Is My Toddler A Psycho?

Is My Toddler A Psycho?

Those of you that regularly read my blog may remember me talking about my fear of birthing a psychopath. Turns out it wasn’t unfounded. Girly no2 is displaying some real tendencies. And with the quiet questioning brain of Girly no1 at her side…I’m concerned. Have I birthed the world’s next political powerhouse? Hillary and Bill? Or is it more like Hitler and Himmler? I’m really left wondering is my toddler a psycho…

I don’t know why I thought I may birth a psychopath. I assume the thought crossed everyone’s mind at some point during their pregnancy. We always knew that a combination of our personalities have the making of a psycho. Husband’s friendly chirpy facade covering a guilt-free, unemotional detachment from all but his closest inner circle. My pensive, calculated mind and my ability to meticulously plan for every eventuality. These personalities combined with our Hollywood good looks (HA!) you basically have Patrick Bateman of Hampshire complete with 150gsm business cards printed in Helvetica. I started to give it real consideration after I read Lionel Shriver’s We Need To Talk About Kevin, although the parents seem surprised in that book. Husband and I would not be.

Sweetness and light

Girly no1 quickly put our fears to rest as her personality emerged. At nearly 4, she’s a carbon copy of me but untainted by age and life! So she is still sweet and kind. She asks questions (interrogates) like I do but it’s with genuine curiosity and keenness to learn. She’s not yet mastered manipulation and she doesn’t really have a temper, only ever having had one meltdown which shook us all so much I wrote a blog about it. She scores highly on the empathy scale. She can be reduced to tears watching someone else be sad. She cries at films and cuddles her friends to try and make them feel better when they are sad. She gently pats her little chubby hands on their cheeks telling them not to worry (this makes me cry when she does it to me). She is emotional like I am (I cried last week when Dani and Jack were reunited). She re-tells events from her day at nursery welling up when Lauren didn’t want to be her friend but was only joking, or when Seb walked too fast so fell and hurt his knee. She feels their pain. So I don’t think she is the next Hitler, Mussolini or Trump (yep, I just bracketed them all together). Unless really heavily influenced I’m not sure Girly no1 has it in her to do anything horrible.

Early Signs

Girly no2 however is a whole new kettle of fish. She is a charmer. She loves to make you laugh. But she will kiss you with that cute smiley face then slap you and run away. She sucks strangers in, attracting their attention with cutesy giggles, a little lisp and y’s instead of l’s when she talks (Heyo!). Then when someone bends down to chat with her, she flings her head to the side ignoring them. Or she growls and lowers her brow looking out under it like Damien in The Omen. She toys with people’s emotions. She only really likes Mumma, Daddy and her sister. Everyone else is a puppet in her show. As I started to type this she was staring at her sister’s back. After a couple of minutes she suddenly launched herself at her, pushing her with all her might. When no1 didn’t respond satisfactorily she had another think, then tried again using her whole body. It’s disturbing to see an 20-month old plotting to take down her nemesis. But she was relentless and she persevered until eventually she knocked no1 over, catching her off balance. She sat smugly watching her afterwards, looking very pleased with herself. I imagined her making mental notes on angel of trajectory, speed and length of approach. I could almost see her slowly, imperceptibly nodding.

No Remorse

As well as already being a master manipulator, enjoying causing pain and lack of emotion, she shows signs of another psychopathic trait. Lack of remorse. A few days ago, Girly no1 was doing her normal thing of making her baby sister laugh by lying on her wriggling. No2 had been laughing when suddenly she sat bolt upright, reached into her sisters hair and pulled out a huge clump. No1 screamed and cried. No2 watched her for a moment then began to mimic the noises and sounds. No tears though. I stood her up and said look how much she had upset her sister, how she should say sorry etc. She stopped her shouting, looked at me and said “No!” with a little pursed mouth. I was momentarily stunned. I sat her just outside the room facing the baby gate at the top of the stairs. She could still see us and sat there watching me comfort Girly no1. I didn’t think for a moment she would stay there, but she did. After a couple of minutes I went and said “come and say sorry to your sister for hurting her and give her a cuddle”.

“No.”

I left her again for a couple of minutes. “Are you ready to say sorry now?”

“No.”

A few more minutes passed. To her credit she didn’t move from the spot I had left her. “Come on,” I said, thinking she’d probably forgotten why she was there in the first place. “You hurt your sister and it made her sad when you pulled her hair. It’s not kind”. Slowly and deliberately she stood up, walked to her sister and cuddled her.

