Watch where you step...

Little Miss Independant

I am such a fool. I have totally wished away the last 10 months.

I'll admit it, I have felt somewhat inadequate since becoming a mummy due to the fact that I haven’t been filled with a ‘Sound Of Music’ style joy, revelling in my new found mummy status. No, that’s right folks, I haven’t been skipping through fields in bloom, flipping my dirndl (sp?) with one hand and swinging my picnic basket with the other, singing about the wonders of being at home with a baby all day long. I have spent the last few months saying “It’ll be easier once she can roll over/eat solids/nap properly/ sit unaided /crawl/stand/ walk/complete an open university course.”

And now she is crawling and I realise that I was wrong - for everyone of these milestones a new challenge comes along. What I wasn’t prepared for is the hard work involved in keeping her safe now that she is into everything, checking what scraps off the floor she is shoving in her mouth (such as ladybirds), and childproofing every door, shelf, cupboard and corner. Why didn't I make more of the last 10 months when she was a (cute) static blob?

I do, however, LOVE that she can now follow me from place to place, I love that she is Missy Independant (takes after her mother), and I love that she can find the cereal box cupboard and unpack every weetabix onto the floor. No I do, I love it *grits teeth*.

I even love that her favourite place in the house now is sitting on the inside of the dishwasher door. She stares at me with real glee every time on her face, "Look at me Mummy! I'm in the dishwasher" she seems to be saying, a dirty spoon clutched tightly in each hand and grubby, indeterminate food scraps stuck to her little derrière. Precious.

Love in a Larder Cupboard

So little CK has started crawling and I have just realised how slow I am these days. Obviously, over the festive season I spent quite a bit of time in the kitchen, little CK following me like Marys’ proverbial lamb. She spent hours playing with an empty syrup tin and enjoyed chowing down on a silicone baking tray. However, it seems that all that time she was in fact as alert as a wolf in a lambing shed. Whenever I thought she was completely absorbed in her tin or her tray and I tried to slip away into the larder, she achieved light speed and was in through the door at warp factor five. She would have her gums wrapped around an onion or an apple before you could say, “Nigella!”, Then she would sit back, clutching her contraband, and look up at me with a cheeky little grin on her adorable face. Of course I am a complete push-over and thought her capers cute in the extreme. That’s not to say that granny is a complete idiot and I can reach the high shelves so everything migrated upwards except for the fruit and plastic boxes – hah!

Granny Bloggins

Week 12: MummyHalved

Very rudely, my parents have buggered off and left me. Yes, that’s right people, this week I am Mummyhalved. I am not sure that holidaying was in the grandparent contract. Let me see... Bringing bacon sarnies to the hospital while the labour is under way - check. Making endless cups of tea and meals and stacking and unstacking the dishwasher for at least a month after mummy and baby return home from the hospital - check. Doing any general DIY that has been required for the last three years that we have never got around to - check. Night feeds - check. Walking for miles trying to get the baby to sleep - check. Changing pooey nappies - check. Going off on holiday and leaving mummy to look after her 7 month old child all by her poor old self - nope, definitely not in the contract.

I have always been a very independant individual. I chose my own outfits from about the age of 2 (which accounts for the orange nylon shorts and the penchant for hats), I cooked for myself from about the age of 12 (pasta with peanut butter and sausages anyone?) and went off to uni at the age of 17 (a uni that was 5000 miles away from The Mothership). As an only child (oh yes, don’t worry, there will be a blog post coming up on that little gem) I guess it was always in my nature. So really, this should be a breeze.

Something strange happened when I got preggers though - my phone bills are testament to this. It is as if, by creating a new generation, somehow the family has been knit tighter together - I have always been close to my parents, but I never thought I would want them to move in next door. Now, I am thinking of converting the garage. I lean on them for everything - advice on weaning, teething, routines, whether CK needs a hat in this cold weather, the consistancy of those nappies I mentioned earlier, and the list goes on.

What amazes me is that they not only put up with this, but that they seem to enjoy it. I know they want to spend as much time as possible with their grandchild, but indulging my DIY demands, and cleaning my toilet is possibly a little extreme. Not to mention the phone calls discussing bowel movements in great detail (not just CK’s, anyone’s really, I’m not picky).

So lets raise a toast to grandparent far and wide - whatever you’re tipple (mine’s a nice cup of Horlicks). If you’re lucky enough to have some good ‘uns like me then drink to their health. If you have not been thus blessed you may like to propose a slightly different toast and I will support you with that every step of the way. I’ll just say this to my mum and dad; Cheers folks... and COME HOME SOON!