Mini-hd is now 33 weeks old. Thats over half a year and she's taken over already.
The living room is a carnage of toys, cushions and foam play mats as she's now rolling and moving backwards in a moonwalk shuffle. And it's taking all my time to chase her and keep her safe, wreastly with stair gates, fireguards and taking the scratches when she pulls clumps of hair out of the cats. Housework? Forget it! I just manage to stay above the washing loads and cooking as she only sleeps for 30 minutes twice in the day, so the rest of the house has gone to pot.
Preening time is something of the past - my eyebrows look like that they've been backcombed, my hair hasn't been cut in 10 months, and forget about moisturising. I'm lucky to be able to slap on some Oil of Olay in the morning. Think Yeti with a tan. I used to feel awful at the Yummy Mummies with their perfect hair, nails and clothes chatting about how their babies all sleep through the night, never cry and are as god as gold fitting into their lifestyles and routines, and whereas this first got me down, I now know that they are, quite frankly lying.
What on earth did I do with my time before? Breakfast in bed is something of the past, and I have no idea how I managed to get out of the house and ready for work by 8:30 each morning. I also have no idea why I almost killed myself working all the hours for a job which effectively ended when I started maternity as effectively, it's not that job I'll be reminising about at the end of my life. Why on earth did I not relish the time I had to myself as now, the 2 occassions I've gone out to the pub, I've felt as guilty as hell. I sense the need to look as mini-hd's schedule and my own and try and make some logical sense out of it with time for me. It needs to be done before I lose my sense of self in a mountain of wipes, cotton wool and dribble. I'm loving the suggested champagne Thursday although I get the feeling that once a week may be deemed to much at the moment - well, until term is over. But then despite my whinging I'd rather have a happy monkey who interacts at groups and plays than still having the same old routine and making her fit.
But the gin tasted good and it felt ike I was a teen sneaking out for the night.
I've just spent the last 30 minutes writing a long blog explaing absence and parenthood whilst reflecting on my own childhood. And the blog broke.
Must be because I forgot to use it regularly...
For some reason, I thought it a wonderful idea to give up something glorious for lent. Not that I had to, but because I thought it would do my character some good. My beloved gin. that's right - I've extended my tipple ban to the end of lent on my favourite drink. This does not however exclude wine, vodka or cocktails unless they are gin based, however we're not long into 40 odd days and I'm already pining.
This is somewhat remarkable as I've not had a gin since last January 2008. You would have thought that I would have gotten over it all by now however the fact that I am now allowed alcohol kinda rubs the salt in the proverbial wound as well as the shallow papercut.
When I was younger, I wouldn't necessarily binge drink but I would indulge inthe 3 units a night which the Government is currently running a vigorius campaign to dissuade women from a large glass of wine a night. And once a month or so, I would have what I would call ribenia week, where no alcohol would pass my lips. Maybe now in my more mature outlook on life, this is now what I'm partaking in. But only with gin. A decision I now regret but will stick to. Promise. I will really try. Right after some Langage Farm pseudo G&T ice-cream.
Give a girl a break - I've already had a year off...
Mini-hd is now 24 weeks old and is currently being weaned in her bumbo. By feeding herself.
Thats right - baby led weaning where you cook finger food until it's soft enough and then let baby loose. Which means for the first time in months, Girlpants and I can have a meal at the same time at the same hot temperature. Fabbo!
Unfortunately due to mini-hd's mamma being another year older (I cut my leg off and counted the rings to check), this also mean that mini-hd was introduced to chocolate cake. But only a smidgen. And under parental supervision that she only had a sniff, as the last thing I need is for her to go off her broccholi at this stage. She's already gagging at cabbage. Like father, like daughter...
On another note, I now unfortunately know all the songs to the characters from In The Night Garden. However, to counteract this, I did manange to find Trumpton, Camberwick Green, Danger Mouse and Mr Benn on dvd. She may be young, but she's young enough to be brainwashed. She will convert...
I was going to blog about a wonderful day out at the aquarium with mini-hd, Girlpants, Prof Dr HOS and mini-Prof Dr HOS, looking at big bad sharks, starfish and Snorkle, followed by some playtime with mini-hd's Godmummy. But then I thought I could start a serious debate about the wildcat strikes that are breaking out in the north of England. But then Girlpants sent me this:
Which leads to another question. Why does Girlpants want to know where he can find a leotard like that?
