world), is sending us some snow for Christmas. Temperatures are lucky to reach the low 20s, we see at least a little bit of rain nearly every day (usually its bucketing down), and winter clothes are still in rotation. Shocking stuff! Where the hell is my summer? As a pregnant woman, so many sensory pleasures are unavailable to me... The warm, sedated buzz that comes from a third glass of wine, the salty goodness of Christmas ham and cold prawns coated in garlicky aioli... But I was relying on feeling the sun on my back, smelling of sunscreen and chlorine and spending many a golden day at the beach. Not happening.
To add insult to injury, I have a Vitamin D deficiency, so I am actually supposed to be exposing my skin to direct sunlight, which is simply not possible! I am taking supplements to prevent #3 being born with rickets! What an odd, first world problem Vitamin D deficiency has become. Cover up to avoid melanoma, but not too much, to avoid rickets. It’s complicated...
This pregnancy hasn’t been kind to me. I am icing my pubic bone nightly, wearing a brace most of the time, and limping along with a bit of a forced smile on my face. Peggy still demands that I carry her and “hold her tight”, and anyone who knows her knows that she’s not an easy person to say no to. I am as tired as can be, but underneath it all I am getting very excited about meeting this little one. I can’t wait to sniff its little (big) head, and gaze into its eyes for the first time.
I had to have a scan at 26 weeks after feeling really ill for a couple of months and not really knowing why... The baby was measuring very much ahead of dates, with an exceptionally large head. The sonographer looked a little perplexed, but I know better... It’s in the genes. I graduated the other day, and the woman who was fitting my hilarious Harry Potter-esque tudor bonnet was stunned by the size of my head... Big head, big brain, right? We can only hope!
All the scan confirmed for me is that this baby is super duper cute...
#3 has been referred to by a few different names by O and P... Bobba Fett (from Star Wars, for those not the parents of a Stars Wars fanatic), Smudge, Sanga... But the names we’ve chosen will remain a secret until we make our big announcement... The pressure is on! How do you match Otis and Peggy? It’s not easy, but I think we’ve done it.
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
Monday, October 31, 2011
Nearly 2...
My girl turns two in two days (and I turn 32, but I'm less fussed about that).
It's funny, it's not a case of "I can't believe she's turning 2". It's more "What? She not even 2 yet?"
Peggy was never really a baby, you see, and has never been content to act her age. She was throwing her little body down slippery dips before she could walk, ditching purees for regular food well before we expected, walking way too soon, speaking in sentences shortly after her first birthday, doing everything very much ahead of schedule. I used to fear I'd come across as bragging, but these days I accept it as fact - she's a clever little creature, cleverer than I ever was, and shows more awareness and understanding of her world than is demonstrated by some adults. What she did inherit from me is a dogged determination, explosive temeperament, and a capacity for love. She's also very practical and good at solving problems, which I think she gets from her Dad. No idea where she got her comic qualities from though... I do think she has a touch of her aunty Lani about her. She literally has Phil, Otis and I in stitches all day long.
She walks into a room and immediately all eyes are on her. It's not that she's an exceptionally stunning beauty or anything - she's very cute, but I think what it's really about is the whole package. The big almost-black eyes, the untamed Goldilocks hair, the assured walk, the grown up phrasing, the sweetest huskiest little voice you've ever heard, the constantly emotive facial expressions, the boundless energy, the golden skin. She's a bit of a star, I suppose. I guess you could describe it as charisma. She'll often latch on to a random person once she arrives somewhere - she'll make her selection and then almost seduce them with that little voice and a warm snuggle. No one can resist.
I am proud of how well-rounded she's becoming. Her brother's influence means that she loves Star Wars - cuddled her mini R2D2 figurine all night last night - and prefers to wear her Bob the Builder top to daycare over any other. She does love princesses though, and longs to do ballet like her cousin Isla. She's begun to really love reading, and will sit with her Maisy books for quite a while now, 'reading' lovingly to her doll Lulu, randomly pausing to tell Lulu off for not listening, making a mess or just generally being naughty. She really enjoys a good session on the swings, and if we ever discuss the park she'll start showing me her swinging action, throwing her little body forwards and backwards. She loves to build Duplo towers, sing nursery rhymes so as to comfort any sad-looking characters she comes across in books, 'write her name', shop - with her little trolley, a mountain of plastic food, as many dolls as she can cart around and the same number of bags - and to build cubby houses with her brother. Weetbix is her favourite breakfast food, blueberries are her preferred fruit, and she makes random requests for chocolate cake at least once a day.
