How to be a stay at home mum

This is a bit of a lie. I'm not a complete stay at home mum. I work 2 days a week although I didn't actually go back to work until Ava was 15 months so I have a pretty good idea of what being a stay at home mum involves. And it's not all children's pottery workshops and Cath Kidston cutlery, let me tell you.

 Obviously it has it's plus points. You can watch Disney movies in your pyjamas or do your weekly shop on a Tuesday morning when everyone else is at work. But it's not always fun and games either. And so I have compiled a little list of do's and don'ts to try and keep you sane.

I will start by quoting Hugh Grant in 'About A Boy': 

The important thing in island living is to be your own activities director.

I find the key is to think of a day as units of time...

...each unit consisting of no more than 30 minutes.

Full hours can be a little bit intimidating...

...and most activities take about half an hour.

Taking a bath: One unit.

Watching Countdown:

One unit.

Web-based research:

Two units.

Exercising: Three units.

Having my hair carefully disheveled: Four units.

It's amazing how the day fills up.

Now, how you fill up your units will be somewhat different to how lazy rich bachelors do. But the theory is still the same. And if you live by this theory, it will be bed time before you know it.

Their bedtime.

 Not yours. 

Their bedtime is when you open the wine.

Don't wait until you finally have an afternoon off to clean the house. Because you finally have an afternoon off. Stay on the sofa, watch crap telly and eat Nutella straight out the jar. When you do need to do housework then let them join in. Not only will they have a whale of a time following you around the house with a duster but they will proceed to continue to make mess as you tidy. Thus increasing time taken to do housework ten fold. You can kill an entire morning doing this. This is the reason we never make 10.30am toddler group on a Friday.

Go to the supermarket every single day. Screw meal planning. Bugger weekly shops. Decide every morning what is for dinner that night then hit Tesco every afternoon with a wild desperate look in your eyes that says you just needed to get out of the house. 

Places like the library or softplay are all brilliant ways to kill some time. Especially when they get old enough to make friends and let you read Heat in peace. Be aware that there will come a time when your child's shrieks will no longer cause you to jump up in a panic about your little one hurting themselves. Rather you will hear a shriek and jump up wondering who your little one has walloped over the head with a Space Hopper this time.

Now I have a cheek because I drive everywhere but if you do have more of a social conscience than I do then I suggest you walk to as many places as possible. A ten minute car journey could be a 40 minute walk. You could kill three units for the sake of one. If you can do this then don't do what I do which is put my headphones in so loud that I can't actually hear what Ava is saying to me. Because that kid WILL make you walk back about 20 minutes to retrieve the dolly she dropped when you were passing the Co-Op.

Don't succumb to the gin before you get them to sleep. You will burn the fish fingers and it's a slippery slope if I'm honest.

One word for you: YouTube. Whether it's old episodes of Peppa Pig or just something as bizarre as watching people open Kinder Eggs, this beautiful little site will get you a long lie or a bit of peace when you are so frazzled that you are actually eyeing up said gin at 5pm.

Meet friends for lunch if they are available. It will be impossible to hold a conversation. They will hate every minute of it. You will spend most of it trying to wipe up spilled fruit shoot and stop them crayoning the walls while your best pal tries to tell you about the one night stand she had last weekend. You will end  up more frazzled than when you left the house and hating your friend for still having a social life but you've killed a few units until bedtime so every cloud.

If you can afford it, invest in a nursery for at least a day a week. We gave up waiting on a council place and eventually succumbed to a pretty darn expensive private nursery. Although it makes money a little tight, it's absolutely worth it. If the only time you get off is to go to your part-time job then you will go completely batshit crazy and consider running away to Yemen in the middle of the night. And definitely don't hate yourself for these thoughts, they are completely normal.

Accept the fact that you are never going to pee, shower or get a full night's sleep alone and just move on with your life.

Disclaimer: I love my child with all my heart and despite sometimes wanting to throw myself off the balcony, I adore the fact that I am getting to spend this amazing time with her before she starts school. And I wouldn't give it up for the world. 

