Thursday, February 24, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
When I found out I was pregnant I made a very vocal declaration that I was NEVER going to discuss poo with anyone… not even my husband. I couldn’t stand the way new parents seemed to think their children’s bowel motions were a topic worthy of continual mention, often in the most inappropriate of circumstances. To be told about the toxic contents of a nappy while attempting to eat a satay stick is a challenge to say the least!
Something happens when you become a parent… you somehow forget the usual rules of polite social engagement. The big net in your brain that normally catches inappropriate thoughts before they have a chance to escape via your mouth, suddenly develops large, gaping holes. Yesterday I found myself telling a complete stranger that my baby suffers from such bad constipation that we have him on a perpetual diet of prune and banana.... with stunning results! At what point did I think that was OK... or even vaguely interesting? As I looked at the woman’s horrified expression, it occurred to me that a little censorship wouldn’t go astray.
I’m rather distressed by my new found need to share downstairs details. My husband walks through the door in the evening and I’m a veritable stream of minutiae, describing my day one nappy at a time. Does the poor man really need to know that the Monkey had a nappy full of chocolate sultanas or that today’s consistency was a little like soft serve ice-cream? No, no and NO! Zip it. Save it. Lock it away along with the alarmingly vivid descriptions of projectile vomits that I’m just dying to share with anyone who will listen.
So I made a promise to myself that I have broken on countless occasions… I’m even writing about it, which just goes to show how obsessed I’ve become. While I would like to think that this is the end, that I shall never again subject yet another friend to the horror story of my brush with Meconium (it was hilarious… I had it in my hair, on my face… zippity, zip, zip!), I know that I will continue to inflict my crappy stories on those poor, unsuspecting souls who have the misfortune of making my acquaintance. Perhaps some gaffer tape is in order?
The best I can offer is to try and limit my diatribes to those who have walked a mile in my shoes... because if I've learned anything, it's that another parent sure does love a good nappy chat.
Photo by me
Thursday, February 10, 2011
For ages I have been looking for a name sign for the Monkey's room but couldn't find one that had any character or reflected his quirky nature. The other day while out walking, I spied a skip bin full of old floor boards... perfect ... I basically had to climb inside the bin to find a board small enough, but I refused to be defeated. One scraped shin and a torn t-shirt later I managed to get my hands on a lovely specimen, complete with nails in the back ready for hanging! Once home, the whole process took no more than 15 minutes... here's how:
1. Take one old floor board (roughly 50cm long) and scrub clean.
2. Select tools - I chose white paint and a pointed brush for a simple look.
3. Get to work.
TIP: I bent the old nails over to form hooks that I then tied ribbon to for hanging - you could easily hammer in some nails to the back of the board if need be.
Photos by me
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Call me insane, but I just spent the past hour and a half 'trying' to drive myself and the Monkey to the local shopping centre... we didn't make it... we didn't even come close!
First of all I had to actually get us out the front door - launching a rocket-ship into outer space would surely require less planning. I'm notorious for forgetting the basic equipment (bib, spoon, BOTTLE) so I now check, check and triple check. This process takes a surprising amount of time and is not as fool proof as one would hope - today I left the burp cloth sitting on the bookshelf - not so handy. I bundled us up - the Monkey, the Baby Bjorn, my handbag, the nappy bag, the re-cycling - and flung everything into the car (not the re-cycling - that was drop-kicked into the bin on the way past). By the time I had untwisted the buckles (left handed), wiped off the straps that are eternally covered in baby vomit and positioned my (now grumpy) son into the bottomless depths of his ridiculously expensive car seat, over 40 minutes had gone by since Operation Outing begun.
We were in and away, driving down the road when the little orange petrol light came on. A word about filling up the car with a baby on board... don't! It is tedious beyond all stretch of the imagination. By the time you've removed your small fry from their insanely difficult to unbuckle car seat so you can pay, you've stopped worrying about whether they're inhaling lethal petrol fumes and only care if you can make it across the tarmac without having your boobs revealed by a chubby little fist yanking your top down. I'm sure there are mothers who happily leave their babies in the car for the two and a half minutes it takes to pay (a far more sensible option) but my imagination conjures up all sorts of images - carjackings, babynappings, faulty locking systems - I just can't do it. So... out the Monkey came and in the Monkey went, all while the outside temperature was hovering around 35 degrees. To say he was getting a touch tetchy is putting it mildly.
Back in the car and the Monkey's whimpering became an all out howl - the kind a werewolf might make if it were forced to ride around in a baking hot car by it's mother. Somewhat distracted, I turned the wrong way out of the service station and that was it... my brain was suddenly possessed by gremlins. We were heading in the opposite direction from the shops, incapable of altering course thanks to my mind freeze. I kept seeing places where I could stop and turn around but my foot was glued to the accelerator. Before I knew it, we were turning into our street and pulling up in front of our home... I was stunned. How had I managed it? All that effort and all I'd achieved was to fill the bloody car up with petrol!
Operation Outing aborted... yet again.
Image from here
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Beautiful black and white photographic print (A4 size) from the Wicker & Stitch Photo collection
To be in the running to receive this gorgeous print (just perfect for a nursery wall), all you have to do is post a comment telling me your best mothering tip. Become a follower and I will enter your name in the draw twice!
I have been beset with a baby who believes that daytime sleeps are for sissies... as a result, we have huge chunks of time throughout the day that need to be filled in with play activities - something that sounds easy but is in fact surprisingly difficult when your baby is not yet old enough to sit up. Here are some play ideas that the Monkey enjoys:
- Peek-a-boo - if only Mama could keep this up for as long as the Monkey wanted to play!
- Singing silly songs - the fact that I can't hold a tune only seems to add to his delight.
- Dancing to music - he loves to bounce around on my hip while I dance to Dr Hook.
- Jolly Jumper - hanging one of these from the kitchen door frame has been a life saver... hours of fun just hanging around.
- Playing with scrunched up paper - just be careful your baby doesn't end up eating it!
- Chewing his toys - finding the right toys for your baby's age is the key... at the moment, the Monkey enjoys shoving a cloth doll into his mouth that has long, skinny arms and legs (easy for his little hands to hold).
- Rollathon - the Monkey is mastering the art of the 'roll' and loves to be put on his quilt on the floor where he can roll away to his heart's content.
For more baby play ideas, look here.
Photos by me