She already adores her younger sibling. She pats my tummy gently, tickles it, and then asks to look at my boobs, and reminds me that they are for the baby. Once my boobs are out - at her request - she laughs, describes them as cupcakes, and then launches into 'Happy Birthday'.
She loves a cuddle, puts her arms up and shouts "UP TO ME!!", and reverts to baby mode for a few moments. I feel like she missed so much of her babyhood, and I love it when she puts on a baby voice and says "Mama, Mama", over and over.
She wasn't my first baby, won't be my last, but she's my Peggy. She's the only Peggy there is and I am so glad she's mine.
It's funny, it's not a case of "I can't believe she's turning 2". It's more "What? She not even 2 yet?"
Peggy was never really a baby, you see, and has never been content to act her age. She was throwing her little body down slippery dips before she could walk, ditching purees for regular food well before we expected, walking way too soon, speaking in sentences shortly after her first birthday, doing everything very much ahead of schedule. I used to fear I'd come across as bragging, but these days I accept it as fact - she's a clever little creature, cleverer than I ever was, and shows more awareness and understanding of her world than is demonstrated by some adults. What she did inherit from me is a dogged determination, explosive temeperament, and a capacity for love. She's also very practical and good at solving problems, which I think she gets from her Dad. No idea where she got her comic qualities from though... I do think she has a touch of her aunty Lani about her. She literally has Phil, Otis and I in stitches all day long.
She walks into a room and immediately all eyes are on her. It's not that she's an exceptionally stunning beauty or anything - she's very cute, but I think what it's really about is the whole package. The big almost-black eyes, the untamed Goldilocks hair, the assured walk, the grown up phrasing, the sweetest huskiest little voice you've ever heard, the constantly emotive facial expressions, the boundless energy, the golden skin. She's a bit of a star, I suppose. I guess you could describe it as charisma. She'll often latch on to a random person once she arrives somewhere - she'll make her selection and then almost seduce them with that little voice and a warm snuggle. No one can resist.
I am proud of how well-rounded she's becoming. Her brother's influence means that she loves Star Wars - cuddled her mini R2D2 figurine all night last night - and prefers to wear her Bob the Builder top to daycare over any other. She does love princesses though, and longs to do ballet like her cousin Isla. She's begun to really love reading, and will sit with her Maisy books for quite a while now, 'reading' lovingly to her doll Lulu, randomly pausing to tell Lulu off for not listening, making a mess or just generally being naughty. She really enjoys a good session on the swings, and if we ever discuss the park she'll start showing me her swinging action, throwing her little body forwards and backwards. She loves to build Duplo towers, sing nursery rhymes so as to comfort any sad-looking characters she comes across in books, 'write her name', shop - with her little trolley, a mountain of plastic food, as many dolls as she can cart around and the same number of bags - and to build cubby houses with her brother. Weetbix is her favourite breakfast food, blueberries are her preferred fruit, and she makes random requests for chocolate cake at least once a day.
She already adores her younger sibling. She pats my tummy gently, tickles it, and then asks to look at my boobs, and reminds me that they are for the baby. Once my boobs are out - at her request - she laughs, describes them as cupcakes, and then launches into 'Happy Birthday'.
She loves a cuddle, puts her arms up and shouts "UP TO ME!!", and reverts to baby mode for a few moments. I feel like she missed so much of her babyhood, and I love it when she puts on a baby voice and says "Mama, Mama", over and over.
She wasn't my first baby, won't be my last, but she's my Peggy. She's the only Peggy there is and I am so glad she's mine.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Otis and his pirate bag...
I think I’ve blogged about the fact that these days I can sort of/kind of/ in a very novice sense, SEW. With a sewing machine. I’ve always wanted to be able to, and over a year ago now, I bought a machine and enrolled in a class. I couldn’t continue with the classes because, at the time, Peggy was still being breastfed and the timing was bad and it created mountains stress for everyone in our house. But the three or so lessons that I did manage to attend provided me with the ability to turn on the machine and sew a straight line. It’s amazing what you can create once you master these key steps!