But I'm just saying.

I'm so sick, sick, sick and tired

I love having a kid. 

Love it. 

Love, love, LOVE it.

BUT:

Has anyone else found that since having a baby they constantly feel half  the person they used to be? I mean physically. Mentally I guess I really do feel more complete (barf - sorry) if not a bit fucking exhausted. But man do I feel rubbish. All. The. Time.

It started with the lack of sleep. Meaning that I was constantly tired. Every day. Shattered. Relying on coffee (for the morning) and wine (for the evening) to keep me going and give me reasons to get up in the morning. Apart from Ava. Obviously. So the tiredness is part and parcel yeah? It kind of comes with the territory yes? Well I'm sleeping now. Don't get me wrong, our little penguin is still getting up a wee bit during the night. But for the past few weeks her lovely Dad has been bearing the brunt of the night settling while me and my boobs snooze away in perfect ignorance (we've kicked the breastfeeding. Almost). So why am I still knackered!?! Why do I still have to go to bed at 9pm every single night and why do I still have bags under my eyes that would rival the problem days at Terminal 5? Any ideas? Answers on a postcard.....

I asked Twitter. My go to for most questions of the parenting nature (Google is just too confusing). The answers varied from speculation that I sleep too lightly as I am so used to listening out for her wakening to getting my iron levels checked for anaemia to just being too bloody knackered from chasing around after a toddler all day. But there was one resounding answer that is apparently all conclusive: that this is normal and it won't get any better. In fact, now I am a Mum I am destined to spend the rest of my days in a constant state of extreme exhaustion. How this works I don't know. Will I still be eternally tired when she is at university? Lying awake worrying about how many sexual partners she has amassed in the two weeks she has been there and what drug of choice she is currently injecting as I count sheep? Because I don't remember anyone saying anything about this when I was pregnant. The sleepless nights when she is a newborn, yes. 

BUT NO-ONE MENTIONED THAT I WOULD BE TIRED FOREVER.

And the moaning. My Lord the moaning. Now I wouldn't say I am that much of a moaner. Don't get me wrong - I can hold my own. Particularly when I am tired, hungover or ill. Then my bloke becomes a bit of a man servant. Getting me cans of coke and crisps from the shop, running me baths and finding me clean PJ's all while cooking up something ridiculously unhealthy for dinner and trying to change a nappy and play with the kid. But apart from those (usually self-inflicted) episodes, I've always been a pretty much 'get on with it' girl. And now? I feel like all I do is moan. My boyfriend says I am not that bad. That I think I am worse than I am. But he has to say that as he seems to consider his balls to be quite precious to him and something he wants to keep. But why do I constantly feel so ill? If it isn't my back hurting (yes I know I should bend my knees when I pick up Ava) then its debilitating dizzy spells in the shower (I also know 800 calories a day whilst breastfeeding isn't too clever either). 

But I feel like its getting to the point that a day of being full of energy and feeling healthy is a day to be treasured as they are so few and far between. A day of sneaky sessions in the bedroom while she sleeps, big walks and trips to soft play. 

Cause God knows I'm gonna be moaning I'm too tired for the other 6 days of the week.

Is it just me?

Don't tell me how........

If there's one thing I have learned in this past year of being a mummy - it's that a lot of people have a lot of opinions on parenting. And that they like to share them with you. Alot.

Luckily we haven't been cursed with oppressive grandparents. Both my Mum and my partners Mum are brilliant grannies who never try and tell us how we should be raising our daughter but are simply there to help out as much as they can or offer the odd scrap of advice should we need it.

No, its the complete strangers that get my goat.

So without much further ado.........

