A Series of Unexpected Events

Really, this post isn't going to be as exciting as it sounds.  We haven't been on any unexpected adventures today - the furthest I went was to school to pick J up and back.  Even then, I didn't get out the car; instead I stayed in the warm with girlface while Jamie went to pick up boyface.

It just occurred to me that with her ladyship turning 7 weeks old tomorrow, a lot of things haven't exactly gone as planned, but they've ended up pretty awesome, regardless.

1. I didn't expect to go overdue.  Let alone 12 days overdue.  That was fun.
2. I didn't expect to have another long birth.  Let alone a 40-hour one.  Everyone says second labours are faster, so I thought this one would fly by.  My midwife said I'm just designed to have breech babies and long labours.  She also said I had my boy and my girl now, and that was enough for anyone.  What does she know eh*?
3. I didn't expect J to be a pro at breastfeeding.  I count every day as a massive achievement - even though it's really been pretty struggle free.  In fact, I can recall two incidences where I thought to myself: "Blimey, I wish we had some formula".  Even then, I don't think I would have used it, had it been there.
4. I didn't expect to not use a sling until she was 9 days old - I went a bit mad on preparing my new-baby stash but haven't used it half as much as I'd anticipated.  She likes sleeping in her basket, or in her bouncy chair.  Or on her Daddy.  I go for the easiest option, and if I don't have to walk around the house sweating (post-partum hot flushes, lovely), then I'm not going to.
5. I didn't expect to get to nearly 7 weeks and still be in disposable nappies.  But people keep giving us free ones and it's just so much easier.  We did have a nappy emergency today, and even then I didn't find myself reaching for a reusable (although I did try her in one afterwards), but instead I whipped a muslin up into a makeshift nappy and secured it with a freezer-bag clip.  Ever resourceful, me.
6. I didn't expect her to be such a Daddy's girl.  She follows his voice around, and would rather cuddle and smile at him than anyone else.
7. I didn't expect to look at her and melt, each and every time.  She's incredible.

Check out the adoring gaze and the makeshift nappy.

*Really though, we're done**.

**But you can never expect the unexpected.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

In gentle exercise news, I decluttered the lounge and put away the new Christmas toys/crap.  It was quite labour intensive, so that'll do me.

My heart

Apparently, I'm going to have a baby next week.  That's when my due date is, anyway.  One of my biggest anxieties, is losing my relationship with Jacob.  It's been tested to its very limits in the last few months, as he's fought against the changes going on with me: my lack of energy and desire (and ability) to play with him, not being able to bounce on me, my pain levels and simply not being able to sit on my lap; and the changes in his life: finishing day nursery, starting school, changes in the house to accommodate a baby.

He's had tantrums of the most epic size, complete with screaming, hitting, kicking, stamping, and shouting, the likes of which we never imagined he could produce.  We're still working our way through these, trying to figure out what to do to help him with his feelings, and how to get him to understand that he cannot attack people when something isn't going his way.

All of that aside, he is so excited about his baby coming along, he is so filled with love for us, and wants cuddles, hugs, kisses and to touch our skin all the time.  He often asks me to 'get the baby out' - which means to pull up my top so he can talk to the baby and kiss my bump.

I love him so much, and I'm so scared that the baby is going to come between us.  Everyone says that doesn't happen though, that your love doubles, rather than having to split it between two.  But just in case, I'm trying hard to appreciate every second of these last two weeks, to spend time cuddling and reading stories and just being the two of us.

My cheeky monkey, my boyface, my heart.

Wordless Wednesday

What warms your soul?

I guess that technically I'm stealing a post here, but I'm all full of the warm fuzzies after watching a video on Georgia from Gregarious Peach's mum Toni Powell's blog. Go and watch the video - it's gorgeous.

In no particular order, the things currently warming my soul are:

Hearing J-cub wake in the morning. He seems to go from fast asleep to wide awake in seconds - one minute there's silence, and the next he's counting (something) or just gabbling away to himself. When I go to him, he's turned his light on, and excitedly points out his light, his lightswitch, his big boy bed, and the polka dots on his pillow. Then asks for cuddles.

Those mornings when he doesn't wake, and I need to wake him to leave the house. I go in and gently tell him its time to wake up. Without opening his eyes, he shakes his head. I tell him again he needs to wake up, and he starts his slow, luxurious stretches, still without opening his eyes. I giggle, and his mouth starts to try not to smile. He puts his bunny over his eyes and whispers "No Mummy, Jacob sleep". I laugh and pretend to leave. He suddenly sits bolt upright and shouts "Peepo Mummy!" and our day is begun.

Cuddles. I'm a super-needy person, and can't imagine life without a hundred cuddles a day. J-cub is going through a big old cuddly phase, and every few minutes he shouts "Mummy! Tuddle tiss!" and flings himself onto me, wrapping his arms tight around my neck for a few precious seconds, before pulling back and planting a great big smacker on my lips.

Love. Along with "Sorry", J-cub has recently learnt to say "Thank you" and "Love you". They sound exactly the same - something like "Buppoo". I hand him something, he says "Buppoo Mummy!". I say "I love you Jacob", he says "Buppoo Mummy".

Being reunited. As I drive towards nursery to pick J-cub up after work, my heart fills with excitement at seeing him again. When I walk through the gate, I peep through the trellis into the garden to see if he's playing outside. For a few special moments, I can see him playing in an environment totally alien to me - I never see him being strong and independent and holding his own with other (bigger) children. Then he sees me, his face lights up, he shouts "Mmmmmummy!" with so much delight in his voice, and runs as fast as he can into the building so he can be at the door when I come in. I go in, and he comes at me with his arms held up, shouting my name over and over. I swoop him up for cuddles and he holds me so tight. I ask him if he's had a nice day, he gives an enthusiastic "Yes!" and goes off into a stream of Jacob-talk about what he's done.

That all seems a little baby-centric. But really, whilst I still take great pleasure from other things in life, it's all nothing compared to being a parent. Nothing warms my soul like thinking about him, or being with him. He drives me up the wall a lot of the time, but life just wouldn't be the same without him. Jamie and I turn to each other several times a day, and say, with as much incredulity each and every time ... "We have a son".

What warms your soul?

The saga of moving from a cot to a bed

It's high-time that I updated with our experience of moving J-cub from his cot into his new bedroom, and into a bed. As I've mentioned, he has been sleeping so much better recently, that we were starting to seriously doubt whether or not this was a good idea, before he'd even set foot in his new room.