I make skirts for Peggy and all the other little girls that I know. I can do shorts, but not as beautifully. So, feeling guilty about producing item after item for my Booroo and nothing much for my boy, I made him a very basic little bag with a long strap that allows him to wear it across his body. It’s made of a grey and black flannelette pirate fabric, and a long piece of red and white striped ribbon. Really easy, a monkey could do it. No skill required. And wouldn’t you know, it’s his very favourite thing. The fabric is going all pill-y and worn, it’s dirty and smelly because he’s only ever let it out of his sight long enough for a spin in the washing machine on one occasion.
He fills it with an assortment of odds and ends. He just keeps on adding to it, and, like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag, it has an amazing and deceptive capacity, given how small it is (about 20 x 20cm, at a guess). At the moment it holds:
A scrap of paper bearing my signature, which he specifically asked for
A tiny, stuffed Han Solo doll
An issue taken from his large collection of K-Zone, D-Mag and Mania magazines
A plastic cob of corn
My old mobile phone
A plastic screwdriver
A Duplo canoe
Pieces of bark
A small rock
A tape measure
Only a select few are allowed to view the contents of the bag. I think it’s only myself, Phil and Mum, really. Peggy’s banned most of the time, but if she’s really cranky whilst we’re driving along he’s quite good about pulling something out of it to entertain her.
Of course now, being the copycat she is, Peggy's got her own bag and is filling it with her own random assortment. But the boy definitely started the trend. And being nearly 4, his collection carries more significance, even if that significance is sometimes a mystery to the rest of us. It definitely means something in his mind.
I make skirts for Peggy and all the other little girls that I know. I can do shorts, but not as beautifully. So, feeling guilty about producing item after item for my Booroo and nothing much for my boy, I made him a very basic little bag with a long strap that allows him to wear it across his body. It’s made of a grey and black flannelette pirate fabric, and a long piece of red and white striped ribbon. Really easy, a monkey could do it. No skill required. And wouldn’t you know, it’s his very favourite thing. The fabric is going all pill-y and worn, it’s dirty and smelly because he’s only ever let it out of his sight long enough for a spin in the washing machine on one occasion.
He fills it with an assortment of odds and ends. He just keeps on adding to it, and, like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag, it has an amazing and deceptive capacity, given how small it is (about 20 x 20cm, at a guess). At the moment it holds:
A scrap of paper bearing my signature, which he specifically asked for
A tiny, stuffed Han Solo doll
An issue taken from his large collection of K-Zone, D-Mag and Mania magazines
A plastic cob of corn
My old mobile phone
A plastic screwdriver
A Duplo canoe
Pieces of bark
A small rock
A tape measure
Only a select few are allowed to view the contents of the bag. I think it’s only myself, Phil and Mum, really. Peggy’s banned most of the time, but if she’s really cranky whilst we’re driving along he’s quite good about pulling something out of it to entertain her.
Of course now, being the copycat she is, Peggy's got her own bag and is filling it with her own random assortment. But the boy definitely started the trend. And being nearly 4, his collection carries more significance, even if that significance is sometimes a mystery to the rest of us. It definitely means something in his mind.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
How number three came to be...
Well, I won't go into too much detail, never fear! As you may know, Phil and deliberated long and hard over how many children we felt would work for us. I had, and I guess continue to have, a bit of a fantasy of having four little ones. In my imagination I am able to embrace the chaos and the space on my lap magically multiplies. If I am honest with myself, I know that I am not cut out for mothering that many. I get too angry too easily, I do tend to despair over situations that other mothers are able to laugh about. And Phil, well, he can't quite work out how you hold on to three kids with only two hands, let alone four. So... three it is, for now. A vasectomy is on Phil's horizon.
We decided to start trying in May, which would mean that the earliest the baby could come would be February - right after my maternity leave entitlements kick in. Phil was hoping for quite a few months of actively "trying", me, well, I wanted it to happen quickly of course. And I suppose I had a feeling only a few days in that it had already happened, as I began a very relentless course of daily, sometimes twice daily, pregnancy testing. It was as if I believed that if I just kept testing, eventually that fat, glaringly blank, white space would turn into a pretty, promising, POSITIVE pink line. And it did.
