Polite ways your friends tell you they think your baby is fat.

motherhood, parenting, pregnancy, zerotohero

How many times have you had to politely smile, nod your head or feign interest when the village (well meaning friends and family members) comment on your baby’s weight?   As I take him to get weighed regularly I know that he is perfectly within his “percentile”, tracking along nicely, but this of course is irrelevant, amateur expert opinions dominate conversation.

Annoying as it is at times, I have to admit hearing the creative multitude of euphemisms and round about ways villagers use to broach the tubby bubby topic makes me chuckle. (Very discreetly of course, as I nod my head and look concerned).  So being it’s a long weekend and I clearly have a lot of spare time on my hands today, I decided to order them on a scale of intensity from Mild Adoration to Severe Concern and share them and hopefully a giggle with you.

Do you have any to add to the list?

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BHxx

 

photograph @Brixtonhousewife

The unapologetic mummy

motherhood, parenting, pregnancy, zerotohero

A tantrum in public is a WMD in a toddler’s arsenal in the battle of wills against mummy.  

The other day My Little Toddler (MLT) and I were meeting friends at the South Bank.  What is normally a jovial 15 minute bus ride became an arduous expedition:  a groundhog of a journey spent explaining and apologising.

MLT was exhausted but refusing to nap.  He had decided he wanted to walk to our destination.  Except he couldn’t decide between being adamant that he wanted to walk or inconsolable if he wasn’t being carried.  Oh and he didn’t want to walk-he wanted to run, especially across roads.  

So MLT had to go in his pushchair and as it was getting late, we took the bus. The two outcomes the tired toddler didn’t want.  You could almost hear him scanning through his weapons inventory and deciding to pull out the big guns.  

1:34pm  MLT put in the push chair and we get on to the bus.

1:34pm  The crying started. 

1:34pm and 3 seconds 

 “Why is your baby crying like that?”  

It was a mother who we knew from playgroup.  A mother of two toddlers. As I rolled off my explanation-“He hasn’t taken his nap and so he is exhausted but he has decided that he wants to walk to the river…”– I couldn’t help but wonder why a mother would ask such a stupid question.  What answer was she expecting? 

But it wasn’t the most ridiculous thing I heard.  I was informed by a concerned pensioner that my child was really upset.  As I rolled off my explanation-“He hasn’t taken his nap and so he is exhausted and he has decided that he wants to walk to the river…”– I couldn’t help but wonder if the kindly old gent really thought that I hadn’t realised that the child in my arms was in fits of (tantrum) tears.  

I appreciated the understanding nods of support, passing smiles and brief distractions that passengers offered MLT and they fuelled my continued need to apologise and explain. But when a women came and sat next to me and practically tried to take my child out of my arms- I became the unapologetic mummy.  I wonder, if I looked different (or even more similar to the her) would this complete stranger still have found it completely acceptable to infringe on my personal space uninvited?  

A couple of minutes more passed and MLT settled.  I had distracted him with a passing aeroplane and a remixed rendition of twinkle twinkle little star.  Interestingly the women’s (who previously was so desperately eager to help) expression had changed.  Rather than looking happy that MLT was now content she actually looked annoyed.  I had not needed her help.  

Toddlers throw tantrums over the most ridiculous things.  But it doesn’t sound like they are crying about not being allowed to wash their hands in the unflushed toilet or not being allowed to touch the naked flame on the hob or run in the road.   It sounds as if they are being maltreated by the evil overlord who is trying to soothe their cries… and I understand that.  But they are just having a tantrum because that’s how toddlers express themselves. So if there is a clearly concerned parent/carer trying calm the child you need not worry that the child is in serious danger.   

So please do not be offended if you see me and my toddler is throwing a tantrum and I don’t offer you an explanation as to why he is crying.  He is a toddler, he is throwing a tantrum that’s just what they do.

*rant over

*Supportive nod to all the parents of toddlers having tantrums in public places

BH xx

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RYQ48Kpd3AM 

Life lessons Vs Resolutions

bedroom

It’s that time of year.

But I don’t believe in new year resolutions.

I believe in

Looking back.

It’s that time of year.

I am reliving the times of frustration, sadness, overwhelming happiness and achievement over the past 345 days.

Looking forward.

I start to plan the future and digest the life lessons that I have received.

My mind jumps back to November.

Heart pounding, I crash into the spin studio at the gym. I’m late. By this I mean I have arrived five minutes early for the class, but a minute too late to procure my trusty spin bike. Nestling quietly in the corner in the back row, my trusty companion now had a new owner. My chance of back row, dimly lit anonymity had vanished.

