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Rufus at 8.5 months

Laurie at 8.5 months

 

Before I get down to the actual subject of this post I just wanted to let you all know that I am now officially insane. How do I know this? Because I just put cat food in the draw of the washing machine. This has almost happened on several occasions in the past two and a half years but I've always caught myself just in time.

This time, instead of laughing to myself about the fact I'm slowly going mad while swapping my scoop of fetid cat biscuits for one of  washing powder (there are separate scoops for each - in case you're wondering - it must be the scooping action that gets me confused).  Today I actually stood there and watched my hand pour an entire days worth of Royal Canin into the draw before I realised what I was doing. Now despite washing and scrubbing there is a curious bouquet of 2 year old Fairy Non Bio (don't judge me - when did you last clean out your washing machine draw?) and cat biscuit wafting from my fingers. I just hope none escaped into the machine.

Anyway, madness aside. I seem to spend a lot of time comparing my children. I probably shouldn't - after all "all children are different, blah, blah, blah, blah" - but I can't help it. First time round I really had no idea what to expect so I spent my entire time comparing Rufus to every other child. Was he cleverer than everyone else's baby? Was he more advanced physically? Did he eat better, sleep better, speak better....?

Even though I know Rufus and Laurie are different, and will be different, I do spend a lot of time trying to remember when Rufus did this, that and the other until I quite frankly bore myself. I know Laurie has always been a better sleeper. He slept through the night when he was 12 weeks old - though it's only recently that he's become reliable about it. Rufus didn't sleep through until he was around seven months old and that was only under severe protest. But on the other hand Laurie is a less reliable sleeper during the day.

Laurie is bigger - and always has been. At six weeks he weighed what Rufus did at 12 weeks. At six months he matched a nine month old Rufus pound for pound. (but the health visitors still panicked that he was below his line!)

Rufus crawled at seven months. Laurie is now eight and a half months and he doesn't crawl but does somehow manage to get himself wedged under sofas or squished against cupboards. His movements are imperceptible, sloth-like, but obviously there. To be fair there is a lot more of him to carry around and I'm sure it won't be long.

They are both similar in their clinginess. We're going through the "mummy isn't allowed to leave a room without me stage" which is denoted by that particular groany whiney noise that makes you want to tear your hair out just a tiny bit. Once Rufus could crawl he just followed me so I'm counting the days and hoping that Laurie will be the same.

Laurie cried less in the beginning - much less. But now I'd say he cries a similar amount to Rufus at his age. Everyone says what a happy smiley chap old Laurie is and that they never hear him cry. And bless him on the most part he is quite jolly. But his cry is awful.

When he was about six weeks old he would smile if I rolled my r's and purred like a cat. Pretty soon afterwards he learned to do it himself. "He's a genius" I exclaimed (obviously). Now he has taken that talent and worked it into his cry. When he gets mad he does this awful high pitched, whirring, purring noise that gets to you at the very tip of your last remaining nerve. Mr Jones cannot stand it. I can just about block it out. He sounds just a little bit like that incredibly obnoxious and annoying Crazy Frog. Urgh,

I do feel guilty about all these comparisons. Most of my conversations with Mr Jones begin something like "When did Rufus.....". I'm also more impatient this time. I can't wait for Laurie to understand more so that he can really start to interact and play more with his big brother. When Rufus was a baby I could never see how he was going to become anything other than a helpless little thing so every milestone left me floored. This time I take them for granted, anxious for the next one, aware of the fun that is coming when he gets more independent and a little be more astute.

Sometimes I feel awful that I'm wishing time away, I tell myself to stop comparing them and just to take them in as they are right now. But when one is throwing a tantrum and the other is grumbling on the floor about to ramp up into the crazy frog unless I pick him up I do think - blimey is it bedtime yet.

NB - it took me a week to finish this post. You'll be happy to know that no cat food made it into the washing machine drum and the clothes came out unscathed.

New Year's Resolution

So yes it very nearly the end of February - well it was when I started this - and now it's March. But I'm trying.....

Anyway most of us have stopped thinking about our New Year's Resolutions. But not me. This one has been plaguing me since mid December when I decided that I was going to resolve to blog again in the New Year. More specifically, to blog about my new little boy who has been woefully neglected in these pages. Happily however, it is because he hasn't been neglected in the physical world that I haven't had time to talk about him in the digital one.