My period was late-ish at that point, and I felt that heavy, leaden, unwavering tiredness that you can only know if you've been pregnant. Something was definitely wrong... Or should I say, right. I hated our old bathroom, found the bleach-resistant mould and cracked tiles repellant, but I'll never forget finally seeing a second pink line and feeling my stomach flip, standing right there amongst the debris of the kids' bathtime fun. I was pregnant, again, and probably for the last time. I was so happy, and yet already so sad that I'd never feel that same, indescribable, precious burst of joy again. I wanted to cup that feeling in my hands and never let it go.
My cycles had been strange, short, erratic, unpredictable. But an early scan predicted an EDD of 22 February 2012. Lovely. I've always liked the month of February. Another summer baby.
I've suffered again this pregnancy. Plenty of nausea, lethargy, hunger. Afew bouts of vomiting. Already my pelvis/pubis feels about to crack. My back's felt weak and worn. I have hairs sprouting in inconvenient places. But the joy in the kids' faces when they kiss my tummy and laugh at my nub-like belly button makes me feel all warm inside. And last week I saw my 19 week old foetus flipping around in my womb. I saw a perfect little profile, an Otis-like snub nose, thick, kissable lips. A little hand curling around the cord that joins us. And I feel so much love for this new baby, and so, so, so grateful to be growing another seemingly healthy little being.
We decided to start trying in May, which would mean that the earliest the baby could come would be February - right after my maternity leave entitlements kick in. Phil was hoping for quite a few months of actively "trying", me, well, I wanted it to happen quickly of course. And I suppose I had a feeling only a few days in that it had already happened, as I began a very relentless course of daily, sometimes twice daily, pregnancy testing. It was as if I believed that if I just kept testing, eventually that fat, glaringly blank, white space would turn into a pretty, promising, POSITIVE pink line. And it did.
My period was late-ish at that point, and I felt that heavy, leaden, unwavering tiredness that you can only know if you've been pregnant. Something was definitely wrong... Or should I say, right. I hated our old bathroom, found the bleach-resistant mould and cracked tiles repellant, but I'll never forget finally seeing a second pink line and feeling my stomach flip, standing right there amongst the debris of the kids' bathtime fun. I was pregnant, again, and probably for the last time. I was so happy, and yet already so sad that I'd never feel that same, indescribable, precious burst of joy again. I wanted to cup that feeling in my hands and never let it go.
My cycles had been strange, short, erratic, unpredictable. But an early scan predicted an EDD of 22 February 2012. Lovely. I've always liked the month of February. Another summer baby.
I've suffered again this pregnancy. Plenty of nausea, lethargy, hunger. Afew bouts of vomiting. Already my pelvis/pubis feels about to crack. My back's felt weak and worn. I have hairs sprouting in inconvenient places. But the joy in the kids' faces when they kiss my tummy and laugh at my nub-like belly button makes me feel all warm inside. And last week I saw my 19 week old foetus flipping around in my womb. I saw a perfect little profile, an Otis-like snub nose, thick, kissable lips. A little hand curling around the cord that joins us. And I feel so much love for this new baby, and so, so, so grateful to be growing another seemingly healthy little being.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Current O & P playlist...
Would go something like this:
Bob the Builder (Can We Fix It?)
You Are My Sunshine (Known by Peggy as Sunshine)
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ("Tinkle")
Baa Baa Black Sheep ("Baa Baa")
The Pirate Song ("Pirate")
The Otis Song (goes like this: Mummy loves Otis, Mumy loves Peggy, Mummy loves Otis Hammond, Mummy loves Peggy, Mummy loves Otis, Mummy loves Peggy Jane Hammond. Mummy loves Otis James Hammond. Mummy loves Girly Whirl Booroo/Booroo Girly/Peggaboo Janey. Mummy loves Otskin James/Otis Milotis.)
I Think I Wanna Marry You (Changed to "I think I wanna marry Boo")
The entire Justine Clarke reportoire, especially The Witches Ball
Theme songs to various ABC Kids programs - Fireman Sam, Lazytown, Gaspard and Lisa
Phew.
Yep, I know, I've been absent.
Life has changed in a few huge ways.
We travelled overseas as a family and made it home alive and happy... Big deal sucess.
We moved house. Currently residing in a cute little three-bedroom brick home. Happy.
And I have a 17 week old foetus growing inside me!
