Mummy and toddler Friday. The fifth day of the week. To me, that was the fifth day of endless whinging, tugging at my pyjama top with such force that my boob popped out, body-stiffening-head-thrown-back-tantrum-having and food throwing. I am of course talking about my toddler, who this week has been IMPOSSIBLE to please.

His objections have included, but are not limited to;

  • Reaching the third verse – or my third verse of, ‘If You’re Happy and You Know It’ (does anyone sing that song in the same order?!). Anyway, apparently touching your nose is NOT something you do if you’re happy and you know it. It’s something you do if you’re utterly grumpy and want to cry hysterically.
  • Throwing himself on the floor in Ernest Jones because I wouldn’t let him run out of the shop. For once I was thankful I wasn’t in there to pick myself a 2 carat diamond because I don’t imagine that selecting expensive finger-ware would have the same effect to the soundtrack of screaming.
  • Because when we went for a walk, he didn’t want to walk. I picked him up, he didn’t want to be carried. I put him down, he didn’t want to walk. I picked him up, and he didn’t want to be carried. So I put him in the car and he wasn’t all that happy about that either.

I’m all about picking your battles in parenting because I feel if I oppose everything that’s mildly irritating I’d never be able to follow through with everything and so how is he to know when no really means no? In other words, I want my child to take me seriously. Which evidently he doesn’t as when I tell him not to do something, even in my most stern tone (must work on that) he laughs in my face and goes right back to doing said thing anyway and the whole cycle is repeated. What does one do in that situation?!  Answers on a postcard.

I really am confused in this area. My pre-parent self – who I know think was a total kn*b – always wondered how people were so lacks in the discipline department that they ended up on Supernanny. Now I fear that it all started with their thirteen-month-old laughing at them when they were told not to climb on the fireplace. What actually do I do?!

Thankfully after a testing week where ‘FFS’ was said in my head, or under my breath (and I NEVER drop the F-bomb) countless times, he’s been a dream this weekend. His usual happy, funny self AND he seemed to understand that he’s not allowed to walk in the street without holding my hand. Definite progress.  And so hopefully last week was a phase? TELL ME IT WAS A PHASE?! I’m sure the experienced parents among you are also going to tell me that there will soon be a similar phase and so I don’t mind if you lie to me, or alternatively share a funny story? Lets make light of toddler-logic together.


My Petit Canard



Processed with VSCO with f2 presetI’ve always had an inkling that I might have a little monkey on my hands. I’m not sure if it’s his daddy’s mischievous nature or the cheeky little look in his eye but either way I’m noticing evidence of it more and more. Which brings be around the this post which I’m sure I’ll want to add to as the weeks, months and years pass; behaviours I want to laugh at but can’t because they’re naughty:

  1. Opening his mouth full of food, sticking out his tongue pasted in food and promptly spitting it out. Don’t you like it? Are you full?! DON’T PUT IT IN YOUR MOUTH THEN!
  2. Swinging on the baby gate complete with toothy grin. It’s funny & cute. And to be honest, sometimes I let him get on with it. Pick your battles.
  3. Spitting out water. Repeatedly. Annoying because it’s just another reason for an outfit change. Funny because…well why?! Why would spit water on yourself?!
  4. Opening and closing the drawers repeatedly. Getting annoyed because they won’t close because mummy’s trapped something in there so you can’t trap your fingers. Angrily grabbing said object and throwing it on the floor so the drawers will close.
  5. Chasing the dog around trying to poke her up the bum. I think what our feral pug is experiencing is karma for the last two years spent torturing us.
  6. Stiffening up rendering it highly difficult to get him in the car seat / high chair / pushchair. I’m told this is a very uncooperative phase and it would be very frustrating if his fits of giggles after he loses the battle of the seated position didn’t add the amusement factor.
  7. Pulling toys out of the box after I’ve put them back in the box at bedtime.

I may continue to add these as they occur. Everyday’s a school day in our house! Do you have any to add? I’m just dying to know what’s to come *sigh*


Adults looking a little more impressed than the babies.