“Aaaaah” she said.

“Say sorry” I gently coaxed.

She stared at me for what felt like a very long time looking back and forth between her sister and I. Eventually she whispered “Sowee”. I didn’t even know she could whisper.

Is My Toddler A Psychopath?

Other psychopathic traits include narcissism (tick), impulsiveness (tick) and lack of responsibility (tick). Tick tick tick. Oh god. In a hot sweaty moment of realisation, I did some research. I discovered that scientists believe that there is a psycho gene. Should we all get tested?! What do you do about that?  I stressed out some more. What have we created? What have we inflicted on the world?! What if my mini Hitler influences my kind little fluff headed no1 and then they become the first notorious psycho sister duo in the UK. I’m not sure I’m mentally capable. The good news is that with real nurture, psycho’s can live normal lives and actually live amongst us. Reflecting on it, I actually think we know a few (wondering how many of my friend’s will question whether I’m talking about them!). You just have to be firm and moral. Lots of apologies and taught empathy – Dexter style. We can do this.

Or Maybe Just A Toddler

Of course it might just be that my hilarious little toddler is just that. A toddler. Pushing boundaries, learning about herself and others, learning about cause and affect. Learning how to communicate, influence and negotiate. It might just be that she is a strong mind and a big personality on tiny shoulders. Or I may have birthed the next Hindley. We’ll just have to wait and see.

If you haven’t read this with your tongue in your cheek then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place. My girls are beautiful and kind hearted.  If not a bit weird. But then who isn’t?! If you’ve enjoyed it please like and share!

 

Starting School

Starting School

Husband freaked us both out this week. One of the nursery girls asked him where Girly no1 would be starting school and if he had added it to the list so he could organise some play dates (she obviously doesn’t know him very well). He ran home in a panic-stricken flurry. “Where’s she starting school? When? Have we applied? Why didn’t you talk to me about it? The list! We need to add her to the list!”…

I laughed affectionately as he counted the months on his fingers. He confirmed with me that she started when she was 4 and that the school term starts in September. His face was flooded with relief as he realised we hadn’t missed anything. Being a September baby, she doesn’t start school til next year, a full 18 months away. I briefly asked myself whether he thought I was that bad I would miss something so monstrous. Does he not know how anxious I am about her starting school?! Starting school sucks! It’s the worst! We still have a year a half, but already it makes me feel a bit nauseous.

Big Baby

Parents of older children will laugh at me for this. Parents of younger children will (mostly) nod in sympathy. My mum will cover her face and laugh. She will laugh because I hated starting school. Hated it with a passion. And I hated every September starting a new class.

I especially hated having a new teacher in a new room and new people. In fact, the only thing I liked was the new books, especially in senior school when we got to cover them in sticky back plastic. That played perfectly to my slightly autistic need for perfection. I go into a trance-like state of admiration in the library if I come a across a neatly covered book with no bubbles, a smooth plane and perfectly folded corners. (I’m such a weirdo, I probably shouldn’t share this stuff).

The night before going back to school after a long hot summer I would cry all night. In my teenage years, the tears were replaced with a face of thunder, grunts and lots of stomping (more than usual). I struggled to shake it off as an adult. I would get that same ‘back to school’ feeling most Sunday evenings and every time I returned from holiday. If I happened to have PMT on my first day back I would definitely cry as I left the house. Yes! I am the personification of what you would call “a big baby”. It’s probably why I’m so happy now I don’t have to go to work on a Monday morning. Just to my sofa! No more back to school feeling (virtual high fives with myself).

The Lunchbox

My first few years of school were nothing less than traumatic for my poor Mum. After prising me away from her leg and ‘jollying me along’ into class she would go back to the car to cry into the steering wheel because I had sobbed since waking up. Clock watching until an acceptable amount of time had passed, she would call and check how I was. Inevitably I was fine. Well, almost fine. One time I was still in tears because I had missed my snack at break time as I couldn’t open my new lunchbox. Cue many future years of making me practice opening my lunchbox every day for two weeks before going back to school. This story story can still make my Mum cry if you catch her on a bad day now.

My own memories must not rub off on Girly no1. I’ll do everything I can to not let this happen. But I also know that she is a carbon copy of me. She is very sensitive and any ruffling of her feathers results in tears first, other feelings afterwards. Yesterday she cried for 25 minutes because her hair band broke (it was from Poundland, I don’t know what she expected). The week before she moaned for a whole day about why her best friend didn’t want to kiss her goodbye (she wants to marry this friend but I’m not sure her family are as open to lesbianism as we are). It took her 6 months to settle into nursery, then it has taken a good couple of months to settle each time she has changed groups (you know, moving from one side of the room to the other…having to climb an extra set of stairs…big changes).  She’s not great with change.