Will be back to backtrack when I can find the time...
Bob the Builder (Can We Fix It?)
You Are My Sunshine (Known by Peggy as Sunshine)
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ("Tinkle")
Baa Baa Black Sheep ("Baa Baa")
The Pirate Song ("Pirate")
The Otis Song (goes like this: Mummy loves Otis, Mumy loves Peggy, Mummy loves Otis Hammond, Mummy loves Peggy, Mummy loves Otis, Mummy loves Peggy Jane Hammond. Mummy loves Otis James Hammond. Mummy loves Girly Whirl Booroo/Booroo Girly/Peggaboo Janey. Mummy loves Otskin James/Otis Milotis.)
I Think I Wanna Marry You (Changed to "I think I wanna marry Boo")
The entire Justine Clarke reportoire, especially The Witches Ball
Theme songs to various ABC Kids programs - Fireman Sam, Lazytown, Gaspard and Lisa
Phew.
Yep, I know, I've been absent.
Life has changed in a few huge ways.
We travelled overseas as a family and made it home alive and happy... Big deal sucess.
We moved house. Currently residing in a cute little three-bedroom brick home. Happy.
And I have a 17 week old foetus growing inside me!
Will be back to backtrack when I can find the time...
Thursday, June 16, 2011
My dairy queen...
She loves cheese. Always has. Be it tasty, fetta, or a really pungent parmesan, she'll eat it by the handful. I classify it as a "healthy" snack, but really, it's full of fat and we all know it. Easier to just ignore that though, given how picky Peggy's become lately. I need to believe that cheese in abundance is good for her!
Lately, she's also been into milk. Requests it a few times a day, and can tell the difference between "Mummy's milk" (skim) and "Peggy's milk" (lite white). Ice cream has always been one of her favourite treats, particularly if it is of the "choc-ate" variety.
Peggy does not like fruit.
I purchase, slice and serve all types - mandarins, kiwi fruit (this is one she is anti than most, she'll at least have a lick), apples, pears, grapes... What else is there in June? I a hoping that once summer comes around and berries and magoes are back in rotation, she'll start a new love affair with those. But I've all but given up on the current fruit selection. I know that you are supposed to keep going, keep trying, keep believing that they'll eat the things you want them to, but really, short of holding her nose, I do not seem able to get her to open her mouth when fruit is on offer.
Cheese is just... easier.
Cheese, and dry Weetbix. These are Peggy staples. With milk on the side.
Lately, she's also been into milk. Requests it a few times a day, and can tell the difference between "Mummy's milk" (skim) and "Peggy's milk" (lite white). Ice cream has always been one of her favourite treats, particularly if it is of the "choc-ate" variety.
Peggy does not like fruit.
I purchase, slice and serve all types - mandarins, kiwi fruit (this is one she is anti than most, she'll at least have a lick), apples, pears, grapes... What else is there in June? I a hoping that once summer comes around and berries and magoes are back in rotation, she'll start a new love affair with those. But I've all but given up on the current fruit selection. I know that you are supposed to keep going, keep trying, keep believing that they'll eat the things you want them to, but really, short of holding her nose, I do not seem able to get her to open her mouth when fruit is on offer.
Cheese is just... easier.
Cheese, and dry Weetbix. These are Peggy staples. With milk on the side.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Dummies.
Hmmm. One of the most frequent discussions I've had with other mothers of young babies is the Dummy Chat. Do you give one? At what age do you give it? When do you get rid of it? How do you limit its use? Are there an ill-effects? Do you regret that moment when you first stuffed it in your screeching baby's mouth?
Well, I am a dummy fan and my answer to that last question is HELL NO.
I have documented Otis' love of dummies here. He was into the dummy from Day Dot. The little lips moved with a silent, urgent suck that was a little alarming to me at first. A rogue midwife actually recommended a dummy, and the love affair began. I think Otis was about 18 hours old.
You read in all The Books about dummies being dangerous sleep props that should be banned from about three months of age.
There was no way Otis would unclamp his lips long enough for me to remove it at that age.
There was no way I would have had the courage to bin the one thing other than my nipple that settled my often cranky boy.
I never really had a dummy plan. When he started to babble, I started to withhold the dummy more and more, as I felt it had the potential to inhibit his speech. Glad I did that. By about 18 months Otis was only having his dummy for sleeping, or if he was feeling particularly emotional for whatever reason. Sickness, of course, also equalled dummy.