Adults looking a little more impressed than the babies.

This morning I woke up feeling pretty darn perky. The sun was shining, I’d just had six glorious hours of uninterrupted slumber after a few tricky nights and I’d just had an email confirming my long overdue and quite sizable Topshop order had been dispatched.
Even finding we’d run out of milk, thus leaving me without my morning coffee fix couldn’t dampen my spirits.

Henry and I were heading to the Yorkshire Sculpture Park with my impossibly chic friend Hannah and her 13-month-old, my beautiful goddaughter. I was confident it was going to be a good day. I imagined a lovely walk in the sunshine with a side of coffee, a girly catch up and a little playtime on the grass for the babes to stretch their legs – because we all know it’s such a hard life being a baby.

What actually happened was a stark contrast to my idealistic vision. Unbeknown to us we’d parked in the ‘yellow car park’ so we had to navigate two pushchairs through several gates and sheep filled fields in order to get into the park. When we bought our pushchair we watched a lovely demonstration video about how the wheels were suited to all types of surface and would handle the even roughest of terrain with ease. Well let me tell you – that is a lie. Or it was not tested in the sheep fields on the outskirts of the Yorkshire Sculpture Park. Funny that.

Henry didn’t appreciate the bumpy ride and started to whinge. But it was ok, nothing a enthusiastic rendition of ‘Five Little Ducks’ couldn’t fix. We asked a refined looking man if he knew where the cafe was. He said it was behind… something – a word beginning with ‘a’ that I’ve never heard before.  We said thank you, smiled and nodded though still non the wiser and continued along. The refined looking man must have been referring to a tunnel because when we emerged out of it the cafe was in sight.

Lunch was lovely and chatter filled until a code brown situation brought it to an abrupt end.  The baby change was full so, sensing time was of the essence we found a quiet spot… but it was too late. Henry was covered in an explosion of poo; up his back, down his arms….obviously on the day I forgot to bring a spare outfit. He’s naked on the grass, trying to roll around, feet in the grass, hands in the poo, trying to put both his hands and his feet in his mouth… Any tips on how to keep an increasingly mobile baby still while having a nappy change are welcome. Feeling like a complete failure of a mother I put him back in the pushchair in his nappy and – trying to preserve his modesty – his jacket, and set back off walking. Clearly unimpressed he became increasingly upset, as I would be if I were to be paraded through a public park in my underwear. So back in the sheep fields we are, I’m covered in sweat and a little out of breath panting my way through ‘Five Little Ducks’ (which I’m not sure went swimming in the correct numerical order) trying not to look nervous walking past a herd of sheep, one of which has quite an aggressive ‘baa’ and is stamping its feet.

Not happy in there Hen?

Not happy in there Hen?

Eventually, after feeling pretty stressed we got back to the car. What I learned today is that rough terrain and babies make for a chaotic combo.

As a side note, how fabulous is Hannah’s outfit? If you’re ooking for outfit inspiration, beauty recommendations or just a great read, check out her blog, Cagney and Lace.



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A Mum Track Mind
Keep Calm and Carry On Linking Sunday

Yesterday I experienced baby’s first tantrum. At six months old. Forgive me if I’m wrong because I’m new to this parenting game, but is that not a little early?

We’re in the second week of weaning and he had just enjoyed some banana, later followed by the usual milk feed. Somehow this wasn’t satisfying enough and, a boy after my own heart, he was reaching for my avocado which I happily shared. Showing a similar interest in my strawberries, I gave him a little piece as I ate each one, which he wolfed down as if he’d been searching for strawberries all his life. I was actually feeling pretty proud, watching him munch away, flashing his cheeky little smile after every piece.

Then they were all gone, and that’s when it happened. Tears, arms flailing, legs kicking… I tried to reason with him that there were none left, he ate them all. But he didn’t understand, he’s six months old. Luckily it didn’t last long and he was back to his usual chipper self, but it gave me an insight into some of the challenges the next few years might hold.

Send help…or strawberries.


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