Ow, My Heart

I didn’t used to like change either, though strangely now I fall into the early adopter category. I quite like change and am willing to give most things a go. This may be all my years of project management. That doesn’t help me with Girly no1 though, whose worries, reactions and concerns feel like physical pain in my heart.

It’s my job to help her through this though. There have been times in my life when I have questioned Mum’s ‘meanness’ to me when I was little – her constant reiteration of “you need to toughen up” and “just stop crying and get on with it” – but now I’m in the thick of things with my own offspring, this is what I need to do more of. Tough love. It’s probably what has led me to being a fairly robust adult. Without it, I wonder whether I would I have competed in tennis tournaments to jeers from mean girls from school. Would I have been able to hold my own in a boardroom of much older men? Would I ever have started Making Little People or That Works For Me? I doubt it.

Starting School….next year

This doesn’t help me with Girly no1 starting school though. I’m already planning – manically planning. How I can make this transition easier? We will talk about it lots. Buy an easy to open lunchbox. Meet lots of people in her class. Go there lots so she starts to feel comfortable. I wonder if we could invite her teacher to tea…..(jokes). (Kind of). I know that everyone goes through it and I won’t be the only stressing about it, I may be the only one stressing about it 18 months ahead of time though! Whichever way it goes I’m sure I will be that Mum weeping first in her car and then again at home on the sofa. Someone in this house needs to keep the back-to-school mantle burning!

Thanks for reading all the way to the end! And thank you so much to everyone for your kind words on my last post, The Miscarriage Rollercoaster. We are much, much better and as you see I have found a new thing to cry over! Believe it or not I’m actually quite a happy and chilled person, hard to get that from this blog isn’t it?! I always love your likes and shares so please do the honours if you have enjoyed. Until next time amigos!

The Miscarriage Rollercoaster

The Miscarriage Rollercoaster

I haven’t posted anything for a while. And this post isn’t fun or funny I’m afraid. It’s sad and a bit teary. Because that’s what miscarriages are – sad and teary and a lot of other things…

I’ve been very quiet recently because on top of trying to build (by which I mean start) my business That Works For Me. I have fallen pregnant and then had a miscarriage. And it’s really knocked me for six. It’s knocked everything out of me, my energy, my motivation, my smile…I have felt really bloody sad.

FOMO

Last month I was late for period and filled with dread, I did a pregnancy test. I feel horrible admitting it, but I was really upset that it was positive. As well as the business we had the most fun summer planned. I was feeling fit, the girlies are becoming more independent, we have holidays booked, festivals to go to, gigs to enjoy…a whole raft of grown up activities that I was really excited about enjoying. Mostly though it was about having some time for Husband and I, a little bit of time to enjoy each other because after three years of pregnancy-baby-pregnancy-baby, we needed it. Every couple does. It’s easy to lose each other in the first couple of years of having a child and I can see why so many couples drift apart.

Husband was super excited that the test was positive, as he has been every time we’ve seen the infamous blue cross. I, on the other hand, cried my eyes out. And I continued to cry for two weeks after we found out. I know that this is very selfish and I should have been grateful. I’m very aware. But my inner brat was in full foot-stamping-tantrum-throwing mode and I was really annoyed at the prospect of missing The Killers again. We told immediate family and our closest friends our news…we had to explain my red rimmed eyes somehow and ‘I’m now a drug addict’ wasn’t going to cut it.

Re-Plan

After two weeks I was starting to accept my fate. Finally I started talking about bunkbeds and Lanolin (don’t try to breastfeed without it), casting sideways glances at tiny baby clothes in shops. I signed up to the normal baby email updates (poppy seed this week) and booked my first midwife appointment. Whilst I wasn’t yet beaming, I was no longer crying. I was imagining Girly no2 the dolly-obsessed-kamikaze jumping all over a newborn trying to stuff plastic dummies in her mouth while Girly no1 danced, sung and performed magic tricks; anything to try hold my attention. A smile was starting to creep onto my lips.