But that doesn't stop the guilt. Doesn't stop me thinking about the fact that by the time his big brother was almost seven months old he'd been the subject of hundreds of his mother's rambling posts, had his entire life discussed down to how many hours he'd slept and what he'd had for dinner. I have no excuse other than the fact that I am now to mother of two beautiful, energetic, intelligent and yes - very demanding - boys. My house is full of mud, dust, piles of washing (clean and dirty), unmade beds and various duplo works-in-progress.

Now though I want to try and make amends. Because in the future Laurie might stumble upon this blog and think that I loved him less or something equally horrific and very untrue. But also because in years to come - when my boys have abandoned me for football pitches (please no!), girlfriends and lives in which I am no longer the centre of their universe I might like to remember a time when they really needed me and I got to squeeze them and kiss them whenever I wanted to.

So Laurie, this is for you - and for me, for posterity. And Rufus - don't worry - I'll be writing about you too.

I worried a lot about having another baby. Would I be able to love another child as much as I love Rufus? (Yes, of course). Would I be able to cope with the demands of two children? (Most days - with a few tears, random singing, a bit of shouting - tsk, and some top notch negotiating). Would I cope with being pregnant? (I must have done but amid the puking and the eating of many, many packets of love hearts I don't really remember that nine months.)

What I was most terrified about was giving birth. As soon as I got pregnant I started to worry about it. Second time round you know what you're in for. At first I was gung ho about trying for a natural birth and "doing a proper job of it this time" - as someone so helpfully commented. But after an afternoon of painful Braxton hicks I remembered how terrifying labour was. How despite my best intentions I truly am rubbish at dealing with pain. I knew that hyponobirthing and essential oils weren't going to help me. And no one could promise me I wouldn't do 27 hours again and then still end up with an emergency section.

So after a lot of thought I decided to book in for an elective section and end the misery of pregnancy a week or so early. (I couldn't bear the thought of going overdue either). I had a moment of peace - and then the panic started again. The consultant had given me a booklet that basically told me how likely I was to die if I had a second section. The risk is small and not much greater than a natural birth. But the idea stuck in my head.

When I was pregnant with Rufus is never occurred to me that something might go wrong. That something might happen to me or to him. Second time round it was all I could think.

I was so frightened the day before Laurie was born that I sent the following email to my family - I'm posting it here because it was important and I think Rufus and Laurie should see it in the future, and to show all those people who think a section is the easy way out - that actually it's just as scary:

Subject: Just in case

 

No one will be more scathing of this email than my husband, the eternal optimist – and even I feel much less inclined to write it than I did last week – but I feel that if I don’t write it now I might be tempting fate.

Lovely as it is to know that we’re having a baby tomorrow, I am still slightly terrified that something might go wrong. I’m not worried for myself, but for everyone I would be leaving behind, especially my little boy. I’ve read the stats, I know the odds are largely stacked in my favour – but as we know my life long fear of being on the cover of the Daily Mail I just want to put this provision in place – just in case it all goes a bit wrong.

The legal bit - So in the hopefully very unlikely event that anything should happen to me – and then shortly after to Tim  – as previously discussed with the relevant parties but not written down. My sister Rachel Anne Speechley is to be the sole guardian of our children. Our “estate” is to be used in their upbringing and to support Rachel in bringing them up as best she can.

 All being well we’ll all be fine and I’ll be home by the weekend with a new baby – but if I’m not I’d like to say the following:

 Tim – you are perfectly capable of bringing up our children. You’re a great daddy and would do a marvellous job without me if you had to I’m sure. And everyone will be there to help you. 

But of course – me being me – I need to leave some instructions. Anything I say in regards to Rufus obviously applies to the second one too – but I don’t know it yet so I can’t be specific.

I want my little boy to have every opportunity available to him. He is never to be told that he cannot do anything. If he wants to be an astronaut he can be one, if he wants to be a soldier (even thought it would break my heart) he can be one. I want him to be told that he can do anything, even if it seems impossible, he only has to work hard and do everything he can to make his dreams come true. I want him to always know that we’ll support him in every possible way we can to achieve his dreams.

That said I don’t want him to feel pressured to do things he doesn’t want to do just because he should or because that’s what a good middle classed boy should do. I want him to go to the best schools/universities for him – the one that suits his personality, skills and needs – not the one that everyone else is sending their children to or that other people think we should send him to. It has to be perfect for him.