The background: J-cub is a week shy of 26 months. He's a big boy, and when he stands up in his cot (it's a cot, not a cot bed), the rail is below the level of his nipples. He's been able to get his foot onto the rail for months, and I think it's only luck that he hasn't got out. Also, he rolls around a lot at night and wakes himself up smashing into the bars. Soooo, we decided that we should make the move to a bed, less far to fall than if he got over the cot side. As he's in the box room, and overflowing it, we thought we'd switch his bedroom for our second bedroom/spare room/study. We've spent the Easter holidays doing just that - making it all lovely and pretty and nice, taking him to Ikea to choose a bed, and hanging out with friends whose little ones are in beds, so that he could see them in action as it were. (Incidentally, while we were in Ikea I put him in one of the cots and he climbed straight out, which added fuel to my argument that it is Time).

He's been so so excited about his 'big boy bed'. I got the room finished while he napped last Monday, and when he woke up we went in to have a look at it. He totally loved it, he was so excited, he played in there for a good couple of hours, including lots of pretending to go to sleep in the bed.

Cut to bedtime - he was very keen to go to bed (asking to go to bed instead of having a bath etc), and when we got up there he was happily tucked into bed, and had a story. He then asked me to go downstairs (which is our usual routine), I kissed him and left. I came and sat quietly downstairs, then as I could hear him chattering excitedly to himself, I went up to settle him again. In retrospect ... big mistake. HUGE.

He wanted to get up and play, I kept trying to settle him. He got more and more upset. Lots of tears, and tantrums, and he got out of the bed and then refused to go back in. He was happy enough playing, but very, very tired, and very fearful when I mentioned the bed/sleep. I eventually got him settled down again, and I left. There was silence for 10 minutes, and I think he dropped off, then he started screaming again.

This went on for FOUR HOURS. I tried lying with him ("No Mummy No!"), stories, nightlight on and off, quiet, singing, our usual tape of lullabies - changed nappy ... everything I could think of. Thankfully Jamie was home and we could take it in turns.

I offered to bring the cot into his new room, he didn't want it. At 11pm we felt like we had to give up, popped him back in the cot in his old room, and he was asleep in seconds.

I was left feeling awful, all conflicted about what I should have/shouldn't have done, and how to move forwards from there. I thought he was ready, and I didn't think it was safe for him to stay in the cot. We couldn't take the side off the cot now because all the study furniture (computers, lots of guitars and junk) are in his old room with just his cot in the corner, so it wasn't safe. I could have taken the cot into the new room, with the side on or off. Or packed the cot away so it wasn't an option.

It was one of the hardest 4 hours of my parenting life.

And on Tuesday he went to nursery, so we didn't have any time during the day to spend time up there acclimatising. At bedtime on Tuesday, we went through exactly the same situation again. Completely exhausted from the night before, we gave up after just an hour, and put him back in the cot.

Jamie was home with him on Wednesday, and went through the same at naptime, and he slept in the cot. During all of this, J-cub was positive when we mentioned his new room, always answered "Big boy bed!" when we asked him if he wanted to sleep in the bed or the cot, and shook his head when we asked him if he wanted the cot.

We had just about decided that we would take the bed out of his new room, and replace it with the cot, when Wednesday bedtime came around. In a flash of inspiration, I had removed the duvet and spare pillows, leaving just a familiar blanket wrapped around the mattress as a sheet, a very thin cot pillow, and a Grobag.

J-cub has slept in Grobags since he was born, and we were of two minds as to whether we should change to a duvet or not. He really likes duvets, so we thought we'd give it a go. But I think they were just too hot, and he couldn't get comfy under one. He had been very resistant to having a Grobag, once he'd seen the duvet, but when I removed the duvet he seemed to forget all about it, and went into the Grobag without a fuss.

I had sent Jamie downstairs, and having got J-cub onto the bed, and into the Grobag without a fuss, I sat down and started reading. I read, and read, and read. J-cub alternated between cwtching up against me, switching the light on-and-off, and lying down. He didn't once try and get out of bed, and he didn't start shouting "No". And slowly, slowly, he drifted off to sleep.

We didn't hear a single peep out of him until 6.50am the following morning, when he called for us rather than getting out of bed and going for a wander.

And the following day he napped in his bed, after just 25 minutes of reading, and the time has got shorter and shorter ever since :D. He hasn't again asked for the cot, he's told everyone about his big boy bed, and everyone is happy. Ecstatic.

I really, really thought we'd done the wrong thing. I was of half a mind to move everything back into his old room, despite the two solid weeks of work we'd put in to swapping everything around. But it all came up rosy in the end, and J-cub loves his new room with a passion.

Life with a toddler

We drove for about a million miles this weekend, to attend the wedding of Jamie's best friend in London (Jamie, being a Londoner, tells me it's not London, it's Kent/Surrey. Me, having grown up in a village with approximately 300 residents, says it's London.). Having set off in ample time on Friday morning, we arrived about a week later, after having spent several days and nights stuck at one set of traffic lights in Streatham (I counted, they changed every 15 seconds. I kid you not). I'm never driving through London again. I cried.

We attended two weddings last year, when J-cub was barely walking, definitely not talking, and although was fairly adept at tantrumming, he did not have a mind of his own or the means to make it known. This weekend was therefore a crash-course in entertaining a fractious toddler away from home, according to other people's timetables, and with our only escape being to a tiny bedroom, where the windows didn't open more than an inch, and the temperature was steadily maintained at 25 degrees.

The hotel though, whilst being skimpy on room-size and heavy on insulation, was utterly beautiful. We spent lots of time letting off steam in the grounds, running up and down the lawns, climbing the steps and chasing the wild parakeets.

Having slept/dozed in the car for so long, there was lots of energy to get rid of, and we even had a late-night dip in the swimming pool for added sleep-inducing mojo. It worked, and he drifted off just before 10pm. Then, to our utter joy, we discovered that the baby monitor kept its link throughout the hotel, so we could go and sit in the bar, or wander in the gardens, or... well that was really all the options available to us, but it was so freeing. I did feel a bit neglectful, worrying about the amount of time it would take me to negotiate the staircases and twisty passages to get back to our room if he started crying, but he didn't, and we never get to go out, so it was justified, just this once.