Exactly three weeks after finding out, I woke up with a mild stabbing pain low down on my left side and ‘early period’ symptoms elsewhere. I left it for a couple of days but it didn’t go away. The incredibly kind GP confirmed my worst thoughts – a suspected ep topic – and we were sent as an urgent case to the hospital. It turned out that urgent meant six hours of sitting in a depressing room with no air or natural light and having my blood pressure taken every three hours. This is a long time to discuss whether you will ever conceive again, if two children is enough, whether you should have bought a puppy, an SUV versus a people carrier, how you will manage bedtime with two parents and three children, and any other imagined problem your head can create.

Questions

We were eventually scanned. It was confusing. Not because of the sonographer, who was amazing with her explanations, but because on the surface everything looked ‘really healthy’ (her words) and it seemed I just pulled a muscle and had a bleeding cist. She said there was a possibility that the fetus wasn’t as developed as it should be for seven weeks so it could be what she termed a ‘failing pregnancy’ but on the surface everything else looked really healthy and it was likely to be date confusion. We were sent away for 48 hours to see what would happen. At the time you listen and nod and blurt out the questions you think you need answers to. It’s not until you have left that you start to analyse things and then the real questions come. For example, without going into great detail, we were clear on dates. We have a one year old and a three year old and….well, need I say more?! Let’s just say we knew our dates! But we questioned everything – when do you start counting weeks? Why is there a weird 10-day period when you’re not pregnant but is counted in how pregnant you are? Had we made this up so were we actually where we should be from a development point of view? The more questions we asked, the more likely a failing pregnancy seemed.

Waiting

We picked the Girlies up, who had been collected by my Super Mum, put them to bed and then sat staring at each other. Waiting. It was a long evening and an even longer next day. We busied ourselves with the usual Friday activities. I spontaneously burst into tears throughout the day. Goodness knows what they thought in the hairdressers. I did manage to smile though when the receptionist came over to ask how long she should book in for “the lady who comes in for colour from the Ghetto in France”. It turned out to be a Chateau, but I was distracted for at least 5 minutes by this hilariously innocent mistake.

The following morning was our ten-year anniversary. A real landmark we were excited to celebrate. But instead of dropping the Girlies off to their Nanny and heading to Portobello Road as we had intended, we headed back to the hospital for blood tests to confirm what, by this point, we knew. It was a miscarriage. I had started bleeding quite heavily and the pain seriously ramped up. It wasn’t quite the anniversary gift I had in mind and I spent most of the day in tears.

Miscarriage

The doctor at the hospital was amazing. She let us go as quickly as possible telling me to go home and rest. She promised to call later with the blood test results. I re-did my make up and we headed to the nearest pub via a couple of antique shops. It wasn’t quite Portobello Road but we managed to buy a few bits. It was clear that my body wasn’t going to let me get drunk but we had a couple anyway, staring at my phone waiting for it to ring. Eventually the Unknown Number flashed up. I hung up, wet eyes again, and told Husband that the blood test confirmed my hormone levels had halved. Our phones were buzzing constantly with loving supportive messages…every one of them made me, and sometimes Husband, cry again. We looked like a couple on the verge of divorce, on our phones, crying and holding hands. I’m surprised no one asked me if I wanted to Ask For Angela. We played Ker Plunk (you know how cool pubs are now by what board games they stock), went for dinner then we both fell asleep in the taxi home. We were in bed, cuddled up tight, for 11pm. Happy anniversary Husband.

Sad

The pain and bleeding went on for another week or two then it was gone. Physically it wasn’t too bad. The drain, for me, has been the rollercoaster of emotions that the last month has brought with it. The initial shock of finding out I was pregnant coupled with premature but gut-wrenching FOMO; the acceptance of my body changing and consequent re-planning of our grown up summer; the uncertainty of not knowing what an ache and pain will lead to; and then the deep deep sadness for both of us at losing a baby that wasn’t even a baby yet.

A few weeks on, I still find myself with wet eyes at strange times, as does Husband. It’s not that we don’t know that this one wasn’t meant to be, or that we can try again in a few months, or that it’s normal to cry, it’s just that you don’t expect it to feel as sad as it does. I went through the inevitable “this is my fault because I wasn’t happy when we found out” phase immediately afterwards but I know that’s not true. I keep trying to work out what I’m crying over. Is it the loss of the picture of our family of five? The chance of seeing my Girlies with a little tiny sibling? The fact it might have been a little Husband clone growing in me? All the things I think. All of those things coupled with cramps, hormones, nausea and sore boobs. Who doesn’t love to be a woman?!

