The Twenty Second Month: August 2006
18th
What have you done today? Built a castle out of cat food tins; sat on my knee after breakfast looking at paragliding magazines – this could have occupied you for hours – pointing out “this helmet (hummet), this ray-di-o, this haar-ness, this t-shirt, this glider”; had a crying fit in the car repeating the mantra ‘marmite on’. This after helping me by carrying the wheels of the broken pushchair to Mothercare to be mended. So very hungry and tired when we got home, that you cried over your lunch of scrambled eggs, toast and marmite.
You look at ordinary things like snails or the wedding photo of your parents and say ‘sat’s mazin’ ‘ (that’s amazing). You’ve also started saying yes in the last week or so, pronounced ‘theth’ with a serious expression on your face. And you nod your head profusely when you feel in agreement with anything, like when I say we need to be friendly towards the cats (rather than suffocate them with cuddling or telling them to go away). Sometimes you lie on top of them in the spirit of affection and laugh heartily. They are surprisingly tolerant.
This morning, you called Coco downstairs. ‘Come on’, you said, and when she followed you, you said ‘good boy’. It’s peculiar hearing my words coming out of your mouth, like when we were on holiday in Portugal, and you said ‘goodness sake, flies!’
29th
Sunny, windy day. Settling in after almost 5 weeks away, with the odd day or two back home. P. is away and I am in quiet ‘at home’ mode. Strange to be home based after so much traveling. Tired, and stinking headache, too much shouting today.
Becoming exasperated is counterproductive to a happy relationship with you. It’s emotionally draining, and leaves me exhausted in the evenings, unable to have spare energy for doing anything. I have willed myself to write this, having got up from lying in bed at 8pm, when I could have gone to sleep.
I failed to write anything when you slept at lunch time, instead, resting for half an hour and chatting to Claire on the phone – but uplifting to hear her voice, and talk about books. Funny how we can have conversations about literature then suddenly start talking about how to get stains out of clothes (Discussing Rachel Cusk, a Life’s Work, which paints a very mundane picture of motherhood that I could not relate to, but did only read it when I was pregnant, and found it very dull).
At ten to three I heard your little voice, and the next thing was you standing on the landing clutching the cats blanket – you managed to climb out of the cot yourself (with the side down). What else have we done today?
We spent between 3 and 5 gardening. I pulled up the unruly nasturtiums while you washed the watering can with a clean sock off the washing line, tipped soil out of my flower pots, did some digging, pulled the Russian vine off the fence (copying me pull up the nasturtiums); hugged the little trowel to your chest, insisting ‘it’s mide’, but I finally got you to swap it with the plastic one. You got excited about all the snails, ‘mummy, a teeny, tiny snail!’ you say a hundred times in a very loud voice, ‘mummy water on the snail’, as the water drained out of the washing machine onto the snails basking in the drain.
You’ve stared saying mummy, since we went camping a few weeks ago. I feel wistfully attached to the old ‘mama’ and still call myself that to you.
You spent ages trying to drag the wooden trike up and down the steps, and wanted to sit on my knee being cuddled while holding the trike, which I tried to dissuade you from. Your tolerance level of frustration is very low – like when you can’t do something, or something falls on the floor, you immediately start screaming, waving arms and stamping feet. It’s an all day emotional rollercoaster, and trying to get through it on my own today was really hard.
Meanwhile I’m trying to increase my tolerance to disorder - various bits round the house, things in the wrong place, a blanket on the stair, one sock in the bathroom, the other in the garden etc. Supper went on too long tonight. I ambitiously wanted to make pancakes, we had the lid off/lid on debate about your drinking cup, and water poured into your supper, then you wouldn’t’ let me brush your teeth, thou we had a nice bath together. You lay your head on my chest in the bathwater, belly to belly, and were uncharacteristically very still for quite a long time, then said ‘that’s booby, lying on the booby’. Sometimes you point at my breasts and say ‘sat’s baby’s milk’.
30th
You poured out the whole packet of cat biscuits in your desire to feed the cats. I also found you standing on Coco and grinning gleefully. We say we must be gentle and friendly with the cats, but it seems we have to keep repeating this as you continue to explore the power you have over them.
