As most of our regular blog readers know, Chief Frog here is pregnant, a working mum, lover of beautiful things and high heeled shoes! (trust me you can get froggy feet into them). Unfortunately you cannot get piggy toes into high heels and that is what my feet currently resemble.
How can two pregnancies be so different? 6 years ago, I was still rocking my high heels at 38 weeks but on the advice of the midwife, physio and osteopath, I had to abandon them weeks ago due to the ever so lovely SPD (symphysis pubis disorder).
I keep being told that no two pregnancies are the same and despite arguing that baby is being “cooked” in the same body, I “may” have to concede this point. So whilst trying not to waddle like a duck, (although I prefer to think more penguin-like), I got asked today if I would like to use the disabled parking space closer to the door. I felt a mixture of outrage and delight, the outrage that my pregnancy could be considered a disability and delight from aforementioned piggy toes and naughty pelvis!
So That’s what I sound like when I’m really scared
Last night, we had no tea and watched X Factor in bed, things were all a bit muddled with the clock change.
After X Factor it dawned on me that a 7 and half month pregnant woman needs to eat something to get through the night, so I left The FH in bed, netbook on his stomach, trawling e bay , whilst I went in hot pursuit of a tuna and cucumber sandwich with too much butter.
I considered putting on a dressing gown, fully aware that a once short nightie, was now skin tight and indecently short due to the material taken up covering the bump, but then thought “sod it” anyone peeping into my back windows is clearly too desperate to be consequential.
10 lessons from 10 years adventuring with kids
Have you and your kids had an adventure today? This week? This month? This year? No? Well it’s easier to put the TV on isn’t it? It’s less hassle to go shopping. The kids are busy and the adults need some down-time. What’s so great about doing things together anyway?
But just pause for just a moment and remember all the promises you made back when the house was a giant play pen and sleep was something others had. Didn’t you resolve to spend time with your precious family, to work less and play more? What was that about exploring the world together?
Ten years ago we started The Family Adventure Project after relocating from London to Cumbria with a six week old baby. With the arrival of one, two and then three kids, we made those same resolutions to put family first. But we’re both easily distracted and knew life could likely to put all manner of spanners in the works. So we wrote some ideas down and promised each other we’d act on them. Over the years, those hand written notes became a blog, recording all the things we’ve done together…
Ball, ball, ball, BAAAAALL!
Arlo’s second word (it’s not as fun to talk about ‘No’ being his first word) came into play when he was eleven months old. No surprise that it was the word for his absolute favourite toy, a ball.
Recently, whilst watching Abney and Teal, he spotted a ball sitting quietly in the background. It wasn’t even a featured object in this particularly busy scene. ‘My child is a bloody GENIUS‘, I’m thinking. Then I remember the time a melon in the supermarket was ‘ball’, or when he calls the dog ‘ball’.
Whether he’s looking for a ball, thinking about a ball, or first thing when he wakes, it’s a one word insight into his stream of consciousness. ‘Ball, ball, ball, ball, BALL’. He chants the word as he’s crawling along. He’s like those ‘Mine, Mine, Mine’ seagulls in Finding Nemo. Even if Arlo had a few other words in his vocabulary, I have a feeling that his thoughts are pretty much 90% ‘ball’.
My experience as a teenager – still so hard to write
This is a hard post to write and I know I will write, remove and and rewrite it many times as I always find it so difficult to put words onto screen when it involves deep, emotional feelings and this post is definitely that…
You know you’re a mummy when
Whether it’s a slow dawning realisation or a jaw-clanging bombshell, from the moment they are out of the womb, you know we are all headed in the same direction: Mummydom.
Clothes covered in baby spew/snot/cherry tomato pips/dried yogurt etc ~ yup. No room in the handbag for makeup ~ check. What’s makeup again? ~ thing of the past. Your child has dragged your tampons/sanitary towels out in public (ok, there is some ‘mummy room’ in the bag) and won’t relinquish them ~ regularly, yes. Lack of sleep/sleep obsession ~ yes yes yes. Two week old hair ~ guilty (I thought that I was going to have to cut it all off as it had nearly dreaded itself). You can’t remember the the last time you had a privacy-assured poo ~ nothing’s sacred, that’s a given. Next. Constant referring to yourself in the 3rd person ~ yes, Mummy is guilty of that one too.
And don’t even let me get started on the havoc and confusion that has been wreaked on areas below the belt…
Here is a recent one that really drove it home for me. You can’t help but notice that you are a mummy when…