Sorrys

Until I experienced it myself, I’ve never given a miscarriage too much thought. I know it’s sad for the couple going through it. I know that it’s particularly sad for people that are desperate for a baby and people that have been trying for ages. And I know that much worse things happen than this. We have been made aware of at least two couples in the last few weeks who have lost babies at delivery. That is something no one should ever have to go through and my heart goes out to them. But it doesn’t mean we can’t be sad about our loss. We thought we would have a new little baby in time for Christmas but now we won’t. And it’s ok to be sad about that. I would like to apologise to everyone that has been through this horrible experience though and send out love and kindness to you and your families. I get it now. And I’m as sorry for you as I am for myself.

I had a big internal debate with myself over whether to write this as it’s something that’s so private and like most people, we keep early pregnancy news to a very tight circle. For many of my friends, this is the first they will know of it. But blearily staring into the doctors’ sad eyes listening to her tell me that miscarriage affects one in four pregnancies, I feel like I should share it in case it brings just one person a little comfort. Some friends of mine recently ran the London Landmarks Marathon to raise money for the charity Tommy’s who raise money for research into miscarriage, stillbirth and premature birth. If you would like to donate to them, please do so here. I promise to cheer up next week.

Power Cut Chaos

Power Cut Chaos

Last night we were sat playing and reading before bedtime when everything went pitch black and silent. After a shocked couple of seconds, the sirens began. Nope, not the air raid sirens of a blitzkrieg but the deafening screams of our toddlers. “Mummy, why is it dark? Daddy, put the TV back on! Mummy, why I can’t see?!”  Power cut chaos ensued…

Moments before we were all applauding Girly no2 for climbing on to her Scuttlebug all by herself (big achievement when you’re one!). She did not appreciate being plunged into darkness on her own on the other side of the room. Girly no1 was snuggled into Daddy reading a book but still had an absolute meltdown. Her little three-year-old mind could not get her head around it. Understandable. We’d never given her a lesson on electricity and we’re not very basic campers (our tent has a disco ball in it) as you may remember from a previous post. I peeked through our shutters at the house I normally hate at the bottom of our garden, and for once was comforted by its’ presence. That and the fact it was all dark-windowed. It was just a good old-fashioned power cut.

Torched

We snapped into practical mode. “Grab the power cut kit!” I shouted. In my head, as I grabbed said kit from my imagination. Rummaging through boxes, I found torches in the garage and candles from the…oh no, I threw those away in a fit of annoyance when they kept falling out the cupboard and all over the floor. Torches would be fine. Luckily I have a battery fetish (nope, not that kind gutter mind) so we have packs of them in the garage. No2 rescued, everyone armed with a light of some description, we started to answer the onslaught of questions from Girly no1. “Why is it dark? Who turned the TV off? What is electricity? Has Nana stolen our lights? Will my night clock work? How will we find our teeth?” Most answerable, some less so. Ever tried explaining electricity to a 3-year-old? I think I’m going to have to do some sort of teaching qualification. I totally nailed the teeth question though. We strategically placed torches in the bedrooms and bathroom making the rooms look lit up from the hall. Lifting no1 up to check the other houses at 5-minute intervals made bedtime last rather longer than normal.  But we cosily put our pj’s on all in the same room and then put both Girlies into bed, promising that Shimmer and Shine would be back to life by the time they woke up.

Netflix and Chill

We made our way downstairs, having left little camping lights in place of the usual night lights. “So what shall we do with our evening?” Husband asked, having established from Twitter that this power cut would last for at least a couple of hours.  “Well I need to finish the washing….oh, no….I need to carry on working on the holding pages for That Works For Me….oh, no….” I answered. “Haha!” he laughed, “you can’t do any of those things! You’re going to have to sit and cuddle me and talk to me! Gutted! Let’s snuggle up and watch Netflix on the laptop!” I glanced at him waiting for the penny to drop. “We can tether to a phone!” he declared triumphantly.

“With your 15% of battery phone or my phone with no service?” I asked. “We need to keep at least one phone working in case the power doesn’t come back on and we freeze. In which case, we’ll drive to my Mums.”  I pictured us shuffling up to my Mum’s house in the snow with rags for clothes, no shoes and our hands out-stretched in an Oliver Twist-esque manner. Then I remembered it’s 2018, we’re not homeless and we drive a 4×4 that isn’t dependent on electricity. I did ponder over just how much we rely on all things electric though. Phones, TV’s, heating…we can’t even boil water in our house without electricity. Then there is how we spend our time. How do you operate in today’s world without the internet, Sky, Netflix and EE? Can a marriage survive?!