I had some vague ideas about throwing it away when he was two, but honestly, the dummy was helping me get through each day. By then I had a toddler and a baby, one obsessed with a dummy, the other spitting it out and defying my efforts to plug up her cries. Eventually Peggy got her dummy groove on too, and before I knew it dual dummy love was the order of our house.
There have been many stressful dummy-related moments, being small and wielded by temperamental littlies, they do tend to go missing in the middle of the night. However, there have been many more moments wherein I have praised God for creating dummies and wondered how any mother ever coped without one (actually, one is never enough, a bouquet of dummies per child is what is needed).
Otis has a favourite type, the Nuk ones that come in pastels, and make a very slight squeak when sucked. I introduced these orthodontic ones when he turned one, to try to save him from bucked teeth.
Peggy isn't so choosy. Her attachments are Ted Bear and Wrap. Any dummy will do.
Easter just gone, I got the idea from my sister to use the Easter Bunny as a means of ditching Oti's dummy for good. He was, amazingly, all for it at first. He loved to tell all and sundry about how big a boy he was becoming. He lapped up the lavish praise we bestowed on him - in hindsight, we really laid it too thick.
About a month down the track, Otis fell apart.
I've never seen anything like it.
Not only were we battling with a non-sleeping 18 month old, but now we also had to attend to our 3 year old every hour or so throughout the night. The penny finally dropped after one particularly rotten night when I curled up in his bed and had his hold my ear all night, just so that he could sleep. It wasn't pleasant.
I worked out that he needed something to help him wind down and drift off. If it couldn't be me, perhaps it could be his dummy?
The suggestion alone completely revitalised him. When he took the first few sucks on the brand new lemon-coloured Nuk dummy, his eyes rolled back in his head and he appeared to be getting high.
Since we returned it to him, he's started sleeping all night again and having naps in the afternoon.
He's happy.
And so are we.
Maybe Santa can take the new ones next Christmas?
Well, I am a dummy fan and my answer to that last question is HELL NO.
I have documented Otis' love of dummies here. He was into the dummy from Day Dot. The little lips moved with a silent, urgent suck that was a little alarming to me at first. A rogue midwife actually recommended a dummy, and the love affair began. I think Otis was about 18 hours old.
You read in all The Books about dummies being dangerous sleep props that should be banned from about three months of age.
There was no way Otis would unclamp his lips long enough for me to remove it at that age.
There was no way I would have had the courage to bin the one thing other than my nipple that settled my often cranky boy.
I never really had a dummy plan. When he started to babble, I started to withhold the dummy more and more, as I felt it had the potential to inhibit his speech. Glad I did that. By about 18 months Otis was only having his dummy for sleeping, or if he was feeling particularly emotional for whatever reason. Sickness, of course, also equalled dummy.
I had some vague ideas about throwing it away when he was two, but honestly, the dummy was helping me get through each day. By then I had a toddler and a baby, one obsessed with a dummy, the other spitting it out and defying my efforts to plug up her cries. Eventually Peggy got her dummy groove on too, and before I knew it dual dummy love was the order of our house.
There have been many stressful dummy-related moments, being small and wielded by temperamental littlies, they do tend to go missing in the middle of the night. However, there have been many more moments wherein I have praised God for creating dummies and wondered how any mother ever coped without one (actually, one is never enough, a bouquet of dummies per child is what is needed).
Otis has a favourite type, the Nuk ones that come in pastels, and make a very slight squeak when sucked. I introduced these orthodontic ones when he turned one, to try to save him from bucked teeth.
Peggy isn't so choosy. Her attachments are Ted Bear and Wrap. Any dummy will do.
Easter just gone, I got the idea from my sister to use the Easter Bunny as a means of ditching Oti's dummy for good. He was, amazingly, all for it at first. He loved to tell all and sundry about how big a boy he was becoming. He lapped up the lavish praise we bestowed on him - in hindsight, we really laid it too thick.
About a month down the track, Otis fell apart.
I've never seen anything like it.
Not only were we battling with a non-sleeping 18 month old, but now we also had to attend to our 3 year old every hour or so throughout the night. The penny finally dropped after one particularly rotten night when I curled up in his bed and had his hold my ear all night, just so that he could sleep. It wasn't pleasant.