DON'T:

• Tell me how to feed my daughter. Don't tell me that I absolutely have to wait until she is 6 months old to wean her. I did it at 4. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have waited. But it was a desperate attempt to get her to sleep better and it's not as if I was feeding her snickers and ordering her Chinese take-aways. 
• The same applies to those old people who think that breastfeeding in public is tantamount to streaking. Stay out of my way. Because I will fight you.
• Don't tut or sigh when you see me feed Ava half of my muffin in Starbucks. She's one. She's allowed a bit of cake. And she eats a really healthy and balanced diet the rest of the time so a bit of cake isn't going to kill her. And the same goes when you see me feeding her 'crisps'. Those are actually organic sweetcorn rings. They have nothing bad in them and they taste of NOTHING. So don't look at me like I'm feeding my daughter Quavers just so I can read my Heat magazine in peace.
• Don't tell me that your 4 month old is already sleeping through the night. Because at 13 months Ava is only just starting to hint that she might consider it. So revealing that you're darling kid started sleeping 12 hours straight from 6 weeks is likely to just make me want to kill you.
• Don't tell me why Ava is STILL not sleeping through the night. Because although you think you definitely know, you are probably wrong. And we have tried everything. Especially don't tell me to put her to bed later because that will give me a lie in the next morning. Because I miss my 7pm glass of wine, I miss Emmerdale, I don't eat till 9pm and I am still up at 5am the next morning.
• Talking of sleeping please don't tell me that now she is walking she will sleep through. She's been walking since 10.5 months and I've yet to see it
• Don't look at me in the breastfeeding group and bang on (and on) about what a fabulous baby Tommy is and how he "never cries and sleeps all night long". Because I can see the bags under your eyes. And I know you're next door neighbour.
• Oh yeah and don't tell me that your 3 month old is already saying Mummy and pointing. Because I don't believe you.
• Don't let me continue to spend a small fortune on toys for Ava when all she really wants to play with are remote controls, empty Tupperware and my iPhone.
• Oh and please don't pretend you haven't noticed the crows feet that weren't there 9 months ago. Because I've got photos and I've checked. And they weren't there 9 months ago.

Got it?

GOOD :)

Easy Peasy

Not sure I've seen this stuff before.....

Maybe I'll just have a little bite.....

WOAH THAT'S SOUR.....

How could you let me eat that Mummy.......?

Baby Love

I'm going to write about something I have been thinking alot about recently. 

Ava turned 6 months yesterday and it got me to thinking about when she was born. About those first few weeks and about how hard they were. 

Particularly as things are going so well right now. She's amazing. She giggles ALL day, she can entertain herself for a reasonable amount of time to let me get the odd thing done around the house and she really is just the most adorable, gorgeous, cute and amazing little thing I have ever met.

But I didn't always feel this euphoric about her presence. When she was first born I loved her. There's no doubt about that. But in a different way. In a sort of biological, animal, protective way. I cared for her. Fed her. Looked after her. I cried when she cried. And I hurt when she hurt. And I did everything in my power to stop her crying. And to stop her hurting. 

We had a rough first few weeks when she had bad colic and I spent many days treading the floor with her. Trying to soothe her. To stop her crying and to make her feel better.

But the love I feel for her now is so different to what it was back then. It's grown every single day. Become more powerful. And I finally have that overwhelming rush of pure, helpless love that everyone talks about. 

But it didn't come straight away. 

I loved her. Yes. But it was a kind of functional love. I was tired, emotional. Pregnancy and then labour had shaken my hormones up like a snow globe (my boyfriends analogy, but a good one). Everything was still settling back down again. I couldn't stand to see her hurting. But I was so tired I was almost robotic. 

Feed. Change. Soothe. Wake in middle of night. Feed, change, soothe. So on and so forth. 

I did what I had to do but I didn't feel like I could properly connect with her whilst she was so distressed.

I remember my Mum asking me about feeling 'lucky' and the absolute sadness I felt inside when my reaction wasn't the expected one. She told me about how she used to pinch herself when I was a baby. Because she just felt so lucky. And I didn't have that. Of course I felt blessed. But I didn't feel 'lucky'. She was my baby. I cared for her deeply. But she was here through biology. Not luck.

I cried every day for about two months. I remember countless conversations with my boyfriend where I was convinced my baby didn't even like me. I convinced myself that she settled better when she went to him. That she cried less. Looking back he'll confirm that this was in my head. 

