Big News From Chatty's House!

Word on the street is that Mummy and Daddy are getting another baby!  I don’t know for sure because they haven’t told me, but it seems I’m the last to know.  Why would they tell me?  I’m only their beloved daughter!

But everyone else seems to be talking about it.  We met friends over the weekend and they were asking Mummy things like “Have you told Chatty yet?” as if I weren’t in the room, or my ears don’t work.  And then yesterday, we had lunch with my rellies and my cousin asked me about being a big sister to the new baby.  Now, I don’t know what a “sister” is, but it was pretty clear about a new baby.

We don’t need one, surely?  Am I not challenge enough for Mummy and Daddy?!  Note to self: Must up my game a bit, quickly!  We have a dog, we have chickens, we have my baby dollies for goodness sake.  No need, if you ask me.  Which they haven’t.

I think the New Baby must be coming from a long way away because we’re not getting it for a while.  I guess it’s one of these fancy mail order things that Mummy likes.  Apparently we’ll have it before I get to dress up as a witch for Halloween, and that’s ages away.  On the plus side, that’s plenty of time for me to persuade Mummy to cancel the order.  In the meantime, I'm practicing my best 'surprised' face for when they think to mention it.

CB x

Remember Sacramento!

A few weeks ago, I promised you a story within a couple of days.  It didn’t happen, sorry.  I guess you could still call a fortnight “a few days” . . . maybe?

Anyway, here’s the story.  I’m going through a bit of a rebellious stage at the moment.  I won’t do a thing I’m told, and I am constantly testing the boundaries.  Daddy’s refusing to take me out on his own at the moment since a trip to the supermarket yesterday.  I ran away and hid and I think I scared him a bit. 

Mummy took me today and told me that I had to sit in the trolley, or wear my reins.  Yeah, right.  I refused, so she manhandled me into a trolley.  I hate the fact my size is such a disadvantage to me!  What I do have in my armoury is a great set of lungs, so I was still screeching by the time we got to the pay-the-cashier bit.

The Story goes back a couple of weeks, when this phase was already alive and well.  I’ll admit that I was trying very hard.  No, wait: I was very trying.  According to Mummy at any rate.  I whinged all day, I cried and screamed.  In the end, Daddy was in charge by bath time.  I’d been wailing for my bath all afternoon.  I didn’t want to eat, I wanted a bath.  I didn’t want to play outside, I wanted a bath.  I didn’t want to draw, I wanted a bath. 

Bath time came, Daddy ran me a lovely, bubbly, warm bath.  I wouldn’t take my clothes off, and I most certainly would not get in the bath.  More screaming, more kicking of feet and banging of fists. Then the unthinkable happened!  Not that Daddy lost it but that he put me in the bath, WITH MY CLOTHES ON!  Incredible. 

It has echoes of an incident with Mummy and Grandma many years ago.  Mummy was only small, and they were driving on the west coast of the US.  Grandma doesn’t like driving on the wrong side of the road at the best of times, and certainly not when she doesn’t know where she’s going, but Mummy cut her no slack at all.  She wailed for juice for hours when there was no way for Grandma to get her any.  Eventually, they arrived in a town called Sacramento, checked into the hotel, and the first thing Grandma did was give Mummy juice.  Mummy said she didn’t want it any more, so Grandma picked her up, stood her in the shower, and tipped it over her head!  “Remember Sacramento” is still a very real threat in the family lexicon.   Love that story!

CB x

Autocracy In The Baby Room

Almost the end of another week. Where IS the time going?  I’ve had quite a good week this week.  The week before last, the last of my proper friends got promoted from the baby room to the nursery and I was left behind.  Not actually alone, of course, but the only Big Kid in a room full of babies.  I wondered if I’d done something wrong, or if I should be wearing the dunce’s hat, but apparently it’s all to do with when our birthdays are and rules about how many under-2s are allowed in the nursery at any one time.

The cruel reality is that there’s a window in the bottom of the door separating the two rooms, so I can press my snotty nose up against the glass and watch my friends, and my boyfriend, having a rare old time without me.

I figured I had two choices.  I could sit and mope and pine for my chums, or I could use my older, superior brain to my advantage in the baby room.  I’ve opted for Choice 2.  A lot of these babies aren’t even crawling yet, so you could say I’ve learned with no real difficulty about the saying “taking candy from a baby.”  It is just too easy.  I get to play with anything I want.

That was last week’s trick.  I’ve taken it to a whole new level this week once I realised that actually the little rug-rats look up to me.  I’m developing a game that I’ve imaginatively called “Chatty Baby Says,” whereby they all need to obey my commands.  It’s a bit like Simon Says, except to keep things really simple for the heel-biters, they just do what I say regardless of how I start the sentence.  I’m