I worked out that he needed something to help him wind down and drift off. If it couldn't be me, perhaps it could be his dummy?
The suggestion alone completely revitalised him. When he took the first few sucks on the brand new lemon-coloured Nuk dummy, his eyes rolled back in his head and he appeared to be getting high.
Since we returned it to him, he's started sleeping all night again and having naps in the afternoon.
He's happy.
And so are we.
Maybe Santa can take the new ones next Christmas?
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Wicked witches, guns, floods and earthquakes...
In an ideal world my little ones would only know sunshine and rainbows and cuddles and flowers and joy, joy, joy. But we currently live in a world that is stunned by one catastrophic natural disaster after another. The news is overflowing with increasingly graphic, apocalyptic-movie-like images of raging fires, quake-split roads, churches turned to rubble, muddy, disease-filled excess water and people waving toilet paper out of windows seeking rescue. There is something a bit sick about the way this stuff is shown on TV, the way Channel 7 goes into natural disaster programming mode and show unfiltered pictures of other people's pain for hours at a time.
When I wasa little girl TV coverage was obviously less immediate and therefore more censored, and I don't recall ever seeing the type of horror that has entered our living rooms of late. I can't help but wonder what it is doing to my kids...
I had a little panic the other day when Otis, in pretend mode, "killed" Peggy over and over with his "water pistol" (he only calls it a water pistol because I told him that guns, real and/or imagined, are banned from our home), and then, that same day, "shot" me when I asked him to do something he didn't wish to do. I sent him to his room and told him that all his good vs evil movies - the best kind, in his little drama-seeking mind - were being put away under lock and key. Snow White, his current favourite, plus The Neverending Story, The Little Mermaid... There is a real undercurrent of aggression in these films that I was/am starting to be concerned about. I guess I want him to stay that sunshine and lollipops boy who just cuddles and smiles all day long.
And then, today, I see him playing with his Little People... The plane is on top of the car which is teetering on top of a fire engine... "It's a flood, Mum! And an earthquake, look! They are all drowning and dying!!!" Cue huge smile of delight and mischief.
I can censor fiction, but I don't know how I can contain what is fact.
When I wasa little girl TV coverage was obviously less immediate and therefore more censored, and I don't recall ever seeing the type of horror that has entered our living rooms of late. I can't help but wonder what it is doing to my kids...
I had a little panic the other day when Otis, in pretend mode, "killed" Peggy over and over with his "water pistol" (he only calls it a water pistol because I told him that guns, real and/or imagined, are banned from our home), and then, that same day, "shot" me when I asked him to do something he didn't wish to do. I sent him to his room and told him that all his good vs evil movies - the best kind, in his little drama-seeking mind - were being put away under lock and key. Snow White, his current favourite, plus The Neverending Story, The Little Mermaid... There is a real undercurrent of aggression in these films that I was/am starting to be concerned about. I guess I want him to stay that sunshine and lollipops boy who just cuddles and smiles all day long.
And then, today, I see him playing with his Little People... The plane is on top of the car which is teetering on top of a fire engine... "It's a flood, Mum! And an earthquake, look! They are all drowning and dying!!!" Cue huge smile of delight and mischief.
I can censor fiction, but I don't know how I can contain what is fact.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Chatterbox...
She never stops. Here's a little list, for Peggy to look back on with wonder one day. I don't mean to brag, truly I don't. But she's so full of life, and full of words:
Mummy
Daddy
Otis
Brother
Wee wee
Nappy
Dummy
Mine
My
Peggy
Baby
Doggy
Bird
Bear
Doll
Happy
Hair
Toes
Shoes
Nanny
Poppy
Isla
Indi (Didi)
Lan
Gwammy
Piggy
Book
Block (for ice block)
Yummy
Car
Bob (as in the Builder)
Fish
Bike
Side (outside)
Door
Cot
Wrap
Toast
Brekky
Duck
Cow
Bart
Jord
Yuck
Poo
Yeah
No
Hello
Bye
Bag
Boat
Apple
Bikky
And one beautiful, heart-warming phrase...
I LOVE YOU. (Sounds more like "I lup mmm")
16 months of age and already a great conversationalist.