You weed on several carpets, my own fault for leaving your nappy off too long. Huge 20-minute battle about allowing me to brush your teeth tonight. I had to refuse you a story, and leave the room, while you cried in order to finally get you to let me brush those teeth of yours, which seem to be going rather yellow. I feel exhausted from the effort of negotiating this small thing. But I gave you loads of praise afterwards and you smiled and laughed and shrugged your shoulders and finally seemed to look very pleased about it all.
31st
Current phrases:
That’s right (sat’s right)
Hang on
Go and get it
Wipe it (after weeing on floor)
Done a poo
Mummy get up, change nappy (when I’m lying in bed with you in the morning)
Read-er book (is this ‘the book’ or ‘a book’?)
Where’s it gone?
Wear it on/take it off (playing with my silver chain necklace)
Put it in/take it out
Go way mummy! (an alternative to No!)
I want this/want that (want zis/sat – remember 6 months ago when you used to point and say ‘uh’ to mean the same thing!)
Want a bowl
Other phases overheard
Lovely pomegranate
One at a time (chastising me for eating a handful of pomegranate seeds)
Dinosaur done a wee (about a story illustration, causing endless peals of laughter)
Farmer got a pocket (also about a story)
Quite a good day today, went on the ‘choo choo’ train to Redland, for shopping and a visit to the ‘swings slide’ at St Andrew’s Park. Except it is impossible to mention anything to be anticipated without you wanting it immediately. We waited on the platform while you pined mournfully ‘choo choo train’. I suppose we must all be taught about waiting. The mere mention of breakfast or muesli in the morning brings on the plaintive mantra of ‘muesel–li-li, muesel-li-li.
I think we got through the day without reaching the limits of my exasperation. I didn’t even mind when you got the tablecloth out of the clean washing basket and used it to clean the patio where you’d just weed. I think I felt calmer than yesterday, so that probably helped.
Sophie’s baby Laurie born today. Amazing to think we saw her yesterday about 1pm, and by 9.30am the baby had arrived.
What have you done today? Built a castle out of cat food tins; sat on my knee after breakfast looking at paragliding magazines – this could have occupied you for hours – pointing out “this helmet (hummet), this ray-di-o, this haar-ness, this t-shirt, this glider”; had a crying fit in the car repeating the mantra ‘marmite on’. This after helping me by carrying the wheels of the broken pushchair to Mothercare to be mended. So very hungry and tired when we got home, that you cried over your lunch of scrambled eggs, toast and marmite.
You look at ordinary things like snails or the wedding photo of your parents and say ‘sat’s mazin’ ‘ (that’s amazing). You’ve also started saying yes in the last week or so, pronounced ‘theth’ with a serious expression on your face. And you nod your head profusely when you feel in agreement with anything, like when I say we need to be friendly towards the cats (rather than suffocate them with cuddling or telling them to go away). Sometimes you lie on top of them in the spirit of affection and laugh heartily. They are surprisingly tolerant.
This morning, you called Coco downstairs. ‘Come on’, you said, and when she followed you, you said ‘good boy’. It’s peculiar hearing my words coming out of your mouth, like when we were on holiday in Portugal, and you said ‘goodness sake, flies!’
29th
Sunny, windy day. Settling in after almost 5 weeks away, with the odd day or two back home. P. is away and I am in quiet ‘at home’ mode. Strange to be home based after so much traveling. Tired, and stinking headache, too much shouting today.
Becoming exasperated is counterproductive to a happy relationship with you. It’s emotionally draining, and leaves me exhausted in the evenings, unable to have spare energy for doing anything. I have willed myself to write this, having got up from lying in bed at 8pm, when I could have gone to sleep.
I failed to write anything when you slept at lunch time, instead, resting for half an hour and chatting to Claire on the phone – but uplifting to hear her voice, and talk about books. Funny how we can have conversations about literature then suddenly start talking about how to get stains out of clothes (Discussing Rachel Cusk, a Life’s Work, which paints a very mundane picture of motherhood that I could not relate to, but did only read it when I was pregnant, and found it very dull).
At ten to three I heard your little voice, and the next thing was you standing on the landing clutching the cats blanket – you managed to climb out of the cot yourself (with the side down). What else have we done today?
We spent between 3 and 5 gardening. I pulled up the unruly nasturtiums while you washed the watering can with a clean sock off the washing line, tipped soil out of my flower pots, did some digging, pulled the Russian vine off the fence (copying me pull up the nasturtiums); hugged the little trowel to your chest, insisting ‘it’s mide’, but I finally got you to swap it with the plastic one. You got excited about all the snails, ‘mummy, a teeny, tiny snail!’ you say a hundred times in a very loud voice, ‘mummy water on the snail’, as the water drained out of the washing machine onto the snails basking in the drain.
You’ve stared saying mummy, since we went camping a few weeks ago. I feel wistfully attached to the old ‘mama’ and still call myself that to you.
You spent ages trying to drag the wooden trike up and down the steps, and wanted to sit on my knee being cuddled while holding the trike, which I tried to dissuade you from. Your tolerance level of frustration is very low – like when you can’t do something, or something falls on the floor, you immediately start screaming, waving arms and stamping feet. It’s an all day emotional rollercoaster, and trying to get through it on my own today was really hard.
Meanwhile I’m trying to increase my tolerance to disorder - various bits round the house, things in the wrong place, a blanket on the stair, one sock in the bathroom, the other in the garden etc. Supper went on too long tonight. I ambitiously wanted to make pancakes, we had the lid off/lid on debate about your drinking cup, and water poured into your supper, then you wouldn’t’ let me brush your teeth, thou we had a nice bath together. You lay your head on my chest in the bathwater, belly to belly, and were uncharacteristically very still for quite a long time, then said ‘that’s booby, lying on the booby’. Sometimes you point at my breasts and say ‘sat’s baby’s milk’.
30th
You poured out the whole packet of cat biscuits in your desire to feed the cats. I also found you standing on Coco and grinning gleefully. We say we must be gentle and friendly with the cats, but it seems we have to keep repeating this as you continue to explore the power you have over them.
You weed on several carpets, my own fault for leaving your nappy off too long. Huge 20-minute battle about allowing me to brush your teeth tonight. I had to refuse you a story, and leave the room, while you cried in order to finally get you to let me brush those teeth of yours, which seem to be going rather yellow. I feel exhausted from the effort of negotiating this small thing. But I gave you loads of praise afterwards and you smiled and laughed and shrugged your shoulders and finally seemed to look very pleased about it all.
31st
Current phrases:
That’s right (sat’s right)
Hang on
Go and get it
Wipe it (after weeing on floor)
Done a poo
Mummy get up, change nappy (when I’m lying in bed with you in the morning)
Read-er book (is this ‘the book’ or ‘a book’?)
Where’s it gone?
Wear it on/take it off (playing with my silver chain necklace)
Put it in/take it out
Go way mummy! (an alternative to No!)
I want this/want that (want zis/sat – remember 6 months ago when you used to point and say ‘uh’ to mean the same thing!)
Want a bowl
Other phases overheard
Lovely pomegranate
One at a time (chastising me for eating a handful of pomegranate seeds)
Dinosaur done a wee (about a story illustration, causing endless peals of laughter)
Farmer got a pocket (also about a story)
Quite a good day today, went on the ‘choo choo’ train to Redland, for shopping and a visit to the ‘swings slide’ at St Andrew’s Park. Except it is impossible to mention anything to be anticipated without you wanting it immediately. We waited on the platform while you pined mournfully ‘choo choo train’. I suppose we must all be taught about waiting. The mere mention of breakfast or muesli in the morning brings on the plaintive mantra of ‘muesel–li-li, muesel-li-li.
I think we got through the day without reaching the limits of my exasperation. I didn’t even mind when you got the tablecloth out of the clean washing basket and used it to clean the patio where you’d just weed. I think I felt calmer than yesterday, so that probably helped.
Sophie’s baby Laurie born today. Amazing to think we saw her yesterday about 1pm, and by 9.30am the baby had arrived.
posted by f at 7:00 AM
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