“Try some Marie biscuits, dear”. “Nibble carrots throughout the day”. “Ginger tea will definitely help”. “You should drink Cream Soda”. What the hell do people think when they start giving out advice to a newly pregnant woman who is suffering from obvious shock that there’s something developing inside of her, and it’s not her personal growth (JUST YET, ANYWAY)? Not to mention the ensuing morning sickness that lasts the whole bloody day? Read the rest of this entry »
I’m going on 11 weeks and I ALREADY have a belly. What’s going on? Every book I read says you only show at like 3-4 months! My tummy muscles feel like they’re splitting and cramping and every other mom I speak to says she didn’t experience this. Is this a conspiracy between moms to lure early preggers like me into believing we’re abnormal. And why does everyone expect me to be happy Sally Sunshine 24 hours a freaking day and suddenly have a desire to wear pastel and flounces? Polka dots are okay but daisies? Come on!
Why do moms lie about the whole pregnant thing until you’re pregnant yourself, and then they keep certain things secret. Is it a sign of weakness, or impending failure as a mother, to admit that there are parts of being pregnant that are not fun? I love my baby but when I can’t breathe ’cause my pants are too tight, I want to cry.
I say “No” to the perky, pastel wearing moms-to-be with tissues stuck up their sleeves who think that they will find me and try to brainwash me into liking Barney!
The other day I was reading about the developmental milestones typical of a ten-month-old baby, and one of the things that babies of this age feel is a heightened sense of fear, which is the consequence of increased awareness. The world is becoming an intriguing place that is full of hazardous excitement – such as sirens, vacuum cleaners, hair dryers, blenders and hooters. Loud, brash noises are likely to scare a baby, who will interpret harsh sounds as threatening. The article I was reading advised parents not to minimise a baby’s fear – even if the fear seems irrational, it is very real to a baby.
My ten-month-old baby girl is a born and bred Londoner – sirens and hooters elicit a comforting sense of home and engines are soothing. She adores our vacuum cleaner and her little arms flap up and down in joyous anticipation when I open up the storage cupboard to remove our dirt-sucker. She trails after me as I clean the carpet, inspecting the vacuum cleaner, leaning on it and using it as a sort of jungle-gym. Vacuum is Amelia’s friend. Hair dryers and blenders… please – my daughter eats them for breakfast. Read the rest of this entry »
A friend recently asked if we had a nickname for our daughter, Angelique. My response was that we had several including (but not limited to) Angel, Poppet, Shnookie and Munchkin. I figured that as time went by we’d settle on one that suited her best. My husband favours Schnookie; my mother, Angel. And while I’ve been partial to Munchkin, over the last few days I’ve been leaning more towards Princess Poopypants.
I was prepared for the projectile spitting-up and I don’t go anywhere without a burp cloth. However, what I got instead was projectile poop. There I was, cleaning the princess’ bum one morning, still half-asleep myself, when suddenly prrt. I used my newly-discovered Jedi reflexes to lift her nappy and somehow managed to prevent poop from squirting all over my shirt, the changing table and the floor. Yay me! Read the rest of this entry »
When does a mommy rest?
Certainly not in the first six weeks of a baby’s life when baby is still trying to figure out his place in the world: when crying replaces the soft humming of the computer, the sound of mommy’s favourite TV program or the still, quiet night; when baby thinks that lumpy, hard chests are way more comfortable than a soft cot (or anywhere else for that matter); when mommy’s bed is just so much better than baby’s own; when, like all three of my children, baby has reflux – every time he lies down he ends up sleeping in his own throw-up and mommy has to change his clothes and bedding 50 times a day; when mommy spends hours washing the floor, couch, carpet and bed, or wherever else baby’s projectile vomit has landed in mommy’s once beautiful, unsoiled home. And don’t forget the constant nappy changes – I didn’t know that a human being could pooh that much! Newborn babies must pooh at least eight times a day. Man! You would never get off the toilet if that carried on into adulthood. Read the rest of this entry »
Cameron slept at Granny’s place on Friday night to give Dean and I had a night off yet I got less sleep than when Cameron is around *wink wink*. But I wonder what the point was. Should I have sacrificed a night with my husband to rest my body? Who comes first, Tracey-self, Tracey-mom or Tracey-wife? Then yesterday afternoon and last night I was at a friend’s bachelorette party: I got into bed at 3am and I the mom cried in harmony with Cameron in the next room upon waking this morning. So Dean got up, closed the door and took Cameron to the lounge. I put in my ear plugs, threw a pillow over my head for some extra deafness and slept for three more hours. And again, I cannot help but wonder what the point was? Read the rest of this entry »
When we shopped for a pram we found one that suited our pocket and off we went. Well in hindsight I wish there was an antenatal class on prams: how they open and close; how the car seat fits into the pram and the car for that matter; the size of the pram relative to the size of the boot; and most importantly, “will my child be happy in it?” My boy Cameron has pretty much hated being squashed into the seat with the ‘snuggle safe’ engulfing his head from day one! He gets hot, then fidgety, which makes him even hotter and the screams just get louder. I hope that the seat is something he will grow to love … really I am. Who knew my child would hate his pram? And here I thought that kids loved to be pushed around in prams. Guess not. Maybe we should have bought a different one? Bigger? Softer?
Then the sling. Um, we had no luck there either. He is obviously the type of child who hates to be compacted in any way – no wonder he kicked the living daylights out of me for so many months! Perhaps the cooler climate in the UK would make the experience different.
In the end the kid always wins. Whatever makes him happy and whatever stops the screaming will do (especially in public). P.S. Cameron is only three months old!
Written in response to I Hate Prams