Now? Now I feel like the luckiest person in the world. Ever since her colic cleared up my feelings for her have grown stronger and stronger with each day that passes. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the power of my feelings. Of how strongly I care for her. So much so, that sometimes I do the macabre parent thing of trying to imagine if she was taken from  me. If something terrible happened. But I can't allow myself to explore the thought for anymore than a few seconds. I can't see the horrible fantasy through. Because its just too awful to bare thinking about.

I have some kind of kissing disease. I kiss her warm, smooth head about a million times a day. 3 times as I carry her from her crib after she wakes from her nap. 9 times as she is jiggled on my lap as I do my online banking. Another 12 times whilst I feed her lunch. I've had to stop kissing the top of her head so much as my lipgloss was leaving a gooey, oily slick on the top of her head. Took us ages to work out what that was.

Did I have post-natal depression? No. I really don't think so. But I think it can be really difficult to connect with your baby when they are in so much pain. I would never have hurt her. Would have kneecapped anyone who did. But I just wanted her to stop crying. NEEDED her to stop crying so I could bond with her a little better.

And at 9 weeks old she did. The colic just sort of disappeared on it's own. And we started to really get to know each other. I discover new things about her every day. She's cheeky. She hates getting her face wiped. She loves rolling around with her nappy off. And she's alot smarter than she would have you believe.

And now?

Now I just don't function without her.

Jugs of confidence

This post is all about boobs. Well, breastfeeding. Which kind of incorporates boobs. But it's not just for the other Mums out there. It's definitely worth reading if you are a childless girly who's thinking she might want to breastfeed one day. And if you're a bloke then it's worth reading if you like a laugh.

Before I start I would like to make it clear that the benefits of breastfeeding more than outweigh the negatives. While I pass no judgment on those who choose to bottle feed their babies, breastfeeding can not only reduce things like cancer for both you and your baby in their later life but the health benefits are fantastic for your little one. Studies have shown that breastfeeding reduces the risk of infection, cot death and improves emotional development and bonding with your baby.

But man, can it be a bit of a slog at times.

For a start, I have always liked my boobs. Really liked my boobs. Now, whenever anyone mentions the words 'Belgium' or 'plastic surgery' my boyfriend starts to twitch. That's not to say there's much wrong with them at the minute. There really isn't. And I have been rather lucky in that I still quite like my boobs. However, I have never wanted to have particularly big boobs and at the moment they stand at a rather ample (in my opinion) 34DD. I loved my average-sized 34C cleavage and am praying that when I stop breastfeeding all will be resumed. But apart from suddenly looking like an extra out of Shameless in tops that previously made me look demure, they still appear to look ok.

I worry about stretching. Particularly in the middle of feeding when Ava swings round rather rapidly because she heard the theme tune to The Tweenies starting on TV. You have never seen a nipple stretch so far in your life. You'd think she would have the decency to stop sucking whilst she turns around to check out the opening credits. But this is what I get for being cocky. I mentioned in a previous post that I had managed to avoid stretchmarks during my pregnancy. That was true. Until Ava was born and my milk came in. I have since discovered some (albeit tiny) stretchmarks on my boobs where the poor things have had to cope with shooting up about 2 cup sizes in the space of a week. To be honest they really are tiny, and  you can only notice them if you are up very close (an honour only 2 people are lucky enough to have). And if I put fake tan on then they are invisible. They still had me reaching for the bio-oil and checking out the price of breast reductions in Yemen though.

Then there are the nipples. I have always considered myself a sort of average-sized nipple kind of girl. As you do. But apparently not once you start breastfeeding. My sister nearly choked on her Chinese the first time she saw me feed Ava in the comfort of my own home. Apparently mine are now the size of "satellite dishes". Nice.