Despite the late bedtime, the heat or the unfamiliar surroundings woke him just before 6am, and as the cot was right next to our bed he immediately wanted to get out and sit with us. He was very clingy - I wasn't allowed to lie back down, or get up, or do much of anything, for the hour it took him to properly wake up. When we tried to get dressed, we ended up tripping over each other and our bags and the bed and the cot and we were drenched in sweat - none of which was helped by J-cub really only being happy when he had his arms tightly wound round my neck. We'd snuck the laptop and Finding Nemo into the car, so in desperation I plonked him on the bed in front of it so I could dry and straighten my hair, and when I turned round he was out for the count.

We managed to get all dressed and ready while he slept, and he woke up just in time to be bundled into his suit and out into the car. The church was in Beckenham, where Jamie grew up, and we had a nice trip down memory lane driving around looking for it, then looking for somewhere to park, then walking from the carpark back to the church.

We sorted the snuggly-clingy problem by slinging J-cub up in my new shorty wrap, which was very comfy and beautifully matched my dress - he looked very dapper in his suit (the same one he wore for last year's two weddings, sized 9-12 months and apparently growing with him...) and his trilby which he grabbed in Peacocks with a scream of 'mine!' and wouldn't let go of chose himself. The dummy rather ruined the look, but I wasn't chancing trying to take that off him.

He was lovely in the church, we sat near the back in case I needed to take him out but with 27 other children there, he was one of the quieter ones and I managed to keep his mouth full of Welsh cakes or (and sometimes and) dummy so that his shouts of "Mummy! My Mummy!" weren't too distracting. We went for a wander during the sermon, and chatted slings with the sister-of-the-groom (who uses wraps too) in the foyer bit.

J-cub's hatred of singing was mostly kept under wraps due to the sheer number of people singing - he quickly worked out that he couldn't shout "No!" at all of them, so decided to spend the time pulling on my earrings instead. After quickly removing them, I spent the rest of the songs singing "Dory, Nemo Nemo, Dory" into his ear, which lulled him into a bit of a trance. We decided to get out while the going was good, and left while the signing of the register bit was going on, so that we'd have time to get back to the hotel in time for the wedding breakfast at 2pm.

Our food was served at nearly 4pm. We only had half-a-dozen or so tantrums during that time, mostly due to annoyance that we wouldn't let him roam unsupervised down the (many flights of) stone steps, or down the (very steep and slippery) grassy banks, or round the golf course. He'd filled up on Welsh cakes during the ceremony so he wasn't hungry, but we hadn't anticipated having to entertain him for all that time and we were both totally shattered (and consumed by envy of the friends who were able to stand on the terrace sipping drinks, cradling a happily cooing baby on one hip or watching an older child happily racing around with friends) by the time we were called to sit down. J-cub's place at the table was set with a present of a little racing car and a pterodactyl ("Dinosaur! Bird! Raaaawr! Tweet tweet!").

Disclaimer: I started writing this post 12 days ago. It was getting very long so I stopped at this point. Now I don't really know what I was going to say. Sorry. I'll try my best to remember and finish this in an expedited fashion.

So yes, we ate, and it was delicious. When the speeches were about to start, I took JC upstairs for a nap. One of us fell asleep, and it wasn't him. I woke up when he poked me and said "Mummy?" and I discovered he had a rather disgusting nappy for me to deal with. We went back downstairs to find the speeches still going on, and I didn't want to disturb them, so I snaffled a cocktail and followed him round the garden until Jamie joined me. It was very chilly, fast approaching 7pm, and JC was tired. He developed a bit of separation anxiety from me, whereby he screamed every time Jamie tried to hold him, and screamed every time I tried to put him down, and point blank refused to go in the sling. We had lots of tantrums, lots of aching backs, and lots of muttered "Shall we put him to bed?"/"But he'll miss out on the disco..."/"And there's supposed to be a whole play area for the little ones..."/"But he's so damn tired"/"And we haven't been in any photos yet..."/"I honestly don't think he's going to last any longer..." while he sat on my hip with his hat over his eyes and his bunny cuddled tight.

In the end, we put him to bed. He fell straight asleep, we straightened ourselves out, and crept out with the baby monitor glued to my hand with the volume set to its loudest level.

And we got our party on. We had a limited number of drinks, but made the most of them, danced to the wicked cool Britpop disco put together by the groom (taking his inspiration from our wedding, where we made 5 hours worth of Minidiscs rather than hiring a DJ. That shows how old we are. Minidiscs.), and were generally wild and unparental. It was awesome. There were lots of horrendous shots of me dancing with the baby monitor...(which I can't get to upload so have a nice one of me and my beloved instead):

And we stayed up til past midnight. Jacob had a little cry twice, but I nipped upstairs in less time than it took for him to get into full-cry-mode, settled him down and was back downstairs before anyone missed me. It was ideal, knowing he was there just above our heads, but completely soundproofed and safe and happy. Yes, he missed out on the flashing lights which he would have loved, and the toy corner which he would have fought tooth and nail with the other toddlers for, and the evening buffet (but he'd had his lunch at 4, so it wasn't really the end of the world), but he gained a good night's sleep, and awoke refreshed and happy 13 hours later.

After a second go at the awesome breakfast buffet (the first having been the previous day, we're not *that* greedy), we packed up and set off home.

Our drive back was so much better, with 10 miles from the hotel to the M25, a quick skip around that to the M4, then a straight run all the way back. As we were making such good progress, we stopped for a play and a picnic at Tredegar House near Newport, which was glorious.

45 minutes from there and we were back home. I don't think I've ever been more exhausted after a weekend away, and I have a total newfound respect for anyone that has more than one child. Seriously, I don't know how you do it. It was lovely though (in the bits where he was running around happily or Jamie had him or he was asleep - am I allowed to say that?), and the weather being perfect was just the icing on the cake. Don't get me wrong, I obviously love spending time with him, and going to weddings is lovely, and I'm so glad we went and I made some lovely new friends and remembered why all of Jamie's friends are awesome and the bride was beautiful and I'm so glad we went ... but I am totally glad about work/time commitments preventing us from attending another later in the year.

Next year, maybe, when reasoning works with him, and he's not quite so gung ho about running down flights of stone steps or losing himself in crowds.

Mother's Day

Mother's Day took us (and my Mum and Dad) to Bristol Zoo, where they were kindly offering free entry for Mums (and free cupcakes, when you managed to fight your way through the crowds and into the cafe-thingy). J-cub wittered on about bippos (hippos, to the non-fluent J-cub speakers amongst you) all the way there, refusing to fall asleep, so that the rest of the day was spent on a knife-edge of toddler worn-outness. He did manage to keep going somehow, and rather delightfully talked in his sleep all the way home, and has just gone to bed now. With some serious prompting, he went to bed with calls of "Happy Mummy! Luff you, Mummy!" as he walked upstairs. Prompted or not, it totally made my day.

