Bye bye Mrs Mop, hi hi Mrs Slop...

Well first things first, baby number three arrived on Thursday 9th August 2012, bump turned pink when Beatrice Ann came into the world kicking and screaming.

So, almost twelve weeks in and my house has turned into what some might say is a health hazard. Gone are the days when all I had to worry about was tidying up a few toys...not only do I barely get the chance to pee i just don't seem to get a chance to (in no particular order) hoover, dust, sweep, mop, scrub, wipe....blah blah bloody blah. I have turned into Waynetta Slob minus the lying about bit. I don't understand why I can't find the time. I see other mums and not only is their house pretty much spotless they also wear make-up (wtf!?!), have painted nails and their hair does not look as though they have a scouring pad stuck to the back of their head...

Maternal instincts?

When I was growing up, I heard my mother and her friends talk about 'maternal instincts', I had no idea what they were and quite frankly I didn't want to know. I was far to busy dreaming of marrying Axl Rose and going off on tour (lucky for me I didn't, have you seen him recently...).

Fast forward a good few years and I absolutely know what they are.

When you have your first child, those first few days and weeks are never quite as you imagined, its a lot tougher, breastfeeding is not so easy, the tiredness is immense but the love you feel for your little baby is unbelievable. Somehow you get through, you learn when your baby needs more food, a nappy change, to be winded etc and you do learn to understand their different cries. This is, I believe, if you don't buy any of those so called 'baby training manuals'. You know the ones by Gina Ford and her cronies.

When I was pregnant with my second child I decided to purchase her Contented Little Baby book just to see what all the fuss was about. I was rather shocked at what I read. Strict routines of when to feed the baby (and when to feed yourself, I kid you not!), when to change their nappy (that would be when its dirty Gina), when they should sleep, when you should wake them (are you kidding, wake a sleeping baby, make the bloody most of it!). While I was reading it, I thought how it does not encourage the NATURAL maternal instinct and how, in fact, it can completely destroy it. I know of mothers who cannot function without GF telling them what to do, its like living in a communist regime. Kids need to be kids and funnily enough, they do find their own routine. Its ridiculous to think that all babies need to go to bed at the same time (do adults?). It makes me so angry that some people seem to try and take away the natural parenting instincts.

Its not just GF. I remember the first health visitor for my son giving us a leaflet on how to play with your child...

So throw out all those baby manuals (and those patronising health visitors) and do it your way, it is after all, the best way.

Tidy, tidy, tidy

As a mum I find myself constantly tidying toys up. My husbands philosophy is to not bother, but I just cannot leave them strewn everywhere for all eternity (his other philosophies include, putting dirty clothes next to the laundry basket, doing the washing-up so badly he isn't asked again, creating such gems as chicken nugget curry and tuna surprise - the surprise being he added green food colouring - so he is never asked to cook again and finally, putting up smoke alarms with sellotape and if that fails, blu-tack!).

I admit that I probably am a little obsessive about tidying up toys, I just like to have a clear path in which to walk and not break my neck by slipping on a racing car. I also find it strangely therapeutic, yes I think that my life has reached the point where I am getting pleasure from putting building blocks back in the toy basket.

But on a less neurotic note, I think its great for the children that their toys keep getting put back in place, just so they can keep emptying them again!

When the little things become the big things

Before babies came along, going to bed early with a cup of ovaltine and a good book wasn't really anything special (in fact I probably would have laughed at the suggestion). But now, well I look forward to Tuesdays - husband at band practise and I get to do the above.  Bliss.

Folds of time

I am a highly emotional person and this only got worse once I became a mummy. Just looking at my beautiful boys can reduce me to tears in a second. Last night I was reading my book and started crying at this beautifully written passage (reminiscing about her now 19 year old son):

" How thin and near-transparent the folds of time are. I could almost step through them into another dimension, where the child Jasper would put his hot, sticky small hand in mine, dragging me towards the swingboats, or to ride his favourite giraffe on the little roundabout..."

My boys are still at the hot, sticky hand stage and the thought that one day they won't reach out to put their little hand in mine burns right through my heart. Time really is so precious. I used to get sick of people telling me when my first son was born to make the most of every moment because it goes so quickly, but my god, how right they all were.

Pushchairs, Push off!

I never thought that trying to find the "perfect" double pushchair would be like trying to find the holy grail. I just thought buy one and there you go. Oh no, I have now been through 4 different ones in less than a year and have now decided to go for the one I originally had that I sold after a couple of uses for a £100 loss. Yes, not the brightest spark I hear you cry, and my husband will probably be crying later when I tell him...

Vegetables and vomit

Well it's Friday night and I was welcomed kicking and screaming into the weekend not by a glass of bubbly or being whisked off to dinner but by my youngest covering me from head to toe in vomit.

Oh my goodness, I didn't think he ate that much! I have just spent the best part of an hour picking up pieces of carrot from underneath the sofa cushions and the smell of vegetable chilli and neonate is stuck up my nostrils. Plus its so cold that the heating is on and it just makes the smell a whole lot worse...

I have no idea why he vomited because he seems perfectly happy and doesn't have a temperature. I hope to heck that its not a bug, I could not cope with the toddler going down as well and I already have all day morning sickness.

On to some good news. It seems that R the toddler has finally overcome his fussy eating habits. I don't really know how it happened it just did, thank god, I had visions of him turning into a piece of bread or pasta but luckily he is now wolfing down his veg and everything that is healthy and delicious, long may it continue!

I hope you have a good weekend and that it got off to a better start that mine...cheers!

Snip, snip, snip

If you are anything like me you will remember the first haircut you were given, you may even have had the same cut. Yes, the very fetching pudding bowl, gosh those were such stylish days weren't they...

I remember it so very clearly, being led into the kitchen where the chair awaited me. That was all fine, what scared me though was what else also awaited me, my father with a bowl in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other. I gulped and begged for my sister to go first, which she gladly did, a proper little daddy's girl. She hopped happily into the chair, my father placed the bowl over her head and began snipping. Ooh I thought this is quite fun, nothing to it. So as I sat there swinging my legs in anticipation a god awful scream was let loose in the kitchen. My dad had cut my sisters ear, there was blood, but luckily it wasn't too bad, easy for me to say.

After she was all cleaned up and better my dad moved towards me with a grin. No I thought, he can't be serious, after he's just cut my sisters ear, are you insane! Well he managed to cut some of my hair but I struggled too much and ended up with a lopsided pudding bowl cut, but I was thankful that my ears were left intact.

So fast forward 30 years or so and it was the turn of my eldest son to have his first haircut. He has beautiful curly hair and it was getting so long that it was getting in his eyes, so I decided I would attempt to cut it. I think my son may actually have preferred a pudding bowl because what he is left with makes him resemble a dog with mange. Still, I comfort myself with the fact that it will grow back, mine did.