Then there is the ensuing hilarity that comes with the actual act of breastfeeding itself. For a start the beginning is extremely painful. To the point that I would nearly draw blood from my boyfriends arm for the first ten seconds of every feed. This only lasted a couple of weeks, I hasten to add. And breastfeeding doesn't hurt in the slightest now. Apart from various creams suggested by my health visitor, the other failsafe, tried and tested and "really does work method" was the cold cabbage leaves. And so off my boyfriend went, with instructions to return with a green savoy cabbage. And not to return home unless he did. And it really does work. A leaf in each bra soothes sore nipples almost instantly. However, not being the tidiest person in the world with a new baby girl to look after, there were subsequently random cabbage leaves lying around various rooms in our flat for weeks. At the side of the bath, the bedside table, randomly lying next to the kettle. And the look I got off a staff member after I accidently left a couple lying on the cistern of a restaurant toilet will not be forgotten in a while. She must have wondered what the hell I was doing leaving random cabbage leaves in public toilets.

Then there's the leaking. Oh, the leaking. That you start leaking when your baby cries isn't that much of a surprise to me. I mean, nature's smart. But no-one told me that you start leaking when ANY baby cries. So it's not that bloody smart. You can imagine the nightmare I had on the one day I forgot to wear breastpads and entered the doctors waiting room for immunisation day. In a sheer white blouse. I won't go into detail but to say it was embarrassing is an understatement.

One other word of advice. Try and not be as forgetful as me. Often (partly due to baby brain, which does exist by the way), I need to physically feel each boob in order to remember which one I fed Ava from last. You can always tell as the emptier one is soft and squishy wheareas the fuller one is hard to the touch. But don't forget yourself and do it in the middle of Marks & Spencer. The security guard definitely thought I was feeling myself up in the middle of the food section. In retrospect, I really should have waited until I got into the feeding room.

I hope I haven't put you off. Breastfeeding is an amazing thing to do and everytime I do it I feel proud and emotionally closer to my baby girl.

Just stock up on breast pads.

And don't wear sheer.

So no-one mentioned the guilt........

Having recently had a baby girl I have been fretting slightly that my blog will turn into a parenting/baby blog (that's if I even get the chance to write a blogpost). Just like I fretted that during my pregnancy my blog would turn into a pregnancy blog. It did turn into a bit of a pregnancy blog and this will probably turn into a bit of a baby blog. I'll try not to let it too much. See the problem is: a blog is pretty much about you, your life and whats going on in it at that moment in time. And right now I am all about the babies. What I will do though, is continue to be brutally honest about what I write about. There's no pink hearts and cupcakes and fluffy clouds on this blog, as you well know. And alot of my readers who don't have kids yet, probably will eventually. So listen up, look sharp and take note. You're going to want to know this shit for the future.

First things first. People tell you lies when you have a baby. Actual lies.

Newborn babies don't sleep all the time. Maybe some do. But mine didn't. Or should I say doesn't. While my little 11 week old angel sleeps great at night (she'd be superhuman if she didn't given she's been up all day), getting her to nap in the house during the day is near damn impossible. The only way of getting Ava to sleep during the day is by taking her out in the car which for some reason, knocks her out like a light for a couple of hours. Only problem is: I'm knackered. I've been out and about practically every single day since she was born. Pyjama days are few and far between and I long for them.



Breastfeeding is not easy. At least it wasn't for me. And the majority of women I have spoken to have agreed with me. The milk mafia bang on and on during pregnancy about how 'easy' it is but I struggled alot. To the point where at 10 days old I sat up crying till it got light and then begged my boyfriend to go to the chemist and buy some formula. I found it excruciatingly painful. And although I now know she was, I was convinced that Ava wasn't getting enough milk. The absolute guilt that I felt when giving Ava that first bottle will live with me forever. I felt like an absolute failure as a mother and no level of reassurance from my boyfriend would convince me that I wasn't. Which is ridiculous. It's formula not poison. Luckily I persevered with the breastfeeding and am proud to say that at 4 weeks Ava came off formula completely and has been breastfed ever since. But it was hard. And I feel really sorry for anyone else out there who struggles and eventually has to resort to formula. There are lots of support for people who are struggling to breastfeed though. It's just that support seems like a million miles away when you are sat up alone at 3am feeling like you are actually cracking up.