The Zoo itself was awesome, loads to do and very J-cub friendly (although he would have liked some giraffes, and he would have liked to have seen more than just the bippos ears poking out of the water. He was still ridiculously excited to see them, though). The penguins and seals were amazing, with a whole walk-under-water thing going on, I could have stayed down there for hours.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Mother's Day also brought about a fun secret-swap amongst my fellow BLW forumites. Those of us who were feeling crafty submitted our names and were randomly allocated another Mama to make something for. I worked my fingers to the bone crocheting this lovely hat, which I found quite difficult to part with in the end (it is human-sized, that's a particularly large stuffed rabbit)...

...but was totally over the moon when I received back a beautiful, lined bag (also crocheted, also with a flower decoration!) in the most beautiful yarn. It made me all warm and fuzzy to be part of such a lovely, supportive community.

Happy Mother's Day to all the wonderful Mothers out there, and most of all to my lovely Mum and my lovely Mum-in-law. Mwah xxxx

My Name Is Beth, and I'm a thumbsucker

Yep, at 31 years old I'm not too proud to admit that I still suck my thumb. Admittedly, it's not very often now, and I can't actually go to sleep sucking my thumb any more, as I've trained myself out of it. But all through my childhood, teens and early-twenties it was very necessary, and very hard not to do it when society dictated it to be inappropriate.

I remember sitting on the sofa after school watching television and sucking my thumb, and quickly whipping it out when the local paper was delivered by one of my classmates, who would walk past the front window and nearly always catch me in the act. Going to sleepovers was horrible, because I couldn't get to sleep without it, but didn't want my friends to see. And as for when I grew up a bit and started having sleepovers of an entirely different nature....... well I suppose that's when I really started trying to kick the habit.

As a result, I was adamant in my pre-baby days that I would not let any child of mine suck their thumb or fingers; that it would be far easier to get rid of a dummy than it would be to stop them sucking an always-available thumb. When I became pregnant, I reluctantly bought some dummies, which seemed very alien to me. I was already leaning towards the natural-parenting school of thought, which is most definitely dummy-free, and as neither myself nor my sister had had a dummy I couldn't quite get my head around the thought of using a piece of silicone to pacify my baby. I'd also read about nipple confusion, and knew I should wait 4-6 weeks, until breastfeeding was established, before introducing a dummy.

Then motherhood hit, and I had this hungry little baby, who couldn't or wouldn't latch on to feed, and who had to be fed with syringe or cup for the first 6 days of his life, before a kind community midwife saved my sanity by suggesting nipple shields, which worked like a charm and he started feeding straight away. The times when he wasn't feeding, he was grizzly, and grumpy, and moaned and groaned in his sleep and kept us awake at those times when we needed to try and catch up on our sleep. We told the midwife, who asked if we'd considered a dummy. I mentioned about the nipple confusion but she said that as we were using nipple shields anyway it wouldn't make much difference.

I think I sterilised the dummies ready straight away, but it was about another week before I could bring myself to give him one. I'd also read research from the Foundation for the Study of Infant Deaths (FSID) that dummies reduce the risk of cot death, but also once you've introduced one, you shouldn't take it away until after a year old (I can't find that to link to now...).

So we became dummy users, and had a brief conversation at around a year old about whether we should 'do something' about it. We started reducing his use of it, so that he only had it in the car and in the cot. And that was, on the whole, pretty successful (we didn't implement this at nursery, as I figured he needed all the comfort he could get while he was there). Especially when toddler life became exciting and he started trying to talk a lot more, which was easier with a mouth unencumbered by a lump of silicone. Of course we had slip ups - when he was poorly then it's the only thing he really wants (and a Jemaine in each hand), when he's anxious or nervous or scared, and when he's poorly. When he dropped his afternoon nap he started getting tired around 6pm, so we instigated a half-hour In The Night Garden-Jemaines-dummy-Dorothy rocking session.

Recently we've had this horrible illness, and he's spent pretty much all day every day rocking on Dorothy with a dummy in his mouth and a Jemaine in each hand. And that means the dummy encroaches into other parts of life, so we end up exhausted at soft-play with a dummy...

And potentially lovely photos are spoiled by having it right there. However much I'm used to it now, I still don't like seeing it. And he knows it too, if he stumbles across one and slips it in, he'll come running straight up to me, thrust his face in mine and point to it with a cheeky grin. "Jacob, have you got a dummy?" I ask in a teasing tone of voice, and he screams and runs away cackling, to 'hide' in a corner and suck it for all he's worth.

All of this wittering is a roundabout way of saying yes, he still has a dummy, and no, I don't really know what to do about it. I think I'd rather wait until he can understand before we take it away completely. There's nothing I hate more than seeing him upset or hurting and not being able to explain what's going on and to help him. If we were to take them away now, he'd be inconsolable. I know it would probably only last a few days, then he'd forget all about them, but I just can't see that it's doing that much harm. Illness aside, he only has it in the cot now, and I'll often go up to check on him and find him sleeping without it. Sucking has been shown to alleviate pain, and it's definitely an innate instinct to suckle for comfort. In an ideal world, he'd be suckling on the breast, but for us that wasn't possible (3 months of thrush and recurring mastitis meant feeding him was hard enough, let alone any extra-curricular suckling).

Really, I just can't resist the cheeky twinkle in his eye when he's got one. It's gorgeous.

Day 14 - Other people's houses

(Monday August 2nd)

After a disastrous morning trying to get up, ready, car packed, cats to cattery, prescriptions picked up (which the GP receptionist had no record of), all before J-cub needed a nap (so he could nap in the car), we finally set off for Devon around 11am. It's embarrassingly been almost a year since we last visited my parents. We haven't had the funds for the fuel to get down there, and they are more than happy to come up once a month or so (they are both retired so have ample free time), and somehow a whole year has passed. The last time we were there, J-cub was very much still a baby - still breastfed, no solids, couldn't crawl or sit up or do anything much at all. It was very restful.

Obviously, I'm writing this having come home from the week with my parents, so this post is about the whole week, and how very difficult it was to stay with them.

A hyperactive toddler + parents who keep their house as though it were a show-home = NIGHTMARE.