I ask you?
In an attempt to getting mini-hd into good telly (aka the electronic babysitter), I've been trying to find something fab from my youth such as
   
as opposed to Tellytubbies and Spacepirates as they seem to scare her. So I was amazed when she seemed to enjoy Countdown this afternoon. But not just any Countdown - the new format.
Carol Vorderman has gone and in her place is a v nervous blonde graduate from Oxford who is trying hard to fill some very big shoes. And it's clear that she realises this as she tried to crack jokes whilst presenting. She'll get there however she'll be fighting nostalgia all the way. Still - mini-hd liked the music itself. I even think she prefers it to Take That.
She'll learn...
It seems when I was young, the television for chidlren was so much better. Cartoons were fab and every weekend, the entire family sat down to watch the Muppet Show. Yet we don't seem to have that now. I cringe as I say this, but those were the days! When cartoons had continous storylines, books came alive and roleplaying through outfits fuelled young imaginations.
Damn that grey hair. I'm getting old already...
As I slowly struggle to get mini-hd in more of a routine so I can tweak her day to suit mine, I'm left wondering what on earth I did with my time before she came along.
To help my snoring wonder go to sleep, I've taken to reading a page from my current read outloud to her each evening. And whilst many may think that she doesn't look like me, she certainly has my sense of humour and outlook on life, as I had to wrestle my MBIAT book back tonight.
Plus if I read to her in a singsong voice, it helps the little cherub on her way to slumberland, as so, all the while instructing my eikle one, as I like to think of it as starting her education early. After all, it is a guide... .
Currently at page 110, she has taken to chewing pages which she finds especially funny, her favourite currently being pg47. Not something I was especially please to find out as I may have to buy another copy. In fact, I may even have to raid the kitty to pay for it.
After all, whats mine is mine...
I would like to beg that I would have blogged before now, however mini-hd has gone through what one can only class as a growth spurt. From a tiny curled up thing, she now looks like a 4 month old. Going from this:
to this:
Which is apt as she'll be 16 weeks from 0330 tomorrow morning. He's the only man I know that can get a 12 o'clock shadow 45 minutes after he has shaved.
And yes - Girlpants had already shaved that morning.
Christmas was large but fun - 11 people in total at ours with Girlpants and myself cooking from scratch whilst trying to entertain the smallest member of the clan. Although I didn't manage to get the present I wanted for Gilrpnats - a shotgun license as apparently being a new dad isn't a good enough reason for Devon & Cornwall Constabulary and have a word with yourself missy, so a bumper pack of Futurama had to suffice. Mini-hd got a stocking stuffed with rubber ducks and Larry the Lion in it, whilst family were on strict instructions for no big presents. So when Uncle Toerag (Girlpants brother) turned up with a hughmongous dead muppet, it didn't go down especially well to the point where Girlants and I are considering sending him a squirrel army in the post for his next annual celebration of birth.
New Years was the tradiationally watching of Hootananny on the BEEB, whilst mini-hd snored so that the moses basket rippled with the soundwaves and Girlpants tried to catch up on work, whilst youngsters on the street outside let off fireworks.
So happy new 2009 everyone! it's somewhat belated for festive wishes but I do hope that you all are rested, with I hope that you all have a wonderful new year filled with mucho joy, happiness and high spirits. Mines a gin!
The cold has seeped back into the west country and with it, the coughs and sniffles (which means ladies and gents, that once more Girlpants has got man flu and he and mini-hd have been playing ping pong giving it to each other) so it is a time to wrap up warm.
I know - a ridiculous outfit but I couldn't resist!
With the cold snap has come the realisation that there is just over a month to Christmas. And I am not prepared. My cards are not done, not presents have been bought however the goose is in the freezer. If I get a moment to use my laptop, then my first thought is to blog and the next is to maybe peruse Amazon in the vain hope that they haven't sold out of the pressies that I need to buy. I had hoped to write this entry at 4am this morning after getting mini-hd winded and waiting for her to settle, but that never happened. Her settling that is. Poor little mite finds it hard to breathe though her snotty nose which also affects feeding. And meanwhile, Girlpants has been languishing upstairs in bed, hoping for some of the meagre sympathy that I used to bestow on him. Which I did as I held his nose whilst pouring a lemsip down his throat.
Well - it works with giving medicine to the cats.
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