Mummy
Daddy
Otis
Brother
Wee wee
Nappy
Dummy
Mine
My
Peggy
Baby
Doggy
Bird
Bear
Doll
Happy
Hair
Toes
Shoes
Nanny
Poppy
Isla
Indi (Didi)
Lan
Gwammy
Piggy
Book
Block (for ice block)
Yummy
Car
Bob (as in the Builder)
Fish
Bike
Side (outside)
Door
Cot
Wrap
Toast
Brekky
Duck
Cow
Bart
Jord
Yuck
Poo
Yeah
No
Hello
Bye
Bag
Boat
Apple
Bikky
And one beautiful, heart-warming phrase...
I LOVE YOU. (Sounds more like "I lup mmm")
16 months of age and already a great conversationalist.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The reluctant 3 year old.
Otis is now 3 years old. And I'm not sure that he's too happy about it. He tells me numerous times each day that he is "still a little boy, not a big boy yet", and that he doesn't want to be a dad yet. I try to reassure him that adulthood and all of its trappings are many, many years away. But still he reminds me, over and over again he defines himself as something closer to baby than he actually is.
It's all connected to the dummy. We had grand plans for getting rid of it in a very final and dramatic fashion upon his third birthday, but of course we left for our annual camping trip the day after and the idea of battling through tent sleeping sans dummy was intolerable to me. So I postponed the challenge of dummy eradication to an unspecified time in the next few weeks. He knows the dummy is on its way out and he'll do whatever he can to prolong his affair with it.
He currently only has his dummy for going to sleep. So his new thing is to tell me he's tired at random moments throughout the day, just so that he can lay on his bed and suck away with a gleeful expression on his face. Of course sleep is nowhere in sight...
With ageing, comes independance. In some areas Otis is determined to manage on his own - he loves to "read" aloud now, the story a mixture of rememberings and his own interpretation of the illustrations. And he is really thriving as a toilet-trained, pooing-in-potty person. He likes to flush and turn on the tap and use the soap all by himself.
But then he also likes to be fed, to be dressed, and for me to play game after game with him, day after day. I am working on this. No more feeding him... It was only ever dessert, we had a ritual of all sitting on the couch together after dinner, Phil and I feeding the babies their messy, sticky concoctions as quickly and cleanly as possible. But I've stopped that. And I don't dress him anymore either... Sometimes I have to instruct him as to why he has the wedgie from hell though! But he's learning. And growing. And soon that dummy will be history...
One more funny anecdote. He's worked out how babies escape the confines of their moummy's tummies. The tummy apparently breaks open like an egg, and the baby hatches. A doctor then glues the tummy back together, waiting for "the glue to dry" before sending the mummy home. Hence my stretch marks... Evidence of repairs I guess.
It's all connected to the dummy. We had grand plans for getting rid of it in a very final and dramatic fashion upon his third birthday, but of course we left for our annual camping trip the day after and the idea of battling through tent sleeping sans dummy was intolerable to me. So I postponed the challenge of dummy eradication to an unspecified time in the next few weeks. He knows the dummy is on its way out and he'll do whatever he can to prolong his affair with it.
He currently only has his dummy for going to sleep. So his new thing is to tell me he's tired at random moments throughout the day, just so that he can lay on his bed and suck away with a gleeful expression on his face. Of course sleep is nowhere in sight...
With ageing, comes independance. In some areas Otis is determined to manage on his own - he loves to "read" aloud now, the story a mixture of rememberings and his own interpretation of the illustrations. And he is really thriving as a toilet-trained, pooing-in-potty person. He likes to flush and turn on the tap and use the soap all by himself.
But then he also likes to be fed, to be dressed, and for me to play game after game with him, day after day. I am working on this. No more feeding him... It was only ever dessert, we had a ritual of all sitting on the couch together after dinner, Phil and I feeding the babies their messy, sticky concoctions as quickly and cleanly as possible. But I've stopped that. And I don't dress him anymore either... Sometimes I have to instruct him as to why he has the wedgie from hell though! But he's learning. And growing. And soon that dummy will be history...
One more funny anecdote. He's worked out how babies escape the confines of their moummy's tummies. The tummy apparently breaks open like an egg, and the baby hatches. A doctor then glues the tummy back together, waiting for "the glue to dry" before sending the mummy home. Hence my stretch marks... Evidence of repairs I guess.
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