I need someone to read to him every day, to foster his love of books and words and encourage him to discover his imagination and creativity. Computer games are fine – but I want him to know what it is to love reading and writing and drawing and creating things.

 I want you to tell him that I love him  every, single, day for the rest of his life, without fail and to give him endless cuddles. I also want you to tell him that I never imagined how much he could change my life and how much I could love him. He is amazing and even though I get grumpy with him when he ignores me and he makes me very tired I wouldn’t ever want to be without him. He is so clever and talented and special and I really couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him grow up. So if anything happens to me tell him I’ll always be his mummy and I’ll always be there for him even if I’m not physically here. I’ll always be watching him and helping him in any way I can from where ever I am.

Michael Buble will always be our soundtrack and Everything is our special song – so please help him to remember me.

Finally tell him that I’m sorry – sorry that because he is so perfect I just wanted to have another perfect baby too and I pushed my luck for wanting two, when really he would always be enough.

 Of course this will all be totally irrelevant and everything will be fine. Sorry if this has upset anyone – but I just needed to say it – just in case. I love you all very much and couldn’t be a good mummy without any of you.

 

Big hugs and I love you all forever.

Rebecca/Beck/Becca/Mummy

PS – Simone is to do the flowers – no carnations! I want you to play Michael Buble, Mariah’s Theme (Rainbow Album), Count on Me (Whitney Houston – Waiting to Exhale), Army of Two, Wish for you (Faith Hill). I want to go to the ever after in a nice comfy pair of PJs (boden have some nice ones in their autumn catalogue) – just in case you have to stay in what you’re wearing for all eternity – figured I should be comfy. And Eddie is to come with me. All this to save any arguments about what I might have wanted.

After I'd made everyone cry for a few hours Mr Jones took me to the Olive Branch for dinner - in case it was my last ever meal. And after a fairly sleepless night with no food or drink we went to the hospital for my section.

I couldn't have been more thankful that I was first on the list. The staff were amazing and calm and efficient. I felt slightly detached and disbelieving of everything that was happening. While I sat on a trolley in the operating theatre and the doctor was putting in my spinal (Mr Jones wasn't allowed in at this point - I have no idea why) the midwife supporting me said that I was very calm. I remember saying "My last birth wasn't at all calm and I'm determined that this one will be." And it was. Even when the spinal didn't work and they had to give me an epidural everyone was calm. The surgeon rambled off to find an ipod dock so we could have music (very cheesy music). And even when they had to get big old Laurie out with forceps it was all very calm. And that is why I think Laurie has always been a calm and happy boy. Relaxed and chilled and easy going. He didn't have to try and fight his way out for hours like his brother. We went in and got him and he's gorgeous.

I might be wrong but I think the difference in their births might explain a bit about the differences in their personalities. Rufus was always so tense, even his limbs were scrunched and taut for weeks until he finally relaxed. Laurie was so chilled he just slept. I had to wake him for feeds and use cold cotton wool to get him to come round. Rufus I walked to sleep while he screamed. Laurie would just drop off. But they're both very amazing.

One month old

So it would seem weekly updates aren't at all possible with two children - not in my life anyway. Laurie is now a month old and very gorgeous - much like his brother. There has been much dispute as to whether they look alike (they do - in so so so so so many ways - but I'm just their mother - what do I know??). Their personalities are totally different though.

Rufus was always a stressed out little man - everyone said he was an old soul, he'd been here before. Laurie on the other hand is very chilled. He likes a good sleep and sometimes even has to be coaxed to feed because, well, sleeping is just so much more fun.

For this I am very thankful because it means that he's slipped into our lives without too much hassle, which for Rufus has been ideal. There have been a few tantrums, Lego has been thrown (and confiscated), and I have been asked to "feed him like a baby - from your boobies mummy"(!!) but all in all we're coping. We've even managed three whole days and two whole nights all on our own this week.I'm quite proud of myself.

Time will tell whether out chilled out little man stays that way. I've already told him he's going to have to get a bit more assertive or else his brother will run rings around him. That said he can throw a good fit - if he's hungry and I happen to be in the middle of something else he'll quickly produce some impressive purple faced screaming until he gets his way.

Meanwhile I'm trying to come to terms with my very wobbly mummy tummy - it really wasn't this bad last time.

Once there was a girl....