The 90s House and Garage starts to pumps as the situation gets worse.   The only bike left is at the front of class. The bikes reserved for the ‘Gym Fit ‘ Girls (GFGs). The type that run to the gym in Dry Fit outfits that colour co-ordinate with their Free Runners: gym hair (high messy pony) and perfect face of nude make up complete the uniform.

I am not her.

Nor do I want to be.

But the pressure and fear of sitting on that bike was real. As I mounted the pedestal bike, I could hear myself doling out the obligatory compliments, apologies and excuses for my presence and upcoming performance.  Gripped with fear, I hear the pace of the music picking up.  I approach effort level 11 worried about what I must look like compared to my GFG neighbours.

Rationally you can tell yourself “Nobody has the energy to waste looking at you!” And it’s true. But then we get to the Solo Sprints. The part of the class where everyone has to stop spinning and watch you, as your row sprint as fast as they can for 60 seconds. Even safe on old faithful, in my dimly lit corner, I’d fear this part of the class. And now, being in the front row, I had the honour of going last.

As I wait for our turn to “..show the class how it’s done!” my anxiety mounts.  The Mexican wave of sprinting spinners descends on the front row like a tsunami.   The buzzer sounded and instinctively I just closed my eyes.  And then the most liberating thing happened.

I was alone.

I stopped worrying about what I looked like to others. Stopped worrying that I didn’t belong there. All I cared about was cycling as fast as I could.

I had stopped worrying about how I was perceived by others.

I remember the anxiety I first felt when starting to write my blog.  The feeling of vulnerability and exposure and judgment.  The concern of what my family and friends would think of my writing. My parenting skills.  My questionable gym wear choices.

But the less I worry about other people’s perceptions – the happier I am.

Whether I fail or succeed, I am happier.  I am free.

And that is my life lesson for 2015.

What’s yours?

I’ve run out of toilet paper… Goodbye Socks.

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I’ve run out of toilet paper. Goodbye socks!

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This is my current Facebook status. For those who have already been fooled by a status similar to this, you know it’s part of the latest Breast Cancer Awareness game. For the uninitiated, anyone who comments or likes my status then has to update their current status from one of seven random, awkward or randomly awkward status’ and so it continues. Brilliant campaign…. Although now my mind is racing as to who saw my status and thought “I’m never shaking her hand again!” but didn’t comment or like. They will never know it was a joke and privately – thats the worst part, forever question my personal hygiene standards. (…No comment necessary Husband)  The best part at least will be the money and awareness raised for Cancer Research.

On the other (clean and sanitised) hand of the February tis Charity season spectrum is the Dettol Baby Blanket drive.  Following in the footsteps of Rachel Stevens, oh yes, I was also asked to donate a blanket to the Dettol Baby Blanket Donation campaign.  Each blanket donated will find new homes with families and babies who really need them, moreover for each baby blanket donated Dettol will donate £1 to the Sparks Children’s Charity.

High Res Dettol Blanket

Just like the Breast Cancer Awareness game, of course, no modern day charity campaign would be complete without a social media “presence“.  The #sharethememories hashtag encourages parents to share special baby and blanket memories and photos on twitter et al before donating their blankets.  Yes absolutely lovely idea! Yummy Mummy Alert etc.. But after eagerly donating one of little man’s blankets, why didn’t the relentless proud parent posting and hashtagging follow suit, yet I didn’t hesitate to choose one of the most embarrassing status to share with all my friends?  Alas.. It seems that motherhood hasn’t quite straightened out my “quirky” sense of humour just yet.

This Friday is the last day to donate your old baby blankets to the Dettol Campaign.

Donate here:http://www.dettol.co.uk/csr/donate/

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Aunty why is your baby a monkey?

Nursery
Aunty, why is your baby a pet monkey?

Aunty, why is your baby a pet monkey?

Maybe the parental joy and pride of the first ultrasound is lost on a beautiful five year old little niece who loves Hello Kitty, Doc Mc Stuffin and believes Mc Donald’s is a farmer.

There again I have to admit that the idea of a mini human growing inside me right now is just as bizarre. Inside my body there are two heartbeats and two brains simultaneously working independently together.

Seriously nature is incredible…

I’m sure all first time M2bs enjoy this stage of wonderment, awe and general disbelief but for me it’s just hard to believe that it’s really happening.

Soon, the proof of this journey will be in my arms and maybe I’ll look back at this post and smile.