Back when I was pregnant I think I was living in some kind of naive little bubble about what having a baby would be like. I had this image of the baby sleeping in the corner whilst I did the housework and made a pot of soup. Of her cooing and gurgling in her Moses basket whilst I caught up on my DVD boxsets. I thought I would be Mary fucking Poppins. I was wrong. Baby's need attention. ALOT of attention. And whilst I don't resent giving her a single second of it, I had no idea just how much I would struggle with the concept of having to divert all of my attention on this tiny little thing, every single second of the day. Particularly a baby who hates to sleep during the day and wants to be held constantly. It can drive you crazy. And for a while it really did. I thought I was cracking up and couldn't cope. It's only through the medium of social networking that I realised that what I was going through was completely normal and did eventually get better.

One resounding theme that I have discovered since having a baby is that I feel guilty all the time. For giving her formula when I couldn't do the breastfeeding anymore, for letting her cry that 30 seconds longer whilst I finished brushing my teeth. For putting her to bed early just so her Dad and I could enjoy a nice evening meal together. For sometimes wishing that I was away from her for just an hour. Just to get my nails done or something. Just to get my sanity back a little. And apparently the guilt doesn't end there. I'll feel guilty when/if I go back to work. When I send her to school even though she's adamant she is ill and I know she's at it. When I don't let her stay out as long as her friends on a Friday night. See, no-one mentioned the guilt.

But the thing that kept me going the most was most definitely Twitter. A group of gorgeous fellow mums stepped in every time my tweets started to slant on slightly suicidal with their thoughts, hints and tips and all round general encouragement and reassurance that things do get better. If you have a baby, or just want to follow a bunch of lovely people, then take your pick, they are listed below (I apologise if I have missed anyone out, you have all been so great):

@ladypreed
@tatooinechick
@sweetaswhisky
@starr37
@bubblegumbodw
@ladypreed
@mummykins82

And things are getting better. I am still finding every day difficult, there's no point denying it. But little changes and progressions every day make me realise that it's getting easier. Or maybe I am just adapting more, who knows.

Ava sleeps like an absolute doll during the night. Yep, she still gets up 2-3 times for her feeds. But she always goes back down to sleep without too much of an issue. And when she doesn't there is always this to ensure she eventually falls back to sleep (thanks @GazMan81 for the recommendation). Although I can't really put Ava down on her own for more than 10 minutes before she starts crying, a variety of different toys seem to be capturing her attention for longer everyday like a swing, her vibrating chair and her new playmat. I even managed to cook a casserole the other day. It took me 10 hours when it was supposed to take 2. But still.

But even without all these little steps forward. Even if I do feel like I am going slightly insane sometimes and am using baths and the odd glass of wine like some kind of drug, it doesn't matter. Because this:

                       makes every single second of it worthwhile.

As does discovering that she is tickly behind her neck, that she loves watching the football with her Dad (she's gonna be a Celtic fan) and that we can't stop her eating the bubbles during bathtime.

        And I wouldn't change a single second of it for the world.

Dear Ava.........

Whilst I sit here watching you sleep, I can't help but let my mind wander to the future. To when you are older. Wondering what it'll be like when you celebrate your first birthday. When we blow the candles out on your cake. How much different will you look in a years time? Will you be stubborn or laidback? Gregarious or shy?

Or thinking about the day you take your first steps. Or the day you say 'Mummy'. Where will we be when it happens? When will it happen? And will I have weaned myself off of the coca-cola addiction I developed in pregnancy by then?

I'm thinking about you coming home from school. Helping you with your homework. And then telling you are getting too old to be helped and that it is time you did it on your own. When the truth is it is just getting too difficult for me to do.

And thinking about what you will be like as a teenager. When you start to hate me and we start to fall out. Maybe I will show you this blogpost and we will make up quicker?

But for now I am happy to just sit here and watch over you......

.......and pinch myself everytime I think about how lucky I am......

.....that you are mine......

......all mine......

.....and I get to keep you.......

........forever.