.... who used to write a blog about her wedding, then about being pregnant and then about having a baby.

Then the baby turned into a boy and started to walk, run, shout and generally make blogging a whole lot more difficult - especially when you throw in a bit a work too.
Then she got pregnant, threw up a lot, and had another little boy.

Laurie Peter Jones - born 26th July 2012 - 8lb 13oz. Perhaps - in between juggling two boys I might find time to blog about his first year too?!

Camping

We've been back a week [make that two since I started writing this] - I've just about thawed out.

We did survive and we did get to sleep.

I put up the tent with a bit (read a lot) of help. Mr Jones arrived after the tent was safely up - I'm thinking this was a good thing - it was stressful, divorce proceedings may have been entered into.

I ripped my skinny jeans in the process and spent an entire evening with my bum hanging out until Mr Jones arrived with another pair. Fetching. ALso probably a sign that I'm not skinny enough to wear skinny jeans??

The boy went to sleep without the aid of a blackout blind and total silence and with just a little bit of singing from me. He slept until 6.20am on Saturday morning - pretty impressive given that Mr Jones and I got a maximum of 4 hours sleep due to a combination of bone chilling temperatures, noise and an errant airbed that pinged one of us off the edge everytime the other one moved.

We managed not to get grumpy until Sunday morning - when it really was unbearably cold and wet and the boy was beyond grouchy and I was sick of my clothes living in a damp pile on the floor. If I ever go camping again I'm going to take one of those collapsable clothes rails from argos - or am I missing the point? It's only one step on from the toaster we took this time - what? there was electricity why not take a toaster? Some folk in the tent next-door-but-one had a 32" flat screen tv and Wii - you think I'm joking, but I seriously am not. (Really what is the point in going camping if you take your TV?)

I'm sure everyone else thought we were perfectly awful, but I was rather proud of us for surviving the weekend. We clearly are not campers. I think I'd find any holiday where you're required to build your own house before you start a mite stressful. Perhaps I'm more suited to one of those yurt things on the south downs with the cast iron beds and the en suite bathrooms. Or actually if I'm honest I'm just terribly boring and would actually like to stay in my lovely house and hang out in the garden. I wish I got it, I really do.

That said, we did enjoy time with friends and it was lovely to see how much our littlies have grown and how comfortable they all are with each other.

Aside from the knowledge that we aren't the camping kind, we learned that the boy hates wellies, but loves rain storms. He is fascinated by cars and has a penchant for brake dust (carcinogenic - no?). He doesn't like having a bath in the shower and still loves kissing Miss Scarlett.

We'd probably do it again at a push - but only for a weekend.

PS there are pictures but writing this has taken me two weeks - the pictures might take longer.

Quick question

Does anyone have a car that has properties similar to those demonstrated by Mary Poppins' carpet bag? I thought camping was supposed to be footloose and fancy free? Thus far I have filled the hall with "essential stuff" and I haven't even packed any clothes.

Believe it or not

We're going camping at the weekend - yes you read that right - I, Mrs Jones, of Stamford, her of hair dryers, four walls, feather duvets and Dualit toasters will be sleeping (or not) under canvas for a whole weekend.

If that wasn't enough we'll be joined in this escapade by no less than seven - SEVEN - one year olds - small boy included. We are going to a campsite somewhere in Derbyshire. It has wifi and hot showers - this is all I know. I'm thinking ingnorance is bliss.

We have borrowed a tent and a whole load of other stuff. I am preparing myself for 48hours of sleeplessness - tents it seems don't have blackout blinds. I will be relying on fresh air to knock out the boy come 7pm on Friday night. Thinking positive and humming kum bay ya.

I think the reason that I dislike camping so much is because I feel I should really love it. I like being outside, I like nature and trees, I like looking at the stars and watching the sunrise, I love the smell of bacon frying on a cool crisp morning and eating fish and chips in the chill dusk.

But the thing is all of that is a lot more fun if you know you can snuggle up on a comfy mattress under your duvet with your memory foam pillow and loo within barefoot walking distance. Being periodically pinged off of an airbed while cocooned in a sleeping bag with straight jacket tendancies doesn't have much romantic appeal. Add in dampness (why is camping always so damp??) and all I can see is horror.

But then maybe this time will be different and I'll finally get it? I am seriously hoping for good weather. I shall struggle to be jolly in a wet tent. I may take some bunting to make myself feel at home.