I don't think J-cub has ever heard the word 'No' so many times as he did in the week we stayed with my parents (and not from us). My mum repeatedly told us "I'm not proud, don't worry about it", so we didn't. But that didn't stop my Dad from repeatedly saying "No no no no no no [really, won't once suffice?] don't touch that/we don't do that/leave that alone" while my blood pressure slowly rose.

To be fair, we'd been there about 5 seconds before he'd dented the (very expensive) coffee table ... but really, is putting a box of toys INCLUDING A SMALL WOODEN HAMMER next to said table a good idea?

Jamie and I dashed around moving breakables onto shelves above J-cub's height, and implored my parents over and over again not to leave their tea/coffee/wine glasses where he could reach them. I've never realised quite how child-friendly our house and our friends' houses are, until I saw how many glass things my parents kept around, how spiky some of their ornaments and plants were, and how difficult it is to keep a toddler out of trouble when you have 7 rooms on the ground floor, all with interconnecting doors, none of which are kept shut.

I did wonder at several points if I was being unreasonable in expecting my parents to make more allowances for J-cub - they did go to the trouble of getting a stair gate (just the one, fixed, for the bottom of the stairs) and putting cupboard locks on the kitchen cabinet - but it was more the fact that they expected us to discipline him every time he did anything or touched anything that they didn't want him to.

We essentially had a week's worth of tantrums and tears, with J-cub being constantly frustrated and not understanding at all why these new people are happy one minute and cross the next. It really made me think about our parenting choices, in particular the ways that we allow J-cub to explore and learn in his own way, without placing constraints which we think are important on him. As an ABA-trained behavioural therapist, I use positive reinforcement to make behaviour modifications at work. This obviously spills over into how I relate to J-cub, and although I try not to be a therapist at home, it's very difficult to get out of the mindset of saying "great building!" when he's playing with his Mega-Bloks, and never, ever using punishment.

It's probably helped that I've had 5 years of working with, at times, a very frustrating child - I've learnt mountains of patience, and how to curb my temper and my natural impulses to say "No" and to reprimand, and instead to ignore undesirable behaviour and to reinforce desirable behaviour. As part of our programme we use no punitive methods at all, which includes saying "no". We use a gentle no, said in a conversational tone of voice, to indicate that a certain response is not what we're looking for, and at times we've used a sharp "no" for self-injurious behaviour, but even that is very hard to muster when it's so deeply ingrained to remain calm and positive.

At home, rather than saying to J-cub "Stop opening that cupboard", we say "Close the door", and thank him when he's done it. It works. I'm not being evangelical here and saying that we never get cross with him, never say no and never shout. I made him cry and look at me like his heart had been ripped out the other day when his pinching (of the back of my upper arm while he's sitting on my hip) got to such a stage that I thought I was going to pass out from the pain, and I pulled his hand away and said "That's not nice" and put him firmly on the floor. And I'm sure when we get to the terrible twos that I'll be looking back on this and laughing.

But it's really important to us to raise him in a happy home, where he can do what he likes (within reason) and not live in fear. At 30 years old, I still cry if I spill a drink, and I apologise over and over again for any wrong-doing. Remnants from growing up in a house where such behaviours were entirely unacceptable, all accidents were 'choices', and where the silent treatment for any minor transgression could last for weeks.

Looking for some validation of how we're parenting, I came across a gem of a paragraph in my Birth-to-5 book:

Keep it safe.

If your child is under three years old, he or she can't really understand why not to touch your stereo or pull leaves off your pot plants, so keep things you don't want touched well out of the way and you'll both be less frustrated. Time enough to learn about not touching when your child can understand why.

2007/2008 English/Welsh edition, p. 50

Suck on that, Dad.

Summer Solstice

J-cub is technically 2 years old today (I'll be delicate and leave you to figure that one out). I can hardly believe that 2 years ago I had absolutely no idea that my life was about to change so massively. And yet I can't remember a time when he wasn't a part of me.

This week I want to talk a bit about breastfeeding, as it's National Breastfeeding Awareness week. I'll try and write some longer posts over the next few days, but I've had a long day at work today and have a stressful day tomorrow so I'll keep this short.

The photo below was taken during our first breastfeed in public. J-cub was just under 4 weeks old, and we went to the Civic Centre to register his birth, then had a long (and far too ambitious, I was in tons of pain) walk round the Marina to a cafe where we stopped for chips. I was very nervous about feeding in public, and spent ages getting him latched on and making sure I was covered up, but barely anyone glanced at us, except for an elderly lady who gave us an encouraging smile.

It was a big breakthrough for my confidence, and I remember excitedly texting my mum afterwards, who was very proud. And it was a lovely day, our first proper trip out as a family, and it felt wonderful.

Attempts at a relaxing day...

We took a trip out today to a beautiful country park near us. Margam Park is in the next county to us, but just a short drive down the motorway. We've somehow never been there before, but were invited out by friends to have a play.

J-cub woke up late and hadn't slept by the time we left. We foolishly presumed he would sleep in the car (ahhh how I miss those days), but he gazed happily out of the window all the way there. We met up, reacquainted J-cub with his one true love, A, and bundled piles of stuff and toddlers into their buggies.

The park is huge, and after getting lost and walking up a loooooong hill we took a break in a grassy area in front of the castle (I'm calling it a castle, it might be a manor house or something but it's very castley) to play football with the Hello Kitty ball we'd bought for A.

J-cub took off at a fast crawl, looking like a mini-explorer fighting his way through a forest of grass while we chased him down and made sure he didn't come across anything unmentionable in the grass.

When he eventually started to look tired, we strapped him back in the buggy for his nap, and he started to scream. I'm sensing a bit of a trend here with my posts in general, as I seem to be typing "And screamed, and screamed" far too many times. But scream he did, as I pushed him in circles around the others who were dawdling towards the animals. I did my best to placate him and make him comfortable, but there's little you can do when out and about with a 30lb baby who's too tired to go to sleep. He did eventually drop off, and we managed to grab a drink and a snack in a completely deserted visitor centre while he slept in the buggy.

When he woke up, I took him off to be changed, and when I picked him up he was soaking (which would possibly explain the screaming). He was wearing one of his new TotsBots Easyfits, and I don't know whether I hadn't put it on properly, or if it was just from sitting in the buggy with a poppered vest, but it had leaked all through his clothes and into the squishy buggy seat. It's put any potential thoughts about getting some more on hold for now...

