Yesterday our gorgeous baby girl was 6 months old. Doesn’t time fly.
In some ways it seems like mere moments since I was in Arrowe Park hospital looking and feeling as though I’d been run over by a bus and in others it seems like a lifetime ago, as if she has always been with us. Completing our little family.
I’m not going to lie, in X Factor speak, it has been ‘a journey’. It is so true that no two children are the same and our A and B are no exception. The way they eat, sleep, play are all totally different so there has been a lot to learn along the way. Including just how far sick can travel!
For example, when our first baby was born her bath times were much like spending an evening in a spa. Chilling in the bath listening to some morcheba or any other tune you might find on any Chill out Ibiza CD (from the Ministry of Sound archives!) get out, have a cheeky massage, have some milk with mummy whilst being read to by daddy. BOOM, out like a light by 7pm.
By comparison, a second child’s bath time goes something like this;
Lie on bathroom floor possibly probably being mauled by older sibling.
Share a bath with a human wave machine who, in their eagerness to share their toys with you, will likely spray you in the face or drop something so near your head you nearly jump out of your skin. Every night.
Be lifted out of the bath, wait for the wave maker to be lifted out of the bath, get dried and dressed whilst being poked by someone who is practising naming all their body parts whilst simultaneously singing old MacDonald (the only words they know at this stage are Ee I Ee I Oh so it can be somewhat repetitive).
Be fed by a mummy who is being climbed on by your sibling so they can also be as close to you/her as is physically possible. (The only way they could in fact be closer would be if they climbed back whence they came).
All of this is happening btw against a backdrop of a weirdo in a blue onsie and red blanket not going to bed and sailing off in a scene akin to a Viking funeral to some sort of Psychedelic garden. A spa session it is not.
Last night I had a look back at one of my early blogs which suggested that I’d be writing about cookery and housewifery. Who was I kidding?!? I barely have time to shower let alone teach myself to cook, clean and generally become an all round fantabulous wife, mother and bonafide grown up!
Recently I’ve even let my Neighbours viewing slide. I am not the woman I was.
I have perfected the grand total of three new meals (one is cereal) and have gone to the extent of buying a dust buster but alas, that is where my skill set currently ends.
You might presume that this is because I have been so busy doing artsy, craftsy, amazing mummy type things with my children. I can categorically state that this is not the reason.
My breathing becomes raspy when it looks like two colours of playdough are too close together so I can not claim to be helping their artistic flare take shape!
Last week I cleaned my kitchen and I was so reluctant to ever have to do that again I had 4 take aways in a week and basically tried to live in the garden as much as possible to prevent the need for further housework.
Cleaning your house when you have kids is like shovelling snow when it is still snowing.
Pretty freaking pointless!
Eating fish and chips in the sunshine however I will always find time for.
(It also totally negates my Bootcamp efforts but hey ho. They were lush).