Balsamic chicken

Bizarrely that morning I had made dinner (balsamic chicken) in the slow cooker – something I haven’t done more than three times in the last year. At least we wouldn’t starve. We were down to two rubbish torches but managed to scoop some dark food into our dark bowls and we ate at our dark table. It was actually one of the most romantic meals we have had at home, often opting to eat on our laps in front of the TV at the end of our respectively exhausting days. We talked over our (for once) nice-tasting dinner, and did what any couple would do in these circumstances. Realised how totally unprepared we are for any disaster that would leave us without access to mobiles, supermarkets and takeaways.

We spent the rest of the meal making a plan for what we would in the event of disease outbreak or zombie apocalypse (Husband was nervous about missing the first Walking Dead episode of the season). We decided our safe haven would be Dad’s boat or our friends’ farm (who will thank us later when we arrive armed with Baked Beans and toilet rolls) and decided that we should probably buy a camping stove and some ‘tinned food’ (mmm! Ravioli!). We made each other laugh and remembered why we loved each other, as we often do left alone without children and devices. It was certainly more romantic than our valentines day dinner at the local curry house a week before, which had been prickly, for reasons we still don’t understand. It just happens that way sometimes.

Ping! 

“You know, they say this is why so many babies were born during wartime…the power cuts…” I said glancing at Husband (I would like to use the word ‘seductively’ here but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m just not very seductive). Even in the near darkness I could see that his eyebrows had lifted. He looked at me hopefully and I smiled back at him. Then, as if by magic, all of the lights pinged back on and everything whirred and beeped back to life. “You best go finish those emails!” I laughed, heading towards the washing machine.

Thanks for stopping by dear reader. If my ramblings continue to make you smile, or you would like to offer me lessons in the art of seduction, then please do comment, like and share. Until next time I bid you adieu! 

Things people say when you just had a baby

Things people say when you just had a baby

We have all had it. The well meaning comments or questions from people that you can’t believe come from a good place. The face just doesn’t match the voice! Here are my favourite from the list of things people say when you have a baby…

You look well! – You’re still fat!

Wow you look incredible! Really incredible! I can’t believe it! – Where’s your baby bump and how the hell did you get so thin so quickly? Bitch. (I’ve not experienced this one myself)

How’s she sleeping? – Shit! I didn’t know they did eye bags in that shade and size!

How are you feeding? – If it’s not the same as me you’re doing it wrong.

When can we go and drink prosecco? –  You’ve been so boring recently.

Soon enough, you won’t remember the pain of labour – I tried my best to block out the hideousness of what happened to me but I will NEVER forget how your much it hurt when my child tore my vagina apart. 

She’s so peaceful! – She doesn’t cry all the time you liar.

Your baby is so cute! – He looks like every other baby and I wouldn’t recognise it if I fell over it. 

Oh sweet! – I’m not really interested in what you’re saying. 

All babies look like Winston Churchill – Your baby looks like Winston Churchill. 

Who does she look like? – I can’t see any of your husband in her, are you sure she’s his? 

I’m sure mine was talking/walking/any-other-milestone by now – Behind already. Looking at you two, I can’t say I’m surprised. 

Bluebell Apple… what a unique baby  name! – Why would you torture your child with a name like that?

What a cute… baby. What is its name? – I am politely trying to figure out if your baby is a boy or a girl.

It’s amazing how much stuff you accumulate when you have a baby, huh? – Your house is a pigsty. 

He’s really got a set of lungs on him! – I want to leave. Now.

It’s great you’ve been able to find the time to post so many pictures on Facebook! – I’m sick of your kids face. 

Would you like me to watch the baby while you take a shower or something? – You smell.

Thanks to everyone for their submissions! Send me yours below, on Twitter (@makinglittleppl) or via Facebook and I’ll add my favourites to the list.  If you’ve enjoyed this post, please like and share. Interaction really boosts my confidence and encourages me to write more. More blog posts available here.

New Baby Announcement

New Baby Announcement

Everyone says it. Everyone thinks it. Next year I shall be thinner/fatter/more relaxed/more organised drier/wetter – delete as appropriate. My desire is to earn an income again, and preferably one that utilises the skills I have spent the last 15 years building, not starting over in my local Co-op. I need to think, boss, lead, debate and challenge again (I’m so fun). Husband won’t let me near his business (can’t imagine why) so with no one else to boss around, I think it’s time I started working again…it’s time to be a Working Mum!… (more…)