I changed him (he screamed) into a fresh nappy and clean clothes (my over-preparation paid off, as I had spare clothes (for hot weather), spare clothes (for cold weather), a sunsuit (in case it was very sunny), and a puddle suit, so I had plenty to choose from). I came out of the changing room not 5 minutes later, and the lovely sunshine had turned into pouring rain.

We stood around under shelter while A tried to boss us back out into the rain to play football, then we walked aaaaaallllll the way back to the castle for some lunch (toddlers did not want to walk, or ride in the buggies, so we all took it in turns to carry them and push the heavy buggies through gravel and up hills. Why did I have to choose today to forget the sling?

In the cafe for lunch ("Yellow chips! I want yellow chips, not purple. Where are my yellow chips? Yellow chips, where are you?" sang A), J-cub was surprisingly keen on eating, polishing off a big pile of baked beans and poking at some sausages and coleslaw. He managed to get most of the coleslaw all over him, leaving big wet patches which necessitated another change of outfit (see, I'm not over-prepared, I'm just prepared).

We finally made our way to the fairytale village (J-cub again refused to nap on the way), where there were mini-cottages dressed up as various fairytales (they'd gone to all the expense of building actual mini houses, but still just had cardboard cutouts of the characters within), a playground, and a castle. J-cub had a whale of a time in the playground, terrorising all the other children by grabbing their hair and shoving them out of the way, and terrifying us by moving so fast around the raised climbing-frame bit that we could barely get to the openings to catch him before he fell out (but woe betide if we tried to take him out, cue screaming tantrums until he got back in again).

In a shady corner, we found a massive round wooden table and parked him on top of it. We then had to dance around the table while he performed acrobatics in the middle, trying to catch him every time he approached an edge only to have him reverse direction while we galloped like loons to the other side. I suppose the sensible thing would have been to take him off the table, but he didn't like that, oh no.

I eventually remembered the stack of cups I'd shoved into his change bag, and when I gave them to him, his face lit up and we had a couple of moments to breathe.

Doesn't he look happy and peaceful?

Do I sound tired, jaded, ungrateful and like I didn't have a lovely day? It was a lovely day, and I'm so happy to have spent the day in the company of such good friends, my lovely husband, and our delightful children. But I still haven't quite got used to being out and about with an almost-toddler. The tantrums which have only started in the last few days are pretty much constant, and we haven't quite got to the how-to-deal-with-it point yet. He's not walking, so we're either leaning over letting him hold our fingers to work (which is back-breaking), making sure he doesn't pick up cigarette butts or other nasties when he's crawling, carrying him, or pushing the buggy. And when he doesn't nap, or doesn't nap for very long, he never stops. As with all other parts of motherhood, it takes a while for my brain, muscles, and sanity to catch up when he starts doing something new. And becoming a toddler is like starting from scratch all over again. Having a baby was terrifying, but at least if you put it down somewhere, it would still be there when you came back. Now, you can't switch off, or sit down, or have a break for a single second. All day.

I'm knackered.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I know my Look Up project has finished, but I couldn't resist today - we came across this amazing Tulip Tree, the like of which I've never seen before. It was 400 years old, maHOOsive, and absolutely stunning.

First Steps!

How could I forget?

Jacob took his first steps today :D

It was a total surprise so I have no sort of photographic or video evidence to share with you, but it was amazing. He was sitting on his trike, moving the handlebars back and forth (which is about as far as trike riding goes, so far). He slowly climbed off, and started to sit down whilst still holding onto the handlebars. Then he changed his mind, stood up, and took 3 steps straight over to where I was sitting. I got rather excited and shouted "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod" and rushed outside to grab Jamie to come see.

We passed him between us for a while, and he alternated between taking 3 or 4 steps, and falling straight towards the other parent with no attempt made to take even one step. He seemed to do it best if he was standing up unsupported first. It was a shock each and every time he did it, but so much more exciting than anything that's ever happened in my life before.

Nothing is safe now ;)

Play dates

I was supposed to have a play date with my two Mummy friends and their babies today. We used to get together every week, but illness and tiredness and other things seem to always get in the way now, and it's been a while since we've all been together.

J-cub went down late for his morning nap, therefore woke up late, and after a hurried lunch we set off to drive to R's house. By the time we arrived, my other friend, C, had already left. Her little one was having an undiagnosed screaming fit, so she'd scarpered to the sanctity of home. R's little one, P, had just gone down for her nap. So 3 out of the planned 6 of us had a lovely play - J-cub enjoyed all the novel toys, the clinky fireguard, the too-high-for-climbing-sofa, the books he'd never read before, and the dogs. The dogs quickly became his new best friends, he fed them breadsticks through the stairgate, laughed when they barked at him, and gently poked their faces.

At exactly the point when P woke up, J-cub started having a bit of an I'm-really-quite-tired-now-Mummy tantrum, threw himself eye-first onto a doorframe, and had a massive screaming meltdown.

We had approximately 5 minutes when both babies were awake and not crying, although P was adorably half-asleep and fluffy-haired and mostly just stared at J-cub in a "where did you come from?" type way.

It was a lovely afternoon, although it didn't exactly work out the way we'd planned it. It's always nice to have some mummy-talk, and for J-cub to play with some different toys. P also still has balloons up from her birthday, and today's Look Up photo shows J-cub looking up at them with glee and longing. When we got home, he stuck the tied-end of one of his balloons in his mouth and crawled around with it bobbing up and down. He now has a rather scary looking lump on his eyebrow from his incident with the doorframe, and I'm predicting a black eye tomorrow morning.

Separation Anxiety

The biggest thing I had trouble adjusting to after J-cub was born, was never being alone. I've always valued 'me time', not that I ever did anything particularly exciting on my own, but I enjoy peace and quiet, and reading, and having time to think and freedom to do whatever I want to do. It was a massive culture shock, having a completely dependent being attached to me 24/7. I don't think I'd really thought about it at all before he arrived, but I resented him for it, and was desperate to get away, at times.

All that has changed now, and though I'm still suffering with my postnatal depression, I don't have any negative feelings towards J-cub, and only get that desperate feeling when I'm away from him, and want to get back as quickly as possible.

With all that in mind, today was horrible. He woke briefly at 6.10am, but I settled him back to sleep and came downstairs to get ready for work as I had no chance of falling back asleep at that time. I pottered around, eating my breakfast, showering, dressing, making my lunch and prettifying myself. J-cub didn't stir. On Wednesday's, Jamie doesn't work and stays home with him. At 8am, I sneaked into the bedroom, told Jamie the boy was still asleep and I was leaving, and I left. With no cuddles, no playing, no time at all with my baby.

I missed him horribly, all day. It was far worse than all the other days when I get an hour or more with him in the morning, and a half hour drive to nursery with him chatting away in the back of the car. Jamie texted me to say that they'd both woken at 9am (9! Why can't he do that on days when I'm at home?!) and were having a lovely day. And I missed him all the more.

I rushed through the last part of my working day and got home just after 6.30pm. We played some music, had some cuddles, J-cub demonstrated his new flair for the dramatic by doing huge, face-cracking yawns then flinging his hand across his face and giggling with his eyes still closed. He suddenly discovered his tongue and spent 5 minutes poking it at us and blowing bubbles. I took him to bed at 7 and he fell straight asleep.

Half an hour with my baby in the last 24 hours. I feel lost.

I can't wait til tomorrow, and Friday and Saturday and Sunday. Although after a couple of hours of mania tomorrow morning, I'll probably be begging him to go down for his nap.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

An oldie for today's Look Up photo, I think I might even have posted it on here before, but it's lovely and appropriate and has given me a nice half hour looking through the photos, which eases the pain of missing him a bit.

Now I just have to try and stop longing to go and get him up again.

Thoughts on co-sleeping

Trawling our massive YMCA charity shop the other day (yes, even charity shops are going super-sized), I found a book which causes Jamie to giggle every time he catches sight of the title: Three in a Bed by Deborah Jackson.

I've nearly finished it now, and it's been an illuminating read. The book pulls together anecdotes, research, advice from parenting manuals and the author's own experiences to give the historical and societal reasons for co-sleeping with your baby. Co-sleeping was never an option for us, as Jamie wouldn't wake if a fire alarm was going off, and has been on pretty heavy duty medication since before J-cub was born, which is a big no-no when it comes to safe co-sleeping. Regardless of this, the book has made me want to go back in time and enjoy the comfort and ease of being right there with J-cub all the time.

It would definitely have made our lives easier when J-cub was tiny, as we ended up taking it in turns to sleep with him in our arms on the sofa (him sleeping, me watching Friends DVDs or Jamie watching The Wire) or bounce him in his bouncy chair. I fed him in bed plenty of times, but started waking up screaming "Get the baby! I've dropped him!" having dreamt that I'd fallen asleep with him on me underneath the duvet (even though I never had him under the duvet), and the stress was just so much that it was easier to bring him downstairs to feed.

I found it very difficult to sleep in the same room as him, as I was constantly woken by his noises, and found it hard to fall back to sleep. Again, the book covers this, suggesting that after a few days, the mother becomes so attuned to her baby's noises that they don't wake her at all, and as she doesn't need to sit up or get out of bed to attend to the baby, she never wakes up fully, and so is more rested in the morning. That would have been amazing, and I wouldn't have to carry around the guilt from all the night's I spent sleeping in the study, while Jamie stayed with J-cub.

When he was a bit older, and still sleeping in a crib at the foot of our bed, I would feed J-cub to sleep lying on our bed, and often fell asleep there with him. Jamie would come up to find me, as my dinner was ready, and I'd stumble downstairs after him, sleep-drugged and on an oxytocin-high from the breastfeeding.

I've already started entertaining fantasies of setting up a separate bed for me and the next baby, maybe a mattress on the floor of the nursery, where I can sleep with him or her, and breastfeed all night, so I never have problems with engorgement and mastitis and latching. I'm an eternal cock-eyed optimist.

The book talks at length about how by sleeping together, the infant never experiences separation anxiety, and grows up to be more confident and to sleep without any battles, as they've never had to fear the dark or being alone. I think we're lucky in that respect - yes we've had our fair share of battles with getting J-cub to sleep, but it's been more of the rocking-him-for-hours kind of fight, rather than leaving him to cry. We've never left him to cry for longer than the time it takes to dash upstairs when we hear him over the baby monitor. He is secure in our love, and now (mostly, teething episodes aside) falls asleep within seconds of being put in his cot.

This evening I've been back through our archives of photos, trying to find some of us sleeping together. There's only a few, but they're so lovely and so evocative of happy memories.

On our last day in hospital, I went for a shower and came back to find my two boys sleeping together

At my mum and dad's house, where J-cub did not sleep at all well at night, Jamie found this chair in their conservatory was comfy enough to catch up on some sleep

One of the hottest days of last year, J-cub had screamed and screamed for hours in the heat of the house. Mid-afternoon, I opened all the windows and turned on the ceiling fan in the study, and we both fell immediately asleep. Jamie found us here several hours later

This morning, after a Skip-worthy fainting spell caused by a) my new anti-depressants and b) trying to decide which bag to take to work, I called in sick and snuggled up with a very-glad-not-to-be-going-to-nursery baby

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Today's Look Up picture comes from the archives, J-cub reaching up to catch a balloon his Daddy is about to drop on his head. In his stash of toys we have 4 or 5 balloons from his first birthday party - pretty good going bearing in mind that he turned 14 months old today. And bearing in mind that he likes to a) sit on them b) drop heavy toys on them and c) bite them.

Why eating sand is perhaps not a good idea...

... or 'Things you never imagined you'd have to do as a Mother'.

Since our delightful trip to the beach on Saturday, J-cub's tummy has been getting firmer, and rounder, and bigger, and harder, and nothing has passed out the other end to ease the situation. This is not that unusual - as a baby he would only go once every 5 or 6 days (to the jealousy of all my mum friends whose breastfed babies went 7 or 8 times a day) and since he's been on solids he's regularly gone 2 or 3 days between 'movements' (ahhh so delicate, let's see how long that lasts in this post).

Last night, we had sporadic bouts of screaming between 9pm and midnight, and Jamie reported that he was drawing his knees up to his chest. In the absence of any other bright ideas, we gave him an extra bottle and he happily went to sleep for the rest of the night.

We've had a pretty normal morning today, playing, bouncing, singing, reading, napping, eating a good breakfast and lunch and drinking his mid-morning bottle happily.

Until about an hour ago, when J-cub, who was happily cruising around the furniture, suddenly started SCREAMING. I don't mean having a little bit of a whinge; I mean his full on, red-faced, tears streaming down his cheeks, breath-drawn-in-but-can't-get-it-out-again-cos-it's-so-SO-bad, end of the world scream. I rushed to his side, thinking he'd hurt himself. There was nothing in his immediate vicinity that he could have hurt himself on, and he climbed onto my knee, gripping my shoulders and standing upright, continuing to scream and silently begging me for help. And I realised that between his screams, he was doing his poo-face, and he was straining. Straining more than he'd ever strained in his life. My baby was giving birth.

I held him while stood on my knees, shifting his weight rapidly from foot to foot, pushing his back against my hand as I rubbed circles on his back, coaching him through each push and desperately trying to think what I could do. This went on for a whole episode of Big Barn Farm, which I believe is about 15 minutes long. I was getting desperate (and deafened from the screaming), he was going to explode if I didn't do anything soon.

Remembering how, when he was little, bicycling his legs would help with a bad bout of wind, I lay him down on the change mat and circled those little legs for all they were worth. His little face looked up at me, scared and hurt and desperate, begging me to make it stop.

I took his nappy off to see what progress was being made, and found a teeny-tiny solid ball of poo rolling around, and the rest of it evidently stuck half in, half out (which is what happened when J-cub was born, his head crowned and he just stopped. I had a tiny moment of glee, thinking "Ha! Now you know what it feels like!" before remembering who I was talking to). My brain jumped into childbirth-mode, and I thought "Right, let's get you in the bath, and you can have a waterbirth. That's got to help, right?"

Dashing across the room to get a nappy to wrap him up in to carry him upstairs, I heard the most unholy scream and turned round to see my darling baby boy had given birth to the most monstrous shit I'd ever seen. Ahhhh bless.

On closer inspection (honestly, non-mums, you do it, and you get used to doing it, and in time you come to enjoy it), there was an awful lot of small, packed, grainy balls of something unidentifiable in there. I had been racking my brains to remember what we'd given him that was round, when I suddenly remembered the beach, and this rather too frequent hand-to-mouth movement:

Which resulted in this face:

Which I think solves our mystery. He's now trotting around, as happy as a clam (a clam who hasn't been eating sand), and his stomach is about half the size it was before.

Thank you for listening.

Reasons to be Cheerful

I don't know whether it's the after-effects of work, or the fact that I've barely seen any of my friends for weeks, or the constant rain, but I've been struggling to keep my head above water lately, where 'water' refers to 'the deep, dark and dangerous pool where post-natal depression lies dormant, waiting to pounce on me the moment I stop paddling'.

Today I got close to not going swimming (literally, not metaphorically), and when I stop doing things (especially things I've paid in advance for) then it's a swift fall into not leaving the house, not talking to anyone, and sitting on the sofa crying all day. I desperately didn't want to go: I didn't want to talk to anyone, I didn't want to dance around a swimming pool merrily singing "Splish, splash, splish, splash, aroooooouuunnndd aaaaand UP in the air!", I didn't want all the effort of undressing and drying and dressing an over-tired, hungry baby. But I managed to go, I managed to avoid talking to anyone (it's very easy, you just don't talk to anyone), and it was a bit shit as J-cub was not at all in the mood and I felt like an awful mother for putting my needs (to push myself to go) over his (to stay home and have a nap).

After we got home and J-cub had had his long-awaited nap, he woke up like an angel, happy and fun and full of the joys of spring. So I thought I'd better try and perk myself the hell up, and think about the things that have made me happy this week. And I might even get around to contributing to the 'What are your strengths as a Mum' thread on the BLW forum, which I've been avoiding like the plague as my brain just laughs at me every time I look at it. (See? I can't stop it. I AM A GOOD MUM. And I'm trying very hard to be a happy Mum).

Reasons to be Cheerful:

#1 - Giant Cookies

I made giant cookies. Giant cookies are the reason why I haven't lost my baby-weight yet - quite frankly, the Tesco Finest cookies are the best cookies I've ever tasted and I therefore find it impossible to pass them by, just in case they stop making them. And they're £1.something for 4, and they just make me happy. I found this recipe, and gleefully set to making them. The ended up HUGE, as I misread the recipe slightly and dropped half cups on the baking sheet, rather than quarter-cups. They were too sugary for my taste, but still yummy. Sadly, not a patch on the Tesco ones.

#2 - Teddy Bear's Picnic

Jacob and his Daddy had a teddy bear's picnic. This was one of the post-sickness-and-diarrhoea, not-quite-keen-on-eating-yet, and don't-you-dare-take-me-anywhere-near-the-highchair-or-I'll-have-a-massive-tantrum days. We sat on the floor with plates of appetising foods (toast, yoghurt, clementine, rice cake) and nibbled them whilst making yummy noises. J-cub, unable to resist such temptation, started joining in. And so did his teddies.

#3 - Stir-fry for lunch

This was the first full meal since his birthday party, and he tucked in with relish. During his absence from meals he seems to have been secretly practising how to use a spoon and fork in combination to eat noodles - he coped admirably, and wolfed down the Quorn pieces. It was lovely to see him eating again, although we were at the table for well over an hour and I had got a bit bored by the end of it. I need to learn not to eat my portion in less than 5 minutes.

#4 - Cloth nappies

The new nappies arrived today, and have spent most of the day being pre-washed ready for use tomorrow. I can't wait. Prepare yourselves for lots of photos of J-cub's bum, clad in various cheery colours.

#5 - Jacob

Really, when I'm being an idiot like I am at the moment, I just need to stop and look at him. What more reason is there? How ridiculous is it that I have spent more than half my adult life trying to have a baby, distraught at the thought that it won't happen, and then when it does, my body rebels against me and makes me feel unhappier than I ever have? I am so lucky to have him, he is so absolutely perfect, and so funny. At the moment, he's learnt how to 'hide' behind one of his hands (so half his face is completely exposed), and will happily play 'Peepo!' for hours (substituting his hand for whatever he's got in his hand, like a plate, or a book, or a hat, or his shoe...), giggling like a maniac when you 'find' him.

He's learnt what "I'm coming to get you!" means, and will shriek with delight and crawl off at top speed (for a couple of steps, before he stops to make sure you're following him) before collapsing in hysterical laughter when you catch him. And after Jemaine (his bestest friend, the giraffe in the picture) had to be dishwashered to remove any residual sickness germs (he said surface wash only so I was scared to put him in the washing machine), then took ages to dry so J-cub was without him for more than 24 hours, he's loved him all the more. He's taken to carrying him around in his mouth like a kitten. It's the cutest thing in the world.