Make Believe

Acacia was tumbling and crawling and pulling herself up all over the lounge in the watchful care of her doting daddy so I snuck upstairs to wake Honour up from her lunchtime nap on my own.

She had already been awake for some time and was clearly extremely busy tending to a row of teddies and dolls that she'd lined up at the head of her cot.

"Waiting for doctor" she announced. "Waiting, waiting. Have wait for doctor."

(She's cottoned on to how the National Health Service works already).

She turned and tucked up her doll Cupcake under her cover.

With Acacia downstairs, I took advantage of some sweet one-on-one time with daughter numero uno. I hopped into the cot with her.

"Lie down, mummy, lie down."

I lay down next to Cupcake.

Honour tucked me in, being very careful to cover my bare toes.

"Baby is plorly (poorly)" she informed me of Cupcake's medical status. "Baby too hot. Baby born in ambulance. Too hot."

"Baby need cuddle. You give cuddle mummy."

I obliged, poor Cupcake was clearly in a bad way after her sudden birth in an ambulance...what with the being too hot and all.

Honour then took Cupcake back and cuddled her making clucking noises before announcing;

"Can't cuddle. Too heavy"

She turned to address the middle of her room. "Nurse, nurse! Baby ploorly, waiting for doctor." She held a one-sided conversation with the imaginary nurse for a few moments while I marvelled at the power of her make-believe.

She tucked Cupcake back under the covers next to me and planted a plethora of wet kisses directly on Cupcake's lips.

"Got nose-snot. Wipe Baby nose-sot. (nose-snot)"

She took her imaginary fissue (tissue) and blew Cupcake's nose for her while making fabulously realistic sound effects.

I started to giggle. She looked at me, giggling at the pretend nose-blowing, and widened her eyes.

She paused a heartbeat. A light went on: 'I'm making my mummy laugh.... I'm FUNNY!'

She giggled back. I giggled. She giggled some more.

There we sat, tucked up in her cot looking at each other nose to nose and giggling our heads off.

Now this is a side to motherhood that I could really get into. Beautifully removed from the practical sides of the job.

Imagination at the ready? Let's make-believe.

On awakening

Ug. Friday.

My eyeballs have been stolen in the night and replaced with marbles. Marbles made of lead. Leaden marbles attached to my brain through my eye sockets by weighty anchors.

Acacia is grumbling in her cot. But when she sees me enter the room she immediately launches herself into full-on charm offensive. So much so that I check to see if a unicorn, floating on a rainbow, covered in marshmallows is directly behind me. No, it is just me. She grins and coos. Despite eyeballs, can't help but grin and coo back. Dang, this kid is good.

Honour is awake too and whining in her cot. When she sees me enter the room she launches herself into a full-on performance. Acacia thinks this is even more delightful than the sight of my grumpy face first thing in the morning. She giggles.

Meanwhile my Friday-morning-brain tries to interpret performance. Honour is pretending to be a cat? Or a baby? Or an aubergine? Now she's hiding under her blanket and mewing. Just as my brain registers this..."Good morning sweetheart....are you a cat?". She leaps up and launches into 'Where's Acacia? Acacia crying? Acacia laughing? Where is wind? Wind hurts my ear. Got wind in my ear. Ow my tummy. NO! NO! Leave blanket! Going to nurswery? Not hungry. Read a book? Want blanket off. WANT BLANKET OFF. Where's Daddy? Gone to wuuuurk?"

Not sure I have enough neurons to keep up with this conversation. I'm still lagging behind in the part about the wind in her ear...but she's moved on to which top she wants to wear to nurswery. Bite lip to prevent self snapping at her to 'please put your knickers on now'.

From somewhere deep beneath the layers of grump, my better self reminds me SHE is being utterly delightful and I am a grumpy old croc that should crawl back into bed, pull the covers over my head and go back to sleep until I can be as pleasant in the mornings as my children.

That should be sometime around 2012.

Reported Peach

Here's a little peach of a reported speech between my mum and Honour:

Nanny Render: Honour, did you know that Acacia is nine months old already?

Honour: (indignantly) She not OLD, nanny. She a BABY.

Sidenote

(Is this wrong? Honour calls her Nanny Bender. Makes me laugh everytime.)

It's alright; the 9 month old is chewing on a knife while sticking her head in the oven

Fortunately it's a plastic knife and a toy oven, so my neglect of the second-born in order to blog is not quite as child-protection-services-inducing as it sounds.

Hello.

(She's now sucking a teapot lid)

This is my multi-tasking, one eye on the child at all times (back to sucking knife), two-childed self. How the heck have you been?

(Still the knife, now the pointy end)

At the risk of alienating anyone whose precious bundle of preciousness is not sleeping like a baby ridiculous expression... Acacia has decided to give up tormenting me and sleep at night. And we only had 8 months of pretty much no sleep to get through before this happened!

(Saucepan lid)

[Sidenote to anyone who cares what made the difference: a) no idea b) loads of solids c) a dummy and d) a shift in the alignment of the planets e) I stopped wearing as much green ]

(faceplanting in small purple cup)

Anyway, lest you get the impression that parenthood is anything less than a fairy walk of constant joy and thrills with pixies throwing chocolate dust over you all day long, while you kickback and laugh uproariously en famille every few minutes....Acacia is an absolute delight and the smiliest of smiling girls. No, really, she is.

Oh and now I'm getting some sleep a few of my braincells have started to fire up in a way that freshly enables me to remember, uh, words and stuff. So, thought I'd start up the old blog again.

I'm still loving the Facebook...but occasionally need to indulge myself in sentences longer than a status.

Bearing in mind the utter domesticity of my lifestyle I wouldn't get too excited about it. Unless you enjoy hearing about how many bodily fluids I clear up on a daily basis.

Thinking of reviving ye olde blogge

Just seeing if I can remember how this darntootin thing works...

Current Cravings

(I wish one of them was currants...so I could write 'Currant Cravings'....but sadly my cravings do not match my love for cheesy wordplay. Mmmm cheese that reminds me...)

Cottage Cheese.

Do you know what Cottage Cheese is, North American friends? Does this strange lumpy, half-solid, half liquid gross white stuff exist in North America? 

I know that most of the Europeans and NZers reading this (not that I wish to imply most Europeans read my blog, ha! Although, hmm, that would be rather cool. I'll work on that.)...are already retching just thinking about cottage cheese. If you need help achieving a full retch just read my previous post.....or read this totally GROSS new piece of information I discovered at the weekend:

DO NOT READ THIS NEXT BIT IF YOU ARE EASILY REVOLTED OR HAVE NO DESIRE TO HEAR ANOTHER STORY ABOUT BODILY FUNCTIONS:

Saturday morning discovery: A delicious Banana and Honey Milkshake made fresh from all natural ingredients and consumed on an empty stomach (must be empty) will taste EXACTLY the same going down and coming up...as long as it comes directly back up 30 seconds after going down and does not pass GO or collect $200. Interesting, non? Try it yourself kids...

OK, YOU CAN COME BACK IN THE ROOM NOW.

Yes, so back to the Cottage Cheese. Yum. I could eat potfuls for breakfast, lunch and dinner. It's also a handy snack. 

I must be on some kind of dairy kick as I am also gazing longingly at yogurt again. (Then eating it, gazing won't fill the tummy, kids!)

(I don't know why I am referring to you as 'kids' today. But it's rather fun so I might keep it up, unless you object. But if you don't object to reading about cottage cheese and puke...you probably don't have a hair-trigger objection reflex to being call 'kids' either. )

Yeah, um, well that's about it. Except for FEIJOAS.

(I should include a link...but I'm too lazy so just google them)

My friend Ella brought a sack of them from her farm the other day. Let the FEIJOA FIESTA begin. I ate about 40. No, really about 40 in 2 days. MMMmmmm FEIJOAS. They are a tropical (?) fruit with this really cute cross shaped heart of smooshy, perfumed yumminess. When smooshed into a drink they look gross (like a glass of snot). But taste divine.

Can you get them in England? Could someone check out the Exotic Fruit section for me? Thanks. My prediction is that they will be the 'next big thing' in desserts in the UK. Um, unless they are already (we haven't lived there for 7 years...the Queen could live in a hot air balloon for all I know). Cos what is up with all the 'fresh fig' desserts going down in Europa? 

I appeal to ALL MY EUROPEAN READERS (all 3 of you) what is up with the fresh figs?

Um, I think I need to go lie down now.

(Oh and sorry for the snot and puke references in this post. I shall try and do better next time.)

(How can I cram in a poop reference too?) 

 

Her bedside manner

14 weeks and counting. And I still lost my, uh, pre-breakfast breakfast first thing this morning. Sigh.

Still it was less complicated today because Honour was still safely in her cot.

Not so a few days ago. I had just scooped her out of her cot when...ug...ug...uh-oh...I have to get to my white, flushing friend pronto. 

So I carried her with me into the bathroom. Now you have to know the layout of our house...but basically she can't be left unattended downstairs because of the stone staircase without the proper banister which she will try to scale with surprising speed. (But quite possibly then decide to fall down and land on her head on the cold, stone tiles.)

So....I had to hold her hand. While with the other hand I held back my hair (dear reader, I hope you've already finished your cornflakes) and embraced the white flushing friends, down on my knees in the time-honoured tradition. (no pun intended)

Well Honour's bedside/toilet-side manner took some twists and turns during this process.

At first she thought mummy 'laughing' into the toilet was very amusing. So she stood there holding my hand, watching with interest and giggling away. 

Next she thought that mummy might need some hair patting...so she started to pat me on the head enthusiastically. Much as you would pat a dog. 

(Meanwhile I am still going about 'my business'.)

But the piece de resistance was when she decided that perhaps we should draw this incident to a close.

And she closed the toilet seat.

On my head.

Now THAT, my friends, that is the way to start your morning.

With thanks to Harley for the metaphor

Holy smokaroonies. Today was one of those days.

THOSE days. 

When I describe it, it will sound inconsequential. In the bigger scheme of things it IS highly and almost entirely inconsequential. 

Except that it goes to show that just when you think that your brain should turn into jelly and melt out of your ears....when  by all rights you should spontaneously combust with sheer blank-minded exhaustion...that bizarrely you don't. And you somehow, somehow keep on going.

The not particulary dramatic items contributing to my near spontaneous combustion were:

1) a bilious session hugging my big white flushing friend, shortly followed by:

2) an hour long. HOUR LONG. tantrum from my darling cutie pie of a daughter whom I love and cherish with the fire of a thousand tigers. (what? tigers are fiery...give me a break). 

Have you ever listened to crying/screaming from a wee child? Three minutes is enough to shatter most people's nerves. Ten minutes is an eternity. ONE HOUR and I felt like someone had wrung me out and hung me on a washing line by my eyelids. Except that sounds quite relaxing in comparison.

Now of course I am deeply empathetic for my daughter's frustration. Clearly I started the whole thing off by throwing the beach ball UP the stairs, when EVIDENTLY to all rational people the point was to throw it DOWN the stairs. A point that Honour made with instant (just add water) hysteria. 

But it just didn't stop. To the point where I thought maybe she had mysteriously injured herself while I wasn't looking. Except that I had been looking the entire time. (A child exploding with grievous emotional injury from a 'beachball incident' is quite transfixing I can assure you).

I gave cuddles. I clucked. I cooed. I left her alone. I read her a story. I offered tasty treats. Water. Witty comments. 

But no, all were spurned in favour of lying on the floor on her face and screaming.

In the end I bundled her in the car in the rain in a 'who-cares-about-the-rain- we-have-to-get-out-of-here-and-find-some-fresh-air-to-run-about-in, so-help-me-God-before-my-head-starts-rotating-on my-shoulders-and-I-start-screaming "Please-let-me-go-back-to-a-normal-job -with lower-stress-levels - like perhaps bomb disposal or negotiating with terrorists." 

And this was the point at which I discovered my raincoat in the garage.

3) with a pool of warm, yellow cat urine nestled amongst its raincoaty folds. 

Yes, it was WARM. I could tell this when I mopped it up. So Harley had just proffered his metaphor for my afternoon, just moments before.

Well said, Harley, well said.

Back in the saddle again

Well hello, fancy meeting you in a place like this. 

In the interests of parity I thought that I'd sneak back to the blog to record the progress of Baby Number 2. 

Sorry? Oh yes. I see - hence the shocked look on your face.

You didn't notice I was getting a little thick around the waistline?

Didn't observe the gagging or the snacking or the snoozing or the fact that you haven't seen me after 8.30pm in the evening for the past 3 months?

Mmm, mmm I see your point - it's a little hard to notice these details via the Internet.

Ok, well let me catch you up.

Honour - the human dynamo - is now 18 months old...and due to have a little brother or sister arrive in approximately 6 months time.

(6 months? 6 months is not long - breathes in and out of paper bag)

We had the 12 week scan on Thursday and saw the babe dancing about waving his jazz hands. Babe has a lovely nose, a pair of very cute feet and a pretty snazzy bladder. Oh and all the other bits as well. 

Twas very exciting that babe really, really exists. Despite the wee on the stick test (aka pregnancy test) and the symptoms (OH the symptoms)...it's just somehow so hard to believe there is really a teeny tiny human being growing inside you. Or maybe that's just one of my own peccadillos. 

Speaking of symptoms. I bring good news of great joy to all first time pregnant puke-a-thoners. Last time I was sick as the proverbial dog and the proverbial parrot. A sick dog married to a sick parrot; having sick dogots or parrogs. Groo. Could not eat. Sugar was gack, gack, gack - the taste of death. Pukathon was constant. 

This time, I have been able to eat. In fact I have to eat. Eat. Eat. Eat. So much eating. This baby must be running a marathon or growing wings or something cos it is burning about a gazillion calories a day. 

I drink fruit juice all day long. I eat ice cream (note: I don't like ice cream). I can eat winegums by the handful without feeling sick (which I can never do when not pregnant). Pasta, potates...mmm...potatoes...it's carb city Arizona over at our place. 

Sadly this only barely keeps the nausea at bag. Yeuch, nausea. Gagging, yeuch. Feeling like I am ingesting poison while digesting every meal. Not being able to sleep cos of the digesting poison...and then not being able to sleep cos the poison is ingested and I need to get up and eat something so I don't feel nauseous again. Most nights I've drunk about a litre of milk at 2am in the morning. Aaah it's like having a newborn already!

Anyway, despite this sob story. It's still WAY. WAY better than last time. And having reached the 12 week mark it's getting a bit better. 

The thing is that despite blathering on about me, me me; this time it's not all about me being pregnant anyway. (Though I am - keep up!). Last time I was so excited to.be.pregnant. But this time it's the baby. There's a baby. A baby that we are going to love as much as we love Honour.

A person with whom we are going to fall in love.

That's what's exciting.

So, hello gorgeous child. Can't wait to meet you.

Updating profile photo