Saturday, 18 June 2011

I came, I saw, I did a little shopping...

Trainers and Trotters
Shopping has always been my ‘thing’. You know, for some girls, their ‘thing’ is horses, for some it is ballet, or art, or singing. Well, mine has always been shopping. Since the ballooning baby body has stolen my love of clothes shopping, I have turned to the next best thing - baby clothes shopping. Love it love it love it All the little tiny weeny cutie things you can buy for them, from hats with tassles (poor child), down to socks with frills (again, poor child), I love them. And I was so looking forward to the first purchase of baby shoes. How wrong could one seasoned shopaholic be?
So I knew I had to go to a reputable high street shoe retailer - you know the one, we all had our first shoes from there, right? Off we went, ready for the wonder of little tiny shoes with velcro and light up thingys and shiny bits. But it was not to be.
Cass sat splendidly while her feet were measured, intrigued by the process and watching carefully. She tottered happily around while I perused the shelves. We looked at all the styles and selected the ones we liked; not too sparkly, or impractical or, dare I say it, too pink. But there was one major drawback. The major drawback was that my child has freakishly small feet for her ‘stage of development’. Basically she is gadding about on trotters. Tiny little things that only fit pram shoes, not real shoes.
Did the the assistant who measured her feet explain this to me? Not until we presented her with the choice of shoes which they didn’t do in Cassie’s size. Brilliant. And could she tell me which they did do in Cassie’s size? Yes. Brilliant. That one pair over there? In pink? Brilliant.
I have made it my mission ever since to redeem myself as a shopper, to do better for my child, to search out and purchase new trotter-wear for her. I came to shop, and I will not be defeated.
The Mummatron

This Little Piggy
Oh dear, I really can't find anything amusing to say about shopping, it really is not something I like to do. Twenty minutes in a shop which sells weird and wonderful clothing is about all I can take, although I must admit I can never pass a shoe shop and do have way too many pairs of foot apparel. I am devastated to think that my adorable little granddaughter allegedly has trotters but I looked at them carefully this weekend and I think her mother exaggerates, she has dear little pinkies, or could I be biased? And for a granny who has twelve pairs of boots I think I know what I am talking about!
Granny Bloggins

Tuesday, 14 June 2011

Growing Pains

When your baby is not your baby anymore...

I know it has been a while since we have last posted, we have had a hiatus... We’ve been to Africa, I’ve gone back to work (yes indeed, more on that in another post), and CK has started nursery (more on that too). More importantly though, my baby done growed up. Toto, we definitely ain’t in Kansas anymore.

How do you know when you baby turns into a toddler? There should be a few clues:

Does your child insist? Insist on what, I hear you ask? Anything, everything, most of it illogical. She wants to wear her reins in the bath, she wants to hold the carving knife while riding her rocking horse, she wants to drink your scalding hot tea/beer/ wine/neat vodka (delete as appropriate). And she will squawk until she gets what she wants.
Has her velocity increased exponentially over recent weeks? First sitting was not enough, then crawling was old hat, now even walking is sooooo last season darling. No, now we must run everywhere. Until, inevitably, she falls over.
And then she looks at me as if it is my fault.

Has she suddenly become a bit more interactive? This comes in many forms - the nice ones like cuddles and kisses (a bit like sticking a dyson to your top lip, but at least the intentions are good), and the not so nice ones like shoving smaller and more timid children off the aforementioned rocking horse.

If you have answered yes to any of the above then it would seem that your baby is not your baby anymore, but suddenly a full on, high octane toddler. And would I go back to the baby days? No way.

Big Babies
When your baby is not your baby anymore - it never happens. It might feel like it now but believe me your baby is always your baby and every stage is a delight and a nightmare, just wait until you are lying awake listening for your baby to drive into the garage late at night!
Granny Bloggings

Like it? Wanna read more? Ah go on go on go on...