The Twenty-Fourth Month: October 2006

2nd
You were miserable today. Your snuffles of last week have developed into a full on cold and cough, with lots of dribbling. Now you also have nappy rash. This might explain why you have been waking in the night the past two weeks – at the oddest of hours: 1.20am, 4am. We are all exhausted and I am reconnecting with the zombified feeling of the early months, when you breastfed several times nightly. I think your molars are coming through.

Well, you and Papa went to Glasgow on the plane on Saturday to attend the 1st birthday party of John L.s granddaughter Emily. Your 24-hour trip away gave me the longest time I have had to myself since you came into our lives. It was also our first night apart. I went to Bath to mooch around the shops and met Sandra, Phelim and Ellen for lunch. It was lovely to feel I didn’t have to be back at a certain time, that I could browse, and wander aimlessly. Of course, I spent a lot of time looking at other parents and children in buggies and seeing things that I thought you would love (like the huge playground in Victoria Park).

I seem to be in the habit of going to bed too late (11.30pm), or if earlier, lie in bed unable to get to sleep, then wake at 4.30am, and again cannot get back to sleep, so I feel I am dragging myself along in the day time. On the night you were away, I woke at 6am when I heard cry. I was convinced it was you. I went back into a snooze, but got up at 8am to go back to bed with toast and cocoa, and the Saturday papers. Later I went to the cinema, (the Devil wears Prada) before you returned at 12.00.

New toy: P has installed Video Skype on the computer. This meant that this afternoon when you woke from your cot nap, full of tears and crying’ I want to see Papa/Pappy’, I could bring you downstairs and dial Papa’s office, and we could chat and see each other on the computer screens.
This morning you were at the office with Papa. Tuesdays he gives you your muesli, dresses you and takes you to work for 2 – 4 hours, although you have recently started creating havoc there, in spite of him setting up train sets etc for you. Today apparently you strew your sandwiches across the floor.

Language:

I said no to more halloumi cheese at supper (you were about to pinch more off my plate) and your response was -
“Go away naughty mummy!”
I wonder who has been saying that to you? I have stopped myself from saying naughty, as I thought this would backfire. Also it doesn’t really mean anything – a child does not learn anything about their behaviour if it is described as ‘naughty’.

3rd
Today: Lucytime, then a visit to the Farm, meeting Pippa for lunch. You fell off the ladder in the playground onto bark chippings, but were basically alright. As soon as we arrived you said ‘holding hands with Kit’, which is what you did last time we visited in July with C + Kit. I am surprised by your memory, and that you recognize places, but why should that be different from adults?

You were so unhappy when you woke from your nap. ‘I want to see Papa’. It took an hour to console you. Eventually you agreed to look at the Peepo book with me ‘dyess’ you said in your enthusiastic high voice.

Papa came home when you were eating supper. I whispered in your ear to tell Papa where we had been today. ‘Piglets’ you said, then ‘We saw piglets at the farm, though’. Using the past tense now!

I was busy trying to make pizza when you were drinking your supper soup, then you threw the cup on the floor. I notice that it is when I am occupied in the kitchen and not eating/sitting with you that you start throwing things on the floor, pouring water into your food etc.

I said ‘you’re a little rascal’, ‘ I am not a little rascal, ’ you replied.’ What are you then? said Papa. ‘A monkey’ said you.

6th Oct
Getting out of the car, you noticed a crushed drinks can in the road,
“That’s a bottle of wine.” you remarked. Then “ Baba not go on the road, it’s dangerous”, as you walked very earnestly along the pavement. You are generally quite sensible around roads, although it is sometimes a battle to keep hold of you hand when crossing.

Bristol Zoo this morning in monsoon downpours. I forgot umbrella in the car and buggy rain cover at home. Derrr! We sheltered under a tree, and then waited in the foyer for a break in the sheets of water. We looked at night creatures (‘It’s dark down there’), reptiles, monkeys, seals and penguins. You surprised me with the word creature. You exhausted me running around the whole zoo in your full set of waterproofs and pink wellies – you gnome out fit, we didn’t use the pushchair once. You conked out on the way home, so I transferred you into the pushchair to sleep when we got back, as I didn’t feel able to carry you upstairs.

Ever since you were a baby, I always waited for the moment of your naps to be able to get on with whatever mission in hand, usually dull things like tax returns, filing bills, bank statements etc, phone calls, and less and less, domestic things, which I try and do when you are awake. Then writing this has taken over, which means those other things don’t get done. I ‘m also wondering when I’m going to get back to doing artistic pursuits. But now, I find myself increasing drawn to going to bed when you are asleep, reading some Sunday supplement or lately even a trashy magazine. So unlike me, who usually wants to be productive all the time and whiz through my to-do list. Somehow these days, I can’t be bothered. I guess previously it has been hard for me to relax when you sleep as I have felt the need to accomplish things, even if those things are not really that important. Writing this has been a good focus, because it has taken priority over those pointless organizational paper work tasks.

9th
At the end of the day I sometimes feel like a torn up piece of paper. You, my child, have turned the house upside down. Every room has objects scattered on the floor like...no, I am too tired to think of a metaphor. While I am cooking you are tootling about from one room to another tipping your baskets of books and toys onto the floor, emptying out your box of crayons, pulling the leg off the small table and today, taking books off our shelves, which you haven’t done since you were under a year old.

Then you like to test me, so you open the fridge, which you can now reach, and hold it open for ages, even while I am saying. Please close the fridge…Close it, other wise it might break…followed by ‘Close it NOW!’ You are still giving me this testing, smiling look as if to see how far you can push me. Then you start shouting at me, or saying things that I at some time have said to you.”Don’t do that”.

Today you said some phrase involving “bossy mummy”. There is more shouting and cheekiness from you when you are tired and hungry. I was late cooking supper tonight – chopping up garlic, ginger, onions for the stir-fry, and you asked for bits of haloumi cheese you could see on the counter, which you very kindly broke bits off and shared with me.

The piece of avocado I gave you before supper ended up being smeared on the table. This also happens more when I am pre-occupied and you are eating on your own. It’s nicer for us to eat together, and you focus more on eating then. I have given up with trying to control the amount of mess on the table, so now I ignore the odd spoonful of food that ends up flying across the room and the yoghurt which seem to enjoy smearing on your hands and hair. So I guess I can learn to ignore the bombsite effect in the house.

As you were eating supper exuberantly, you said ‘hold it level, hold it level’, and ‘open the hangar doors’ – two phrases from the men in your life – papa and Grandpa.

Yesterday (Mon) – you went to play with Meg for 2 hours. I trawled round IKEA, bought you a quilt, then sat in the café staring at the rain and thought how depressing it was to go shopping in my time with out you. PM gardening – you like to pull out the plants in imitation of me weeding. You did some digging and hoeing with the huge hoe.

10th
“I swear he used to be a dung beetle in a previous life”, your father said this morning. You have this habit of going to sleep curled up in a ball, bum in the air, cuddling up your quilt, or blanket or pillow. Even when you were about 7 or 8 months and when you just began to sit, you used to love gathering up a towel underneath you, squashing it up between your legs after the bath. You would find any piece of fabric and gather it into a ball. Now you are quite keen on string and have a multi-coloured piece of wool, which you like to wind round the furniture or drag round the rooms.

12th

Language:
I got something in jore (your) eye. (This morning in our bed in the darkness). We are always trying to extend our sleep but you think it’s morning. At 7am today your mantra was “I want an apple”.
“I’n helping me.” (meaning I’m helping you).
I realize this is learned from me asking, “Are you helping me?”


17th
I had two nights away from you last weekend. The first time I have left you for that long. It was odd being the person I used to be – I went to Devon for a day of yoga, driving down on Friday night with 2 other women, and then met Misri for a walk on Sunday. 5 miles striding round Dartmoor in the mist. It was good to re-discover that mental space which seems as if it doesn’t exist anymore. Though I feel like my old self has been returning gradually for a while, so it didn’t feel hugely different. I did think about you, but not all the time. Ironically I could not sleep on Friday night, and as usual woke at about 6am. I slept better on Saturday, but missed you in the mornings. I love that time when you come into our bed, and sometimes lie with your arms around both of us, then you become livelier and there’s lots of jumping and kicking.

Auntie Anna, Sol and baby Leon came round today. You were very excited to see them and became more exuberant, throwing toys, jumping around with Sol. Poor Sol got bumped about, and cried a few times, and you seemed oblivious to your exertions. Though you did give him lots of hugs.

18th
Mealtimes can be very trying. I know it’s better when I sit and eat with you. If I leave the table to clear up, get the wet facecloth, a spoon etc, you pour water into your food, smear yoghurt onto the table, throw your bowl onto the floor etc. Tonight you were bashing your sweet potato/mackerel dauphinoise with a spoon as if it were a drum. You have an amazingly healthy appetite, and eat almost everything we do, including lettuce, cooked cabbage, raw peppers, olives, anchovies, pickled chilies, and raw onion. I am waiting to see if you develop some food fad, as so many children seem to do. You eat well, and manage an enthusiastic amount using spoon and hands, but the deliberate mess making winds me up too often. A stern “we don’t throw our food on the floor” is a regular riposte. I have tried ignoring your bad habits, just removing the plate from you, and that can be more effective than stern words or shouting, which is what happens when I’m too tired.

‘Mama shouting’ you said to me today, as I found my buttons being pressed too readily, because I have that hungover tiredness from lying in bed awake for an hour unable to sleep, and waking regularly before 6am.

‘The patio’ is the name you call the little plastic step that we use in the bathroom, so you can reach the sink to brush your teeth. The other day I left you alone with the tap on and you managed to put the plug in, and had I left you another 10 seconds you would have flooded the bathroom.

20th
Morning talk
The alarm goes off: “it’s 7 o’ clock. Get up! I want an apple, or a banana or a pear”
(You said ‘mummy I want an orange twice in your sleep last night.

Singing to yourself; ‘ “Diddle, widdle, pussycat went over the clock’

You stood on the bed this morning and said ‘Bollocks ‘ for no particular reason (this was my reaction to finding the cat sick in the hall about a week ago, so you have a good memory).

Yesterday, Thurs, was Steiner P&T group on the train, home to sleep – though you fell asleep in the buggy, and I woke you taking off your stiff shoes from Cicely, then to Lara and Jed’s to play in the afternoon.

We waited at the station in the rain yesterday; you were very excited by the fast trains rushing by. Each time one went past, you stepped back and had this huge look of surprise on your face, and stiffened your head and arms with excitement.

After your sleep, you came downstairs as I was writing, and I gathered you into my arms. You were unusually contented, “You called mummy”, you said, pointing at me’ ‘I’n Baba’. “You’re Baba and Theo’ - you’re called Theo’, I replied.
‘I’m called Theo’, you said for the first time.

Stuck in rush hour traffic, yesterday evening you took your arms out from your seat belt. I asked you to please put them back, a few times. You kept looking away, saying no, then answering ‘I said no’ about 4 times. I had said that to you that morning when you demanded to hold some loose tea bags you had found in my handbag. You were quite upset, and kept asking, but I kept saying ‘no, I said no’. It’s amazing how everything I say to you comes back to me at some time or other.

22nd
Wonderful weekend at Capel-y-Fin staying at the monastery with the Shotters. It bucketed down but we managed to climb up the mountain behind the house. You were adventurous, splashing in puddles, striding through streams and picking up stones. ‘This is a steep rock’ you said as you clambered over up the muddy, rocky bridle path. We ate and rested and slept and walked. Samuel and you carried hazel sticks as we walked down the leafy autumn lanes, a rare bit of sunshine spreading though the just-turning beech and larch trees. It was lovely, simple and uplifting. Last night Sophie, Chris, Pete and I ate a coq-au-vin I’d cooked at home on Friday and our conversation turned to burglaries, as our neighbour had had his bicycle stolen earlier in the week. It was a grim conversation, and P told us of all his lost property and how little attached to it he is. Later we moved on to reading Shakespeare plays as characters and charades. We got home tonight to discover that our house has been broken into, and small items like the video camera and mini-disc player have disappeared – of course all with tape of Theo on, Theo talking etc – saying bicycle-le-le etc. I realize I have not backed up all my photos.

31st Monday
New word: poisonous (we were looking at mushrooms)
This evening at supper time you said: “Time to rest. Busy day”

Crazy half term week, driving up to Leeds to see June, rural York (Cinders and Andrew) and meeting up with P in Liverpool to see in-laws, then driving back Sunday evening where there was so much traffic on the M6 it was 40 miles an hour most of the way. It was lovely to see you playing with other children (Iona and Freddie), and cuddle up with the golden retriever Skye. I am still surprised that you are now so obviously a separate person with your own way of doing things and getting on with people, your own likes and dislikes.
“I don’t like that,” is a new, regular phrase, usually when I’m trying to wipe your yoghurty face after supper.

Why am I already tied into half terms? Our lives are structured by the activities we do – swapping childcare with a friend on Monday mornings, you having 3 hours with your dad Tuesdays, then Lucytime (music and movement) on Weds, and Steiner Parent and Toddler group on Thursdays. The afternoons are too short, because you sleep till 3.30, although that’s when I often think it would be nice to do something locally. Today we walked to Eastville Park with Rowan, for you to play on the swings with baby Martha. It’s as if there is no time to be spontaneous, but maybe I’m also afraid to have big gaps of time at home with nothing arranged?

Knowing that you are two at the end of this week, I realize that I have moved away from that all encompassing experience of motherhood. You still need me, but are an explorer of the world, coming to me for cuddles when you need reassurance. I guess they are a substitute for the breast you once had. I have moved from the perfect fulfillment of being the person whom your life depended on, to a version of my old self. I mean I can see how I am interested in things out in the world again, and that I am back to my old reflective, wondering self, trying to work out what my purpose in life is, aside from my commitment to you.

It’s hard to articlulate, but being a mother to a newborn, and probably all of the first year, I felt that I had found my life ‘s purpose, that the identity of motherhood was my destiny. But as you become separate from me, the other parts of me emerge or return, which feels a kind of loss, because I loved the sense of total focus and engrossed ness that being your mother brought to me. Now I return to the person searching for an identity.

The Twenty Third Month: September 2006

5th
You woke up at 5.30am this morning saying 'Mama cuddle', and I brought you into our bed. I hoped you 'd lie quietly next to us, but the idea was far-fetched. Every time I turned my back on you (with eye-mask on) you'd ask for a cuddle, but then 2 seconds after I cuddled your soft shape into mine you'd fidget, sit up or start talking. We kind of rested til 7am, when your pleas of 'mama geddup' could no longer be ignored.

Went swimming at 8am and then had a hot chocolate in a Clifton cafe while your Papa gave you breakfast and took you off to the office. Bliss. I deserve a huge holiday as your father has been away for 10 days...but I guess that won't happen for about another 10 years.

9th
P. gone to Homegrown Festival (paragliding event). Went to Westonbirt Arboretum today with Joanna and the hairbair bunch: Callum, Jude and Amy. You loved being outside in woods all day, or the forest, as you like to call it. You copied the boys, trying to climb the same trees, throwing yourself in piles of cut ferns, picking up sticks and leaves. You were so in your element that you didn’t go to sleep until our drive home at 4 o’clock. I sat in the car listening to Sat Women’s Hour when I arrived home, and found Bearnie, our neighbour, looking into the car, wondering when you were going to wake. She made us some tea, while you snuggled up on my lap trying to pretend I hadn’t woken you up. But you were drawn in by her offer to show you the frogs in her pond.

Supper tonight you were screeching at the top of your voice and smearing yoghurt on your head while I was clearing up. My latest policy is to leave you at the table to be as physical and exploratory with your food as you like (after we have eaten our meal together), because trying to curb those instincts is like trying to stop you breathing. You didn’t want to brush your teeth again tonight, and I didn’t have the energy to negotiate the deal with you. I thought just lets get you to bed so I can have my time.

The other day you were eating stewed plums and yoghurt, using your hands at the end to scrape the bowl out. You looked at me and shrugged your shoulders in your trademark way, and said ‘xciting’ with a big grin on you face. Then you asked for a cuddle.

That’s what you seem to want a lot, just after your supper, and you sit on my knee, you lovely sticky boy, and ask me about the things on the shelves ‘what’s sat mummy?’ you say about all the glass jars with the different things in and then repeat after me ‘raisins’, ‘quinoa’, lentils’ etc. It is such a moment of love, when you want to be with me, in my arms, and you have such a look of pleasure on your face. I am flooded with love as I hold you and those other moments of toddler causing frustration melt away.

You are a real little parrot at the moment. Tonight in the bath you said ‘it’s not to hot, it’s OK’ – exactly as I would have done…
You seem to say ’what’s that, and ‘mummy what you doin’’ about 100 times a day at the moment. (What’s that also means who’s that.”)

In the car yesterday, you said completely spontaneously, “lot’s of fun, no socks, in the water”. Earlier that hot afternoon, you had been playing with a bowl of water outside and various utensils. I’m always amazed when you remember something from the past and reflect on it.

We went to see Grandpa yesterday for supper. I’d left some boxes of salad and a tub of blackcurrant yoghurt in a bag in the hall and gone up to the loo just before going, leaving you in the hall. I heard a giggle from upstairs, and then ‘look at that, mummy, look at that’. When I came down you’d managed to get the lid off the yoghurt and an artistic purple pool on the carpet. I couldn’t be cross with you, even though I was rolling my eyes heaven wards, as we would be late, because it was my fault for leaving it there, and its in your nature to get into everything in the spirit of exploration.

11th
I am becoming madly obsessed with trying to fit as much as possible into any wedge of time – crow barring everything in. So this morning between 8 – 10am, I had to get you breakfast, clear up, wipe up chair, table etc, clear sink area, empty dishwasher, then start cooking supper of Bolognese ragu, hang out washing, change pooey nappy, then get us both dressed, to leave the house in time to go and try out the Tatty Bumpkin class 20 mins away by car. Of course I knew I should have left at 10am, as I didn’t know where I was going, but because I insisted on hanging out washing first, then I had to change you, we didn’t leave til nearly 10.10, meaning I got stuck in the one way system, but got to TB by 10.29, feeling very frazzled, and wondering why I thrive on this weird adrenalin rush, even though I hate rushing, and end up swearing under my breath more than I care to admit.

Lying in bed this morning I was aware of you speaking whole sentences, and thought what a miracle it has been that with in six months you’ve gone from saying ‘uh’ to single words like bowl, spoon etc to ‘I want ter bowl, I want ter spoon’. I was reflecting recently how your speech is like that of an Italian learning English. You have a charming way of pronouncing words, like ‘swimming-er pool-er’. So, ‘ I want a bowl’, becomes ‘I want-er bowl-er’

Your latest thing is saying ‘it’s mide’ – about anything you happen to be holding, even if it’s someone else’s. We counter it sometimes by saying it’s everybody’s. You are sometimes possessive about your things around the cats, who miaow all day long, and if they are anywhere near you. You begin tirades of ‘go-away, shush, it’s mide, about your sandals or crayons, or whatever you are holding which you seem to think the cat wants.

14th

Current phrases:

See you later, bye bye
Papa givee cuddle when he comes home

– oft repeated, you miss him during the day and often ask for ‘papa cuddle’, to which I would have said ‘papa will give you a cuddle when he comes home’.
I want to go to the park (I is the latest addition to the sentence, which would previously have been ‘want to go to park, mummy’.)

Yesterday, you spent the afternoon with Grandpa, which was very exciting. They are entertained by your parroting of phrases.
When I was trying to get you into the car, you found a twig on the pavement, and with great dexterity you held it between you third and fourth finger and began to ‘smoke’ it, blowing smoke out intermittently, which made your Grandpa and I laugh. Where you have picked that up I don’t know. I suppose you are taking in everything subliminally from your pushchair vantage point. Maybe in a café??

I met my new nephew today, a healthy 10-1b-10oz boy with loads of dark hair who looks about 2 months old. Lovely soft skin, really calm and with that lovely new born smell – only 1 day old. Anna told me about the C-section and how the doctors had struggled to get her big boy out. Apparently she asked them if they were trying to remove a 3 piece suite at the time, because that 's what it felt like. (Describing the C-section of her first boy she said it felt like someone was doing the washing up in her belly).

19th
Stuck in traffic on Ashley Rd yesterday. I heard you laughing in the back, followed by ‘ giving a cuddle’. You had noticed a couple walking along the pavement, arms around each other. Sweet you found it so amusing.

I picked you up from Papa’ s office today, just like last week; you didn’t want to come with me. ‘Go way mummy’ then, ‘get hand off’, when I had my hand on the back of the chair. I persuaded you to come home and see Elaine (‘Laine’) whom you adore, and with whom you have endless conversations about the ‘vacuum cleaner inner cupboard’ ‘ what you doin’ Laine’, you asked her when you came in (she was ironing).

22nd
Breakfast time yesterday. You found your bike helmet in the cupboard and wanted to put it on and then sit on the bench in the garden. You then insisted that I read ‘ The Lion in the Meadow’ story to you, while I was trying to eat muesli. It was about 8.30am.

You eat a phenomenal amount, and have a wonderful range of tastes (long may that last). The other day you ate tender stem broccoli and their leaves from my plate. Last night you ate the remains of our stir fried veg and tofu, with basmati rice, cooked with garlic, ginger, chili and coconut milk, wolfing it down with glee. In the afternoon you’d eaten half an apple, 2 sardines and 2 plums for a snack, and that was only about an hour before dinner.

23rd
You are so delightful in the mornings. I usually wake first and lie in bed waiting for your rustling sounds as you stretch awake in the room next door. Then ‘I want a cuddle’ is usually your first request, and one of us comes to bring you into our bed. You are waking about 6.45/7am at the moment. This morning you sat between us in the bed smiling and looking so pleased with yourself. You said ‘good morning’ and gave me a kiss on the lips, and then later pointed to my eyes saying, ‘mama got blue eyes.’ You looked so happy to be sitting between us.

Last night we ate the lovely Coq au Vin recipe that we have made a few times. I remember making it when you were about 8 weeks old, strapped to my front while I was frying pieces of chicken. It was only after cooking this great casserole of a dish that I realized frying food with a baby strapped to my front was probably a bit foolish (and exhausting), but then I was being superwoman at the time, and would cook amazing recipes just for entertainment.

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.

The Twentieth Month: June

9th
As adorable and independent as ever.

You like to try and put your t-shirts and sleep suits on and mainly eat by yourself, with a spoon or hands. Such an enthusiastic eater! Not as keen on the broccoli and peas / beans as you once were but you love scrambled egg, fish, chicken, strips of red and yellow pepper, all fruits, especially grapes, muesli and porridge. 'Muesli-li-li' is what you pine for in the morning. You also love to drink out of mama's glass. 'Mama water, papa juice'. You often say 'mama bowl, baba bowl' pointing to our plates / bowls when we eat.

Your words and phrases continue apace, very good on nursery rhyme fragments: 'Diddle cat fiddle', 'incey, wincey, pider, pout', 'roly-poly, up, up, up', reciting them to yourself in the pushchair, previously also 'pop weasel'. And long words: lawn mower, vacuum cleaner, and watering can. Lawn mower is of great fascination 'Papa brmm brm garden', 'Papa cutting garden', for weeks after the event! Then you watched Grandpa do it. Even more thrills and excitement. You love to help me in the garden – digging with a little spade, following me around. The best days are those when we do all these things together, like putting the washing in the machine, playing with the pegs, you helping me re-pot geraniums. We've had a whole week of hot sunshine and we've eaten outside on the bench most days.

Sometimes everything's come together and we have these wonderful days, the other night I gave you a shower and put you to bed, and you fell asleep holding my hand. We'd had such a perfect day. But life has been challenging recently. You often cry the minute you don't get what you want and are desperately impatient for breakfast in the morning (and sometimes for food at other times). There is a familiar whinge 'toast toast toast' or 'mues-sel-le-li' in whining voice, and me becoming agitated trying to placate you, 'it's coming, mummy's cooking the toast' etc, and then sometimes I lose it and shout at you, then feel terrible. Only because I find the constant crying hard to take, which doesn't excuse it, and I usually feel I've failed, and wish I could be more patient. I say sorry, but feel it's a cop out. Then I hear you saying 'sorry, sorry'. It's all a mistake because I have seen you copy my behaviour, like today I threw one of y our little pans across the garden, and then you started doing the same, in a bit of an aggressive manner.

We have been a bit tortured lately, with you waking consistently at 5.30am for a month or so. I have been quite grumpy myself in the morning, especially when Papa brings you into the bed and you start crawling all over us, throwing books on the floor, and today, knocking the light off the table. Another morning that begins with me shouting … then saying shut up (regretfully) to your whingeing – which backfired because you said it to me fiercely about 6 times immediately afterwards. I hope I don't do that again.

I just have to keep remembering what a lovely boy you are, and extend my patience a bit more.

Thursday we were in the cemetery with Sophie. It was filled with long grass, poppies and buttercups – gorgeous. You and Samuel romped about like the two little mates you are. Then when we set off to walk home you said to Samuel 'hold hand' and took him by the hand and walked for ages. It was priceless!

Mornings, you often wake crying and your Papa comes to get you almost straight away. Since a few weeks ago we have moved your cot from our bedroom to your little room (although you have been sleeping alone in our bedroom for the last few months). I would share half the night in the bed with you until I stopped night feeding (end of Feb), and half the night would be in the spare room, where Papa moved to when you were about 8 months. The other morning you woke and said 'Papa', not a cry at all! I remember when you were 5/6 months old and slept in the bed with me, you would wake smiling sometimes, and I would be so happy to have you next to me.

27th
We had Sandra staying this weekend, with baby Lewis, 5 months. You were so lovely with him. You called him baby Lewis, and repeated after me: ‘ baby Lewis sleeping’, as he did, very often, or 'baby Lewis crying'. You really interacted with him, climbing up on the bed to see him, and play peepo. But you loved to put the peepo cloth on his head, which we had to watch. You showed him toys and laughed with him. You threw some toys out of the cat flap, as you often do, and we asked you to show them to Lewis. He was sitting back in his pushchair, and you took his hand and wanted to take him outside, not realising he couldn't walk himself. Sandra said how delightful you are, after talking and playing with you. We went to the zoo together, and saw the gorilla, seals and penguins being fed. You were scared of the new mother seal that barked loudly at her 19-day-old pup, you held onto my leg!

We also went camping in Llangattock (Crickhowell). You threw sticks in the stream, and enjoyed playing on your red wooden trike. Papa was doing a paragliding competition. We met a little boy called Jean Luc (3) whom you played with, and listened to a deafeningly loud band. Then you went to sleep at 10.30, in your little sleeping bag, lying on your belly on your sheepskin. Every few seconds (as you were trying to get to sleep, with me holding your hand) you'd sit up and say 'Jean Luc', 'drums', then put your head down, falling asleep in a few minutes.

28th
Yesterday (27th June) we went to Amy Farmer's 3rd birthday in Stroud. I forgot the camera so will have to remember you playing together, sitting on a wooden rocking horse in the Steiner parent and toddler group at the Lindens. Amy at the front and you smiling at the back in your red and white striped top. Amy also liked trying to feed you water from your beaker, and to give you lots of cake. You did well for cake! You also explored their huge overgrown garden, and loved driving their (large) miniature tractor. It reminded me of our visit last summer, when you were just sitting on the grass waving your arms happily in the sunshine, and us snuggling up in the hammock together for you to have a feed.

30th
What you said today, when I went to pick you up
out of your cot. (you can climb in and out of it when the side is down) : 'Train station' morning … sittin' on er lap'. You wanting me to read a story to you ('The Runaway Train'), while sitting on my lap. You are so smiley in the morning and
usually ask for Papa, who nearly always gets up before me. Having your
night time chat with Papa, you heard a machine outside, and these days you
always say"cuttin' er grass" (cutting the grass). Papa said, "cutting the
hedge", to which you replied, 'cuttin' er hedgehog" I don't think you know
what a hedge is yet. You also say, "mind er slug;" when we leave the house -
I must have said it one day after heavy rainfall".

Will you have any siblings? I don't know, but we would like some for you.

The Twenty First Month: July 2006

5th
This morning we went to St Werburgh’s City Farm with Claire and Kit. I love watching you interact with other children. Suddenly you have your own world with these other little people. You and Kit had a private chat, and you took his hand and went to look at the ‘aminals’; the hairy rutting pigs, the gentle brown goats, the hens and chickens and the ‘cock-a-do-loo- loo’.

Overheard while carrying you out of the car:
“Rainin’, pourin’
Man ina bed
Bumpy head
Mornin’

“It’s raining, it’s pouring
The old man is snoring..
He went to bed and bumped his head
And couldn’t get up in the morning.”

6th
You came into our bed this morning, and climbed on top of me as you sometimes do. For some strange reason you showed more interest in my breasts than you have since you were weaned. You put your mouth to my nipple, and licked one side and then the other. I think you were trying out the baby thing, and seemed to think it was all quite funny. I realised that somewhere in your consciousness you must have the memory of breastfeeding, even though you have probably now lost the ability to suck. Ten or so weeks after I stopped breastfeeding, droplets of milk still form on my nipples if they are squeezed.

7th
You are such an affectionate boy. You often stop me in the middle of something; washing up, cooking or tidying and say “hold hand”, which means you want me to share whatever you’re doing; looking at a snail, trying to turn the key in the lock of the kitchen door; or you want me to read you a book. You love Michael Rosen’s ‘We ‘re going on a Bear Hunt’. You talk about the children in the book, the baby, the boy with the stick, the doggy, the Papa.

We’re going on a bear hunt
We’re going to catch a big one
What a beautiful day
We’re not scared.

When I first began reading it to you, a couple of months ago, you kept repeating ‘scared’, and would look at me with this sad, worried face. I didn’t think you knew what scared meant. But you had some understanding that it meant something was wrong.

You love water, and can spend ages in the garden pouring water out of the watering can, or any receptacle that I fill. You also like shaking drops of water from your lidded beaker onto your plate or the table at mealtimes. The other day I found you filling my nice red shoes with water, but I wasn’t too cross.

You are quite a keen gardener and love to help me digging. You often repeat ‘hosepipe’ and ‘watering can’ and like to help me digging when I’m planting salad seeds. You had a good giggle the other day when you put on my gardening gloves. Putting on our shoes, sun glasses and hats is also a great source of entertainment. And you are becoming quite independent and want to put your own clothes on in the morning. You also like to go round the house wearing your ‘welly boots’.

You often chat to yourself in the car, repeating fragments of nursery rhymes like:”diddle, cat, fiddle”, “Georgie Porgie ran away” and “Pussy cat, London, queen, “ Your favourite phrase at the moment is “Papa cutting the grass”. And you’ve discovered the joys of cycling on the front seat of Papa’s bike; you love your cycle helmet and cry when it’s time to part with it.

11th
Suddenly you have started to become possessive about your toys. Jimmy was here this morning (also about 20 months), and even before he had shown any interest in any of your things, you began clutching things to your chest and screeching ‘no, no!’ at the top of your voice. You even held on tightly to your sandwich and bowl, for fear of losing it.

We were at Simon’s and Bashak’s wedding at the weekend, and I noticed how much you chatted with the other children. You were playing with Irma (27 months), and I overheard you saying to her ‘that’s enough, that’s enough’. Mmm, wonder where you got that from? You often say ‘leave it’ rather forcefully to the cats. It reminds me of how you really do learn everything by imitation.

12th
Amazingly, you went for your nap on your own today – happy just to climb into the cot after a story, and I left the room as the phone was ringing. You love snuggling up to your pillow or quilt or the ‘sunny cloth’ – a fleecy yellow sheet with rabbits on it, so called because Winnie sings a song about the sunny cloth, while you hide under it.

When you woke up you called out Mama, and when I opened the door, you said ‘Hiya’, with a big smile on your face. What a lovely surprise. You continued to play in your cot, while I pottered in and out of the room – when asked if you wanted to get out, you’d said no.

13th
One of THOSE days. A good morning; I went swimming and you had breakfast with Papa, and then he took you to work. I picked you up at 10am (as usual you were playing with some electrical item and flex). We had a lovely sunny morning at the park, with the children from Winnie’s parent and toddler group,

But this afternoon, when you woke from your nap (1 – 3.10pm), first you didn’t want to get out of the cot. So far, so good. But then you repeatedly said a word I didn’t understand, while crying. You rejected everything I offered you; a cuddle, food, water, a book, going to play in the garden, going for a walk to post letters…there was a lot of no, no, no, and screams of rage and frustration. I tried taking you into the street and distracting you, but that only worked momentarily, also singing. Anyway the whole episode went on for about 45 minutes. Eventually we went out with the pushchair, and you took up my offer of an apple. This is not the first time its happened – but it is exhausting. I lost it after about half an hour of trying to console you, and ended up shouting ‘ snap out of it, I’ve had enough’ which was totally pointless. You only cried more, and when I left you in the sitting room, you followed me, crying out Mama, with a very unhappy face. I tried cuddling you again.

It ‘s like you didn’t know what you wanted, or had cried for so long and hard that you had forgotten. When in the garden, I ‘d tried to distract you by showing you the bees on the lavender, but you just said ‘no, no, no, very emphatically. (Busy, busy, bumbly bees – what you said tonight while going off to sleep).

It didn’t help that I spent the whole of your nap time doing admin – letters, tax return admin, chasing up someone to mend washing machine that flooded the kitchen this morning, steaming some salmon and veg for our tea.

In spite of your father giving you your supper, I didn’t seem to sit down for more than 10mins between 4.30 and 7pm. He sat in sun reading Scientific American, while I made a clutch of phone calls – organizing cats to be fed while we are on holiday, sorting out washing machine again, thinking about packing, half tidying the clean and dirty clothes strewn about the house, the dirty crockery upstairs and down, and various toys and objects about the place.

The Nineteenth Month: May

11th
You are 18 months now, and chattering away. You like to walk forwards down the stairs holding our hands and the banisters. You like to draw with crayons, fit keys into keyholes, dig the garden with a little spade and play with shells in the bath. You love to squat down and look close up at 'bugs'. You say ant and bee and snail, and yesterday 'butterfly' for the first time. Usually it's 'floi' which you say in a deeply reverent voice. You are a joy and delight as ever, and want me to be your playmate more and more. You love to sit on my knee and look at books. You often ask for a book first thing in the morning, sometimes 'Maisie', lift the flap books, or longer stories (great sagas!) that Papa read you: The Giant Turnip. Your language development is steaming ahead. You talk to yourself a lot: hat on, coat on, 'pop weasel' 'one, two, three, four … five six' and recount memories of earlier events: Papa bug hand, papa put a bug on your hand.

My breasts are no longer of interest to you, you can't remember what they're for, but you love to ask for a 'cuddle', to be carried, to go on Papa's shoulders and also to lift up my tops and kiss my back and put your arms around me from behind.

26th
Little baba - big boy: life moves at a quicker pace and time eludes me to record your many wonderful gems of speech and behaviour. You put your own wellies on today 'welly boots' and ran round the garden in cardi and bare bum, helping me put washing away. We played 'copy cat' – touch head, touch toes, feet, hands etc – saying the words simultaneously. You giggled wildly hiding under the 'sunny cloth' house I made from a clothes horse and sheet and danced frenetically to ska music before bath time, stamping your feet double-quick and grinning madly: so happy and excited.

We ate sandwiches in the garden, warm and sunny after weeks of wind and rain. I lay down in the daisy grass and said ‘this is lovely’ and you copied me, lying down beside me with your sandwich. Yesterday we walked in St G Park, all round the park in the long buttercup grass through the big windy trees. You in your waterproofs, wellies and little blue hat that kept blowing off. You loved the wind!

The Eighteenth Month: April

7th
We have made a list of the words you say, but will have to stop soon, as you repeat things we've just said and seem to be able to say anything, like if I say 'I'm doing some cooking', you will say cooking or anything at the end of the sentence. Now you even say phrases, like 'Mama out / Papa out' when you hear the door shut. You also like to say 'hat on' when putting on your hat. This morning you found your little peaked cap in the basket and even put it on at a jaunty angle. When I'd packed all the food up in the hallway (to go to Capel-y-Ffin monastery), you found the glass jars and made a tower of them, which I was very impressed by, as the building blocks, which are tiny, don't seem to interest you at the moment.

You have entered a new phase, exploring your independence from me, yet hesitant about it. This has been a gradual process since I started thinking about weaning you off the breast in mid January. It has been really hard, because you have been so clear about when you want breast milk and breast comfort. When you were a year or so, you would jump up and down on my lap, and then lift my top. Then you began asking for muk; this has become 'side' (from other side) and in the last week, 'bit' – as I say, just a little bit, after you've had your one early morning feed at 6am or so (sometimes you ask for a bit more when we've got up and gone to the bathroom).

Yesterday, after napping in your pram in the back garden, you woke up with a little cry, in the sunshine. When I lifted you out you pointed and said garden or cat or flower (can't remember). I talked to you about the sunny day and said let's eat berries in the garden. I have been trying to distract you with lovely plates of fruit: raspberries, forest fruits (from frozen), grapes and mango, and beakers or cups of water or fruit tea. It rarely works immediately. You have been so used to having milk and comfort on waking, or sometimes sucking yourself back to sleep again, all of which you have done since very little. But yesterday you were completely content to sit on my lap in the sun, while I held the bowl of berries and cup. You kept giving the berries to me each time I put them down, but wouldn't eat them for ages. It's taken 2 weeks for you not to cry with anger, sadness or frustration, and not to ask for milk. It feels strange and sad that soon you will forget about it altogether. We used to have a kind of intimacy, where you tickled my belly and said 'tickle, tickle' and laughed (ickle ickle?)

A weekend away, at the monastery, Capel-y-Ffin, cut slightly short by Papa's car giving up the ghost on mountain road by Hay Bluff on Saturday. Theo and Samuel having a lovely time running down the corridor and hiding behind curtains, also looking out the window together and fiddling with the window catch. We adults got to play Scrabble and eat lots of good food and chocolate. You wake in the morning and ask for muk and when you were tired in the day say 'side, side' with a plaintive cry. I could only distract you so far. We've had a bath together the last two nights, and you notice my breasts and say 'muk', and go to put your lips near them as if playing a game – also pulling and pinching on a game - knowing that you don't really have that much any more. I tried to take photos of us this morning, to remember these last days, and have said that we will stop soon because you're a big boy.

You have become more needy this past month, since I've reduced your access to my breasts. You want to come and cuddle me when I stand at the sink, to always hold my hand when we walk. You say 'hand' to me, to be carried up and down stairs; you even say 'carry' now too. You pull at my apron (literally!) and prefer to be in the same room, crying if I go out or go to the loo, leaving you downstairs. I know you need extra care, attention and cuddles, to feel secure, and to know I am still there for you in all the other ways. It has been hard to comfort you through the times you have cried when I've refused you the breast, when you have responded with fury and sadness and I have tried to hold you, to say 'mama loves you', while you flailed around in a rage, throwing your head back, tears running down your little red face. It's taken a few weeks for you to calm down and accept my refusals and distractions without being so angry or hurt.

I feel like I need some ritual to end our breastfeeding relationship, a rite of passage marking your move from baby to toddler boy.

We managed a mammoth 2-hour walk on Saturday climbing the hill behind the monastery. Papa carried you on his shoulder going up. You eventually fell asleep in his arms at the same time as Samuel who was being carried in the backpack by his papa. I put you in the Ergo sling on my back and walked for about an hour, making the way down a very steep hill, dotted with rocks and wind-swept hawthorn trees, you still asleep on my back. Sophie, Chris and Samuel were way ahead. You wake up, distressed and crying as I was leaning down the hill, sometimes sitting on my bum to get down safely. Eventually near the bottom, knee-deep in rusting bracken, Papa arrived, having gone off down the slope in a completely different place, and I handed you over to be carried again in his arms. I don't think you disliked the sling; it was maybe just waking up where you didn't expect to be, and maybe the alarm of travelling steeply downwards. I guess if you were a little mountain boy in the Andes you would be used to being carried all the time. I was shell-shocked afterwards, and my little legs were shaking! I picked my steps carefully and hoped that we wouldn't take a tumble. We all slept well that night, going to bed at 10.15pm, after roast chicken dinner, which you wolfed down. You enjoy your food!

Delightful day with you today Tues. Ate breakfast early 7.30, saw the sunshine – a real spring day, and rejoiced. Still managed to get totally distracted by tidying the front bedroom cupboard and sorting baby clothes. You were running around happily and playing with various objects. A bit wistful when I was in the shower, asking for muk when I got out. We read Rosie's Walk, me wrapped in a towel. Eventually made it out of the house at 11.30. You walked all the way to St George's Park, so happy to be outside, and wanting to hold my hand all the way (although I managed to walk you into a car wing mirror). We went down the big slide together and you nearly fell headfirst off the little one. We saw a little boy crying, and you ran over to him and held out your hand (although' you rolled down a hill in the process). You ran after another little boy, exclaiming, ‘boy! boy! You slept for 2½ hours after this mammoth outing. When you woke up we made bikkits (walnut ones) and you were so happy running round the kitchen with the cheese slicer (a new object of fascination) and some beads. And a new game: hiding under my apron and saying boo. Talking about you on the phone to Pete, I could tell you knew we were talking about you. Something in your eyes, so I said 'you can tell we're talking about you, can't you! I've tried to relax and do little today, still hung out washing, cooked meals, tidied rather incessantly, but best of all had a lovely day with you. You were talking at the top of your voice and said 'clap, clap' when clapping. I sang 'Clap hands, daddy comes, with his pocket full of plums, all for Theo' – and you said 'Theo' – 'see-oh'!!!

Theo's words April 06

duck book pushchair pig spoon avocado
cat fitch car bug plate dirty
choochoo brush 'saur glider teddy
cot water boat bear table
dog fire fox finger peg
ball hot bee lorry sleeping
birdie moon lion truck bump
light sheep digger
garden bucket froggie rocket
side cup tortie please
coming bowl out that
gone feather down flower
horsie mama baba in
out papa stuck door
chair snake mango spoon
toast nana upstairs key
milk apple nose monkey
shoe house eyes sticky
sock tree mouth boy
trousers star ears man
coat bike hair egg
hat mousie head potato


Papa wrote this list of your 100 or so current words, and afterwards I kept a huge chart in the kitchen with word lists, categorised under headings such as food, animals, toys, nature, parts of the body, household things etc. Within a few weeks you had about 500 words, and would repeat anything we said, so we couldn’t keep up after a while!

15th
Theo my love, you are endlessly endearing, so many things happen in the day that I want to write down.

Yesterday after you woke from your nap, you were calm and sweet and started talking immediately. We went to look at some books. You usually like to be held, and not put down for ages, carried up the stairs (a new thing) etc.

We sat in the front room and you pointed at the teddy in the basket. Then you spent a few minutes imitating the bedtime ritual, sitting on my lap, tucked up with teddy, and the teddy's quilt (a mini one of your quilt made from the same fabric), while we read a story. Today you were not so contented when you woke, crying for half an hour, and wanting mama muk again. It was hard not to give in, especially as I know this was the last day, but I didn't want to go 'backwards' especially as it has been so difficult stopping the afternoon feed. I couldn't distract you with all the usual things: books, cherry compote and yoghurt etc. I sang some nursery rhymes to you, and eventually distracted you with the compote, followed my lamb stew (at 2.30pm) as you had been too tired for lunch at 12.00 as you howled the place down and wouldn't sit in your chair or put the bib on. Eventually I said have a nap, and you went in the pushchair without too much protest. I left you by the front door, door open. And you cried for a few minutes before conking out for 2 hours. We'd been to the Easton pool soft play for the first time and you had confidently climbed the ladders, and jumped about in the ball pools, running off within minutes of arriving.

Things are more challenging as you begin to assert yourself more. Lots of no, no, no when trying to put your sleep suit on last night, and running away. Likewise refusal to sit in your chair to eat sometimes, or to wear your bib, as you prefer to sit on my lap.

Today you woke at 6am, as you have for past few weeks (as a rule) and Papa went in to our room where you sleep. I think you were talking and doing animal noises together. Papa said how happy you were. You always run into the front room almost laughing with excitement, saying 'mama' and usually climb up onto me, kneading my breasts like a cat, as you have a nuzzle and feed. Sometimes your other hand is on my other breast and slipped under my haramaki, on my belly. I am always a bit sleepy, and my breasts have shrunken to the tiny, flat things they once were. It is surprising there is anything in there. I cried this morning, because today was the last day – it's Easter weekend this weekend, and Papa is here for 4 days to give you special breakfasts. Although, as you have wanted to be closer to me during this weaning period, even not wanting Papa to put you to bed and crying as I leave you with him, I have realised that 'mama' really is the significant person in the early years of a child.

I used to think so many thoughts about parenting and love, when you were a baby, and want to write them and share them with others. Now I've learned about blogs, I wish I'd started one when you were tiny. Though no one else would probably be interested in my eulogies to you.

Someone was really impressed with your speech today. At Luke's 1st birthday (Fleur Barnfather's boy) you said 'sank you' when I gave you something to eat. You were quite insistent about wanting the crisps and biscuits (which you call cake!).

In the garden over Easter weekend: you helped me 'diggin' – you loved the little spade, and sitting down in the soil! – and running about with your wellies on. I think I even heard you say 'oops a dokey'. You said 'gran pa, gumpa', as soon as we arrived in their street. You don't miss a trick! You even asked for a cuddle as a distraction, so you could get the mini garden fork from me, or at least have a look at it! (I'd said it was sharp, and not for baba – which I think you understand.)

We walked on the golf course at Ashton Court today, lying down in the sunshine while you slept. When you awoke we played dinosaurs, you riding on Papa's back – and later we found a furry bumble bee, which we told you not to touch in case it stung you, so you stamped on it, and repeated 'dead', after we said 'it's dead now'. I think you were frustrated at not being able to touch it. We discussed if you would understand the idea of death. Pete said it's primal, but I think it takes a while to understand these things. We also went on the miniature steam railway, a tiny steam engine hooked up to little benches that run on a circular railway through grass and daffodils. We both had a turn, and when you were sat in front of me in the spring sunshine I felt moved to tears that I was riding clickety clack on a little steam train with my own little boy. That it was possible and real and wonderful. The sound of the train going over the tiny track, and miniature metal bridge was just like a real one. You were more concerned at first as to where Papa was. Oh but it was lovely, a moment of awareness, of happiness.

Mornings have been OK, 3 without breastfeeding. You seemed happy with Papa – going down for warm goats milk at 6.30am, then going back to bed till porridge time. Meanwhile I am having a lie-in and a read in the spare room, a long shower and tidying up on the first morning. I didn't come down till 9am, and then you said Mama, and came to sit on my knee and lift my jumper, but we distracted you with puzzles, books, apples and berries. Today you came into the bedroom at 7am and were crying for muk. Papa was exhausted as you'd woken 3 times in the night, so I had to bring you into the back bedroom for books (Maisie), and then downstairs for porridge.

I am expressing a bit of the spare milk. It feels hard to let this liquid gold go away and sad that I may never breastfeed again. But you are full of affection and ask for 'cuddle' whenever you want to be held by me.

17th Easter Mon
Sunny day out to Bowood House, Calne, Wilts. Supper: we all ate together in our sunny kitchen at 6.30pm pasta, spinach and feta cheese, which you loved. Afterwards you had a cup of breast milk in your Winnie the Pooh cup (maybe the 5th time you've had this, and you drink it down all in one go). You tasted it and gave a big beaming smile and said 'sats milch' (that's milk) like you knew it was your favourite milk. Papa has been giving you a bottle of warm milk in the morning.

I woke up in the bed next to you this morning. A little cry at 5.40am. I brought you into our bed (Papa was next door). You cried and tried to lift my t-shirt. I cuddled you and began to sing our Brahms lullaby. You stopped crying instantly and said 'eye', pointing at my eye in the darkness, closely followed by foot, bangle and then birdy (lots of dawn chorus).

20th
Naked, about to have a shower yesterday, I brought you upstairs. You hugged me for ages as I sat in the bathroom, pressing your head onto my chest, knowing there was something special about being in contact with mama's skin, even though there was no more breast.

I held another baby today, and you asked for a cuddle. My boobs leaked, even though we stopped breastfeeding a week ago.

The Seventeenth Month: March

13th
A few days ago we awoke in our bed together and you started the morning pretending to be a dog – woofing and panting and laughing. You made me smile and so happy to be waking up with you.

You are so expressive, even speaking in sentences of your own language, but recognisable as 'in there' (in'err) and 'catch the ball', and lots of new words:
baby
flower - all today for the first time, and linked to the correct object!
slipper (flower was the name you gave a leaf)
key
Also: gapes (grapes)

14th
You don't always ask for muk now when you wake up at 6am. The last 2 nights you have slept from bedtime 7/8pm to 6am – amazing. We hope it will continue … no more breastfeeding at night. It took a few days of me holding and cuddling you when you awoke. The first time you cried very crossly, but fell asleep on your own in 7 minutes! I am conscious whenever I feed you (about 2 or 3 times a day) that it won't be for much longer and I think about the way you snuggle up to me, like together in the mornings when your warm mouth squashes up to my breast and then suddenly you get up and notice something more interesting, like a book, or the digital thermometer. Then after a few minutes you search for my boob again, lifting up my tee-shirt, putting your mouth to my belly or hip, because you're not quite sure where my nipple is hidden. Sometimes if I'm going for a pee or taking off a layer, you seem to think it's time for muk, or a bit of skin shows, and you take the opportunity to ask in an insistent and sometimes crying way. But these days activity, a novelty ‘toy’, like my silver chain, or a little snack often distracts you. You mainly have milk in the mornings when we wake up and I get you from your cot, and when you wake from your afternoon sleep, and are often inconsolable. You love to stand up and feed, or be half lying, but wiggling your hips and kicking your legs as I sit with my back against a radiator, reading a book in a half-concentrated way, not like reading when you were 7 months old, because you wiggle too much now. Or when we are lying down together and your hands are twiddling and fidgeting, tucking your arm into my harumaki (Japanese belly warmer) or wrapping it round my back. It's so lovely to have our skin to-skin cuddles.

Your words: 'it's prickly' (repeating my description of the veg brush)

19th
So many words: I really feel you understand everything. Today I asked you to put the basket you were playing with on my foot, which you did. Then you put my slipper on my foot, and said 'slipper'!

You know most of the words in your 'baby things' book and recognise them in the book: chair, nappy, potty, bunny, teddy etc. You also know: eyes, nose, mouth, bear and hat (sometimes confused with head!) The first thing you say in the morning sometimes is eye, pointing to my eye … also foot and toe. And you copy names: Anna, Sol, Sophie and Samuel (Samul).

The Sixteenth Month: February

14th 'half term'
We are on the road, yesterday in Oxford with Marian, Tony and Annie (3) and today at Melissa's before driving 2½ hours to Welshampton (Ellesmere, Shrops) to stay with Mary, Billie and Finlay for 2 nights. You have enjoyed being in new places; yesterday when we arrived at Mari's, you were a bit reticent when I left you to go to the car and unload, and you wanted to come with me when I went to the loo. But very soon you were exploring Annie's toys (some musical eggs) and enjoying wandering around their new open plan house. You quickly begin babbling when we arrive somewhere, and seem quite adaptable to your new surroundings. I didn't know if you would sleep well in the travel cot, in a new room (a wonderful attic room with velux windows, but you were so exhausted after the excitement of the day that you fell asleep asking for your ‘muk' (breast milk). We'd been to the Ashmolean, had lunch there, and half seen an exhibition on multi-faith pilgrimage and a beautiful exhibition of dolls/textiles for peace tent.

Met Helen Ganly, artist who taught me on degree.

We'd also been to Meadow Lane playground, where you splashed in the puddles and climbed along the steep metal ladder, to the slide. Walking back to Mari's you wandered into people's front gardens attracted by the many fascinating bicycles chained up.

Tonight 5-year-old Finley said what a cute baby you were. Of course to me you are no longer a baby, but I still want to savour these moments, when you still have your pudgy red cheeks and are babbling away so confidently. We found a new Eric Carle book at Mary's, 'The Very Quiet Cricket'. At the end of the story, the cricket sings, and there is a little chirping mechanism in the back of the book , you talked so much, after hearing this wonderful musical sound. Now you often repeat words or phrases we say – or your version of them. Recently:
gorge (gorgeous)
dirty – now you know what this means and say it when you get your hands muddy in the playground
cat poo
garden
torch
mud
bath
keys

At Melissa's you were very taken with Cicely's collection of plastic cutlery and were determined to leave with a few spoons. Cicely donated a knife to you! Cicely finding it hard to share her toys and Melissa at the moment … likewise Annie (with toys). Can we believe that you will one day be mean to younger ones??

You were very excited to see the 2 fluffy cats here at Mary's, Pod, a tortoiseshell and Licorice, a black kitten, exclaiming cat, cat! At last something you recognise. You find pennies, and balls, and other little things you get attached to, momentarily, and my car keys. Keys, keys! You say whenever we are getting into the car, becoming a bit upset because I won't give them to you. (You recently mislaid my bike lock keys…)

It's great to be away from home, away from the domestic conveyor belt, if tiring. I feel so tired at the moment: you are still waking between 1-3 times a night, though usually going back to sleep after a little feed, tho' can be half an hour. But amazingly you are going to sleep on your own, after some training from Papa Pete. You are happy to lie down in your cot, though sometimes standing for a hug, resting your head on my / Pete's shoulder, or like tonight, I put you down (after short boob feed) with quilt around you and left the room. And 3 times, after 5 or 6 minutes you would grizzle and cry a bit. When I went in, you would be standing holding the quilt, almost wanting reassurance that I was there and would lie you down and wrap you up again. You even know how to tuck the quilt in round your shoulders – and then fidget around the bed and go off to sleep. Amazingly, I don't have to be in the room!

18th
New words: carrot (16/2), slide (lide) and swing (wing).

What a funny day yesterday. You were a bit miserable; you've had huge apple red cheeks the past few days, and then I spotted a wisdom tooth on the left side of your mouth. We went to the park at 3pm (after Sue Learner had visited, and you'd cried incessantly, because I wouldn't give you 'muk', which it seemed you wanted because I was busy talking to Sue). Walking in cold sunshine at St Georges, you were much happier, you got very excited seeing the gulls on the pond, and would have walked straight into the water had I not stopped you. In the playground, you climbed the slide ladder all on your own; you are so adventurous, and seemingly fearless. You also spotted a little girl, about your size, with a ponytail and dummy, also fearlessly climbing the slide. You followed her up the hill, round the playground, onto the slide. At one point she looked round, and you had taken off your little blue hat, and were babbling away to her, it was so lovely to see you being such a sociable boy.

Then when we got home, as soon as you were over the threshold, you began asking for muk again. I said we first needed to wash your hands, which were muddy from the playground, and that I needed a wee. But after doing these things and then offering you boob, you suddenly didn't want it, or were ambivalent, because as you approached my nipple you threw your head back and were in a total crying rage. You did this a few times and remained inconsolable as I tried to cuddle you and console you – throwing your head back, arching your back. I lay you on the floor, in the dining room, and you came to find me, and then turned away as I tried to cuddle you again. This rage lasted about 40 mins, when I came to lay you on a beanbag, so you could chuck yourself around without bruising your head, you acquiesced and decided to have breast milk. I knew, and said that I knew you were angry with me – because you had been made to wait for muk, and also from previously when I'd been talking to Sue. It made me want to cry, seeing you so upset, and because I couldn't comfort you.

The Fifteenth Month: January

11th
You are a real little toddling boy these days. We went to St George's Park in almost spring-like sunshine today. You walked all the way to the lake, exclaiming in excitement at the seagulls, shouting out 'duck duck'. You giggled on the swings, and surprisingly (to me), climbed the steep ladder of the slide. It was so wonderful to see you outside, with so much space around you, toddling up to the fence round the playground, peering through and shouting at the other children, that you wanted to come in. A few elderly people smiled at you and commented how much you loved walking. Lovely for me to see the pleasure they got from seeing you being an exuberant, exploring little boy.

13th
Last night, a new funny game with the damp facecloth after the bath. You threw it to me and said 'catch', so we played a game of catch. I love the way you throw your arms in the air, your little potbelly sticking out, all much clearer to see without your clothes on. You're so exuberant and full of energy, and I admire your perfect, smooth little body. Then I threw the cloth into the bath. Where's it gone? I asked. You repeated 'gone' and did this brilliant 'I don't know' gesture with your hands and started looking everywhere, under the towels and rugs. It's amazing how much you know and understand; it always surprises me, because not so long ago you were just my babe in arms. And I still keep calling you Baba.


24th Tuesday
A cliché but true, days and weeks are whizzing by. You are still that enigmatic mix of baby and small boy. Even on days when my head is spinning, and things have been too rushed, I still feel so happy and totally in love with you. You especially remind me of this when I stop what I'm trying to do: cooking; preparing food; washing up; phone calls; paperwork, and really engage with you – playing. It feels such a delight, and a luxury, and is mostly something you do with your dada / papa. Today I chased you under the clothes rack – which you can now cleverly pull things off, and hang things on. In the last few weeks you have become more and more vocal, and wake in the morning with a torrent of babbling Theo language, which I long to hold in my memory forever. You used to wake, or surface from feeding and sit up and point 'ook', then book, you like to start the day with the books at our bedside. Today also significant because I finally bit the bullet and paid £25 for some Clarks shoes. Not terribly exciting design, just sturdy blue with 2 Velcro straps so you can run around and get muddy.

New words in the last 2 days: apple – is this the first 2 syllable word? (Apart from the early Mama?) And monk for monkey. Current words (15 months old in a week):

cat dog (+ woof / oof) apple
door cot ma / boo (mama boob)
coat duck
hat book
goat tone (stone)

Animal sounds
brrr (horse)
oink (wrinkles nose)
oof (dog)
auw (lion / dragon)

I cherish our cuddling moments when you nurse. You are in your own space, staring ahead, sometimes making sounds of dreamy or not so dreamy satisfaction 'mm, ooh' in your lovely resonant voice. You like to pinch my belly, or put your thumb in my belly button, or your other hand round my back. Sometimes I catch your eye, or tickle you and you do your dirty sounding gurgle and look up at me and laugh.

Yesterday you fell over the front door step just as Sophie and Samuel had arrived, and I, stupidly, had my back turned. I turned to find you with your head flat on the concrete, screaming. My heart jumped, I felt so bad, and now you have another large bruise on your head. You fell on the kitchen’s stone floor at the weekend, then twice on the tarmac paths at the zoo. Beautiful sunny Saturday, and Papa, you and I went on our first trip to the Bristol Zoo Gardens where we saw Mama and Baby gorilla, lots of electric blue fish, and the penguins, which you call ducks (which you say as dook, like your papa).

Night times, a few hard nights. Last night you screamed inconsolably at 10.30, and then didn't settle at all well at 1.45 (I was still awake at 3am). Maybe it was the shock of the fall down the front step. You fed and fed at 1.45, but kept sitting up and trying to climb over me, and cried in a whingey kind of way. I have thought several times of trying to stop night feeding, and now it looks like we may have to. I feel very sad even thinking about weaning you off the breast, and it makes me aware of how often you now ask for ma or boo, and sit on my knee, jumping up and down, crying out, or lifting my jumper. If I ever take off a layer and reveal my belly flesh, you immediately think of it. Likewise, if we bathe together, as we did yesterday, after swimming: you pointed at each nipple, and said your usual exclaiming 'uh' and then climbed on top of me.

The Fourteenth Month: December

5th
A hard week last week. You had a fever of 39.9C last Sunday, after many weeks of coughing, and you continued with a nightly fever and wheezing for 5 nights. The first 3 nights you woke or were disturbed every 15-30 minutes, wanting to sleep upright with your head on my shoulder. My third night, I was exhausted and let you sleep with Papa. Amazingly I had 5 hours of unbroken sleep – the first for ages. Poor love, your days were filled with crying, a sad face and constant miserable bleatings. Hard for me to understand and know just how bad you were feeling. You wanted to be cuddled and held all the time. On Tuesday I tried to make bread – a foolish and futile activity as it took about four hours because you were so needy. Amazingly, you perked up in an instant. We'd had 2 visits to the doctors and a prescription of antibiotics. First doctor confirmed bacterial chest infection but said wait and see for a night. You were just as bad on the Tuesday, but we waited till Friday, because you seemed to be better – started eating lots of fruit after eating nothing for 3 days, then relapse on Friday – complete crying and misery and drowsy floppiness, your vigour and fighting spirit completely subdued. 'Time for antibiotics' I thought. Papa and I agreed on this at lunchtime, but you would have none of it, and I couldn’t get the pipette thing near your mouth. Later you breastfed and slept for 3 hours. At 6pm you woke in our bed and pointed at a 'ook', so I started reading stories to you. Suddenly you were like a new being, fresh faced. We brought you downstairs, and soon you were haring around, laughing as you fell into the beanbags, and curling up with the cats, nuzzling your head into theirs. A miraculous recovery Theo, it was a delight to see your verve and spirit return so suddenly. You slept from 10.30 that evening, until 9ish the next day, waking once, only briefly. Amazing for me to have so much sleep! The following 2 days, Sat and Sun, still not quite yourself. And today you have been crying and throwing yourself around more than usual. I wondered if it was teething or tiredness – and you were completely uninterested in food.

Your words these days:
'ook' / or book occasionally
'oof' – dog
geese – said many times a day and often at birds flying overhead
'moo'

It seems you so understand so much more than a few months ago. Tonight when I said 'do you want some mama milk?' you were sat on the bed about 2 feet away from me, and you looked up and came immediately towards me. These days of crying and frustration you seem to experience have been hard for me, have tried my patience, but still I wonder at you; we still laugh and I feel so lucky that you are in our lives.

I walked from Tesco's car park to Mothercare today, carrying you on my hip in the Ergo sling. You had a scrunched ball of paper in your hand. We played a game where I surprised you by swooping my hand down with a sound and catching your hand, it made you laugh every time. Such delightful pleasure on this grey winter day.

16th
Theo, you seem suddenly more grown up. You are walking loads, tottering, but confidently, and occasionally walking towards us fast, laughing as you grab Papa or me. Today I noticed how flexible you are. You can stand, but lean right down, head touching ground, like downward facing dog. Then sometimes you rest in the 'little warrior' pose; one knee bent, the other on the ground. After the bath tonight we had such fun. You were in really good spirits, giggling and doing odd sideways somersaults. I would chase you, biting your thighs, blowing raspberries on your belly and you giggled with your raspy, chesty giggle. Your cold continues, as does slight wheezing. You played peepo, hiding under the towel, as you did yesterday behind a barrier in the playground in Fishponds, thinking it hilarious when I poked my head round the side and surprised you. You are really amazing, and I love it when we play together like that.

You love to: drop things into the bath when you're not in it (toys and towels) and play with bits of string. You spent ½ an hour unravelling a ball of string at Kelly and Jimmy's yesterday, tangling it all round the room. Today you found my apron strings and were waving them about. And of course you're still into the vacuum cleaner and broom, pushing them along the floor, and cloth wiping. Today, in the bath, after I'd wiped your face, you took the facecloth from me and wiped my mouth: priceless!

Sleeps: 9.30-10am sometimes (most days) and 12.45 or 1.30/2.00 for 45m – 2 hours.

(That's when I frantically catch up with admin/phone calls/cooking – it's never enough time – and sometimes resting and reading). In the summer I read loads, you were still breastfeeding a lot, and I used to feed you to sleep while reading, but that doesn't happen so much now.

You do sleep better in the evenings and wake less. Though most nights you share the bed with me, and from 5am I seem to be your comfort dummy, which is hard if I'm tired. I lie still and try to rest but don't really sleep then. Papa sleeps in the spare room.

These days you seem to nurse more often, I think when you feel like a cuddle. Still, when you wake from a nap and are crying inconsolably, and at midnight before I've made it to bed, when you stand in your cot crying, sometimes sounding quite distressed. I take you to bed and we cuddle up, I have to say 'mama's coming' as usually I need to go for a pee or quickly put on my nightclothes. In the day now I pick you up sometimes when you're needy and you jump up and down on my lap with a whingeing cry, then I know you're after the boob or mama milk, or booby as we say. Sometimes though you just lift up my jumper, or as the other night after swimming, you moved towards me in the bath. I think it took a while for you to register that naked mama meant boob opportunity.

The Thirteenth Month: November

2nd
You have been plagued by smoker’s cough for several weeks now, and I am exhausted from being awake with you these last few nights, last night at 11.30pm and 4am. It took 1-1.5 hours to get you back to sleep. You cried even after I cuddled up and fed you, and for months now it has been impossible to transfer you into your cot once you have woken. I have enjoyed waking and seeing your smiling face next to me, and being able to stay so near to you and keep you snug at night, but these days you are so restless and fidgety, sharing a bed with you has not been an easy option.

I woke up this morning with that zombified, hung-over, sleep-deprived feeling that I last memorably experienced when you were about 4 months old. This felt even more depressing as I had lots of tidying and baking to do, on the eve of your first birthday. In my half awake state I made 2 banana/apricot cakes and some bread and seemed to do endless amounts of washing up. You were pottering around the kitchen, wheeling your trolley around, waving a big spoon at the cat; climbing into (and falling out of) their basket, smack on your right cheek. Yesterday you even walked a step towards me alone, holding a milk pan!

In the dusk this evening, when you were tired, and a bit tearful, I was aware that I had been ignoring you, trying to finish of clearing up and making supper (roast veg and quinoa) for Papa and me. You found a little russet apple, which you began to bite into. I picked you up, and sat you on my knee, and you looked right at me, offering me some of your apple. We passed it between us a few times, and I was so touched by this simple sharing. Suddenly I realised you are to be one year old tomorrow, and I began to cry, out of awe, and happiness and exhaustion and amazement that I have had you in my life for a whole year. How lucky I am, how lucky we are, to share our lives with you.

I took you late up to the bath, and sang to you, just songs about washing and getting your sleep suit on, which always seem to calm you when you are fractious, and you slept through till 11.30pm.

Bathing song
“Who’s my lovely clean boy, clean boy, clean boy?
Who’s my lovely clean boy, T.- is
(X2)
We’ve washed our hands and washed our feet
And now it’s time to go to sleep.”
(Sung to an Eastern European folk tune)

So little time to reflect, but thinking about you now (midnight, 3 hours before you were born a year ago), makes me feel warm and tender. Even when you wake me at 4am, and you fall back to sleep in my arms, I hold you, and stroke your lovely shaped head, and feel very, very happy that you are in our lives.

You do this lovely thing at the moment, where you roll around, almost doing somersaults right next to Mia. It’s like you’re trying to get on her level, and just be’ catness.’ sometimes on your back or side, very happy on the floor, smiling and giggling. This morning you were playing with Mia like this at the top of the stairs while I was in the bathroom. I rushed out with a cry, as I was sure you were about to fall down the stairs (we have no gate).

I found an old receipt the other day with these milestones written on the back:
First smile: 4 weeks
Sitting up alone: 5.5 months
First tooth: 6 months
Pulling yourself up to stand: 6 months
Crawling to the edge of our bed: 7.5 months
Falling off our bed: 9 months (If you can call falling off the bed a milestone...)

3rd
Darling T,
I can hardly believe you’re one today. You’ve had a lovely afternoon with your friends Samuel, Jimmy and Amy, the big Farmer boys, Callum and Jude, and your cousin Sol. You loved pushing your little trolley around, and standing in it, bouncing up and down and shouting gleefully.

This morning we were at Steiner parent Toddler group and everyone sang Happy Birthday to you, and you got to blow out a little candle. Winnie gave you a present of a little felt ball, and you as usual enjoyed dragging the toy broom along and trying to get real one off the wall. Little Nina (15 months) wanted to stroke your head and kiss you while you were pushing the trolley, but you kept protesting! We’ve had a lovely day together, and are all happy that you are a healthy, happy, bubbly boy.

15th. Tues
You walked more than 2 steps on you own at the weekend. We were staying with Sandra in Wolverhampton – you walked from Dada towards me. Today you walked 5 or 6 steps and grinned happily, you looked so pleased with yourself.

16th
Will I remember all the different ways you breastfeed? No longer the silent suckling newborn creature, now you wiggle and stand up and twist around. You like to stroke or scratch my belly with your free hand, or fiddle with your ear when you’re nursing, or my other nipple, which I try and discourage. I try and remember how you move at night, because you fidget in a particular way, rustling and sucking. Just now you breathe heavily and often, between sucks, because you have such a bad cold.

24th
We took the train today, to Redland, to go to Steiner Kindergarten parent and toddler group. You haven’t been on the train for a few months, and I notice how you are much more observant, leaning out of the pushchair to touch the many leaves blowing along the ground and looking up at the station, at the top of the lamp posts, and saying ‘aw’ with your little round mouth. You like to point out and call to the pigeons, noticing all the birds that fly overhead.

Today people noticed you’re new status as a walking boy, as you tottered across the carpet, wanting to get the miniature wooden broom that you like. You are really into sweeping, and wiping the table and floor with the wet cloths, or bits of kitchen towel you find. I had to rescue you a few times at kindi-garten from the clutches of 2 children who when not kissing you, hit you on the head or pounce d on you.

A lovely moment when nappy changing this afternoon. You waved your arms and opened and closed your fists, delighting in the shadows they made on the wall.