The Twenty-Seventh Month: January 2007

Jan 1st
New Year’s day we saw G’ma and G’pa, where you and 4-year old cousin Sol chased each other round the dining room table for ages. You seem to undergo a personality change when you meet – you becoming manic and rowdy, like you’re showing off your boisterous qualities too him!

Jan 2nd
A big crying to-do yesterday at lunchtime – I think you were hungry and tired. We came back from a walk from Soph’s, and you didn’t want to take your shoes off, or indeed get out of your pushchair. I tried to take you to bed, but you wanted to sleep in your chair in a fetal position. I struggled to take you upstairs to change your nappy, where you carried on crying and physically resisting me. In the end I left you curled up on the floor crying, and left the room, in an effort to keep calm.

“Mummy come back!” Eventually I said, “Do you want a cuddle?”
“And a kiss mummy”, you replied. You then lay in my arms, as your crying subsided and I stroked your hair. I brought you downstairs and as you began to eat your lunch your mood miraculously transformed into bright and chatty. It was amazing!

14th January
We have been away for a week in the wilds of remote Pembrokshire, staying in the grounds of St Brides Castle, which are miles from anywhere and anything (especially noticeable in the pouring rain and gale force winds we had for most of the week). I made copious use of the swimming pool, although you were a bit tentative, enjoying dipping your toes and kicking the shallow water of the baby pool. You seem to want to cling to us when we are in the pool, which makes me think all those Water Babies lessons did nothing except give you swimming pool phobia.

Papa came down for the weekend, and then you and me spent the rest of the week with Grandpa and Grandma. When you were re-united at home with Papa and we were all having a cuddle, you spent quite some time pointing at my nose saying ‘go in the kitchen’ in your bossy confident way, in an effort to get your Papa to yourself!

Journal Notes from St Brides
8th

I love how you are in the mornings. You woke up today saying: I need a sandwich”, in a sad, plaintive tone. The first morning you woke up here it was quite early, your Papa was still asleep, so you came into my single bed, and cuddled into me. “Read a story,” you asked, and I suggested telling you one, as it was still dark, and we ended up whispering nursery rhymes together. You were so contented, after first wanting to see Papa. I felt it was our special time together. You love reciting Sing a Song of Sixpence, and clutch your thumb throughout in preparation for the ‘pecked off her nose’ bit.

You are changing; you suddenly have this older boy look and demeanor. You are so sure of yourself physically, and you know what you want and like.

“Mm, it’s lovely.” You said yesterday in response to a bit of Grandma’s digestive biscuit! Likewise after a piece of homemade orange, honey and polenta cake as supper time, “ I like cake Mummy”.

You have always been really co-operative, but now it is harder to negotiate with you. The other day you were too busy playing and didn’t want to sit down for supper (that you were eating on your own didn’t help). You are also majorly objecting to going down for a nap in the travel cot here. And bedtime has become fraught once again as you adopt various stalling techniques to prevent us parting. You have refused to lie down, calling out“hold me, hold-er me!” And you want endless songs, especially The Owl and the Pussycat. Other stalling techniques are calling out for more milk and saying, “I’ve lost my doggy and blanket/monkey/rabbit” etc. Most of the time they are right in front of you. The first afternoon we put you in the travel cot, you cried endlessly and didn’t want to be left. In the end we lay down together in the single bed, with you in your ‘tent’ (a blanket over your head).

By the fifth night you have gone to lie down without any fuss. At lunchtime you even welcomed the travel cot. You have said, “I’m very tired” once or twice today. I guess you have become used to the new surroundings.

9 th
Our momentous trip of the weekend was to the dramatic Marloes Sands beach. It has rained non-stop almost, and the wind has howled around the house. We have had to go out in spite of this. It feels invigorating and adventurous to go out in the rain, and frankly you are quite oblivious to the wet.

At Marloes, you walked down to the beach along the winding cliff top path, battling against a strong wind. You were then fully occupied digging stones with your large red spade, climbing the red sandstone rocks, and sitting in a rock pool pretending it was a bath. Papa took photos of the wild crashing waves and I managed to slip and get water in my boots. The weather was wild, but you loved it. You are an ace rock climber, and we had to scoop you up, away from the incoming surf, which was blowing blobs of froth everywhere. Tired, walking back to the car, you resisted my attempt to carry you on my shoulders, as you wanted Papa (whom you have taken to calling Pete). This made me apoplectically cross, as I detected some favouritism. But me shouting, sweating and getting in a strop only serves to make you cry, so is really counter-productive.

You slept well in the travel cot this afternoon, and I read Anchee Min’s Empress Orchid, falling asleep in the chair. I came to lie down in our bedroom after about 1 hour 45 mins and found you sitting in the cot smiling. I picked you up and asked you if you wanted to come into the bed with me. So we snuggled under the covers for 10 minutes. These are the most precious moments. I appreciate your rare stillness and that you want to share yourself with me. It was then, or this evening, that you looked into my eyes for a long time, with a lovers-like gaze, and a smile on your face. It was a moment of reciprocal love, and I felt blissfully happy. I love to watch you and Papa together, how good he is with you, and how you adore each other, but it is when it is just the two of us that I have more of a tangible sense of what I mean to you. What is more important than a mother figure in the early life of a child? But it is hard to get a sense of what I am to you, strange as it seems.

Afternoon at dusk. Big rain walk to little beach cove. You standing in the stream, digging stones, drawing in the sand, tide coming in. You brave, adventurous boy! Is this a poem?

As true night fell, you wanted to push the pushchair across the muddy grass. Wanting to get back to the house, I was getting agitated, so had to put you in the chair. You resisted, but eventually succumbed, saying “I’m very tired.”

Bedtime. You smiled under the yellow holey blanket tent, which we both sat under, as I talked to you about the day. You were so happy under there, hugging your new little dog and quilty, arranging the sunny cloth over your knees. You kissed me and rubbed noses and were full of your beatific smiles. My heart was filled with love. Gawd, can you bear to read this when you are older, all about your soppy mum and her delight in you?!

19th Sun
These days I seem to want to write about what you say. In the space of a month your conversations develop in leaps and bounds. Earlier this week, Grandpa struggled to get you into the car seat, saying ‘At last, I’ve got you in the car seat”, and you replied with “At last, I’ve found my paradise.” This had Grandpa and Grandma marveling at your vocabulary, and me wondering where you’d heard the word paradise. Then P mentioned that it was what the dinosaur says in Michael Foreman’s Dinosaurs and all that Rubbish.

You are self assured and know what you want, often telling me what to do. ”Mummy sit there”, and inviting me to do things: you can do this, you can do that etc. The other day when we were having lunch and I finished first, you said, “Well done!”

Last week you had your 2-year check by a health visitor and community nursery nurse. I first wondered what they wanted to check, and then agreed to them visiting the house, even though I had no concerns about you. (I was sent a questionnaire to fill in instead of the visit which listed what a child of 2 should be able to do; these include to be able to drink from a cup, to have a vocabulary of 50 words (!), and that you should be having your teeth brushed once a day.) P and I had a laugh and said we should get the health visitors to come and see how you can recite loads of nursery rhymes; you probably have a vocab of several thousand words.

You were asleep when they arrived, so we had a chat. I was asking about your weight as P worries that your healthy appetite may not be a good thing in the long run, though I have no such worries. We chatted about various other things; diet, sleep, bedtime, your great attachment to your Papa, and then I brought you downstairs, in your sleepy state. The health visitor said, ”this isn’t a very scientific response to your questions, but he’s …absolutely gorgeous. He’s obviously a very secure, happy, healthy little guy.” Very nice for me to hear.

22nd Monday
I made pizza tonight. You saw me stretching and patting the dough and wanted to help, so I gave you your own mini-piece. You made a mini pizza with spinach and Parmesan, which we gave to Papa when he came home. We had such fun with our rolling pins, you rolling and patting – and I suddenly felt that I had a special little friend to do things with.

You are really building on your skills of make-believe. Today you wanted to play postman and asked me for some letters. I tore a piece of paper into two and then you gave one back to me “here’s your letter mummy!” You also like building with your coloured blocks and I hear you talking about the stories we have read to you. You showed me a brick lent on another brick saying, ”Mummy this is the ladder for the wolf to climb down the chimney.” Or you begin to recite the words from We’re Going on a Bear Hunt.

23rd
Clear, sunny, frosty day. Real winter weather at last. We dug the garden and spread manure on the veg patch. You were brilliant at helping digging and raking. You always ask me “Can I do it?” Like in the mornings sometimes, you sit in your cot and say, “Can I get up?” Epic voyage walking to St George’ s library in morning sunshine; I like a walk with a purpose. . Ironically library closed for refurbishment so still have the books to take back, annoyingly. Difficult to persuade you to come home again, and get in the pushchair, which you are not keen on.

25th
You are suddenly really into your collection of cuddly toys: teddy bears, tiger, dolphin, dolly, lamb etc and bring the whole bunch downstairs to arrange on cushions and cover with blankets, tea towels etc. At naptime you spent ages piling them in the hedgehog’s basket-bed I made for you, then had to take them all out and re-arrange them on the story chair. I could see this becoming an elaborate ritual and was dying to lie down and rest, so ended up getting cross and putting you to bed without a story. My sense of failure that your lovely time had spiraled out of control made me go back and get you out to read you some nursery rhymes. You still needed to arrange all the animals in the bed and lie on top of them, but then went to sleep very peacefully.

31st
We have all been lying low with horrible flu. Though you are still bursting with energy, surprisingly. P has been lying in bed, without eating, for 24 hours, which is the first time ever in our 9 years together. House very quiet in the evenings, and I have been able to enjoy the solitude for the first time tonight, as the last few days I have been lacking in energy. I can honestly say that I have done no tidying up, cooking or washing for about 4 days and only felt like lying prostate, staring into space or sleeping. We have survived on scrambled eggs and tinned sardines on toast. We parents have no appetite, but you still have to eat. On Monday I attempted to take you to a playgroup, but the whole thing was such a phenomenal effort. On the way home you didn’t want to get in your car seat. It ‘s actually too tiring to write about the whole battle but I realise that the constant negotiating and trying to remain patient is mentally incredibly draining. Probably more draining than the physical demands of looking after you. You have been with the grandparents today which has allowed us some time to recuperate. I must be getting better as I started tidying up…how sad is that?

You have been waking at 2 and 3 am the last few nights, usually crying out, or seemingly in the middle of a dream. One night it was “I didn’t say goodbye to Uncle Nick and Sol” repeated over and over. This was just after we’d seen them. Then last night you kept saying “trousers on, socks on”, and nothing I said calmed you. In the end I said rather crossly, “It’s the middle of the night and you can’t put your trousers and socks on”. Maybe you are in some kind of dream loop, which you have to be stirred from. Anyway, that seemed to work.

Heard on Monday while I was in the shower:

“Bye baby bunting
Papa’s gone a hunting
Gone to buy a vitamin”

Now you sing it like that intentionally because you know it gets a laugh – good though, as vitamin is not a bad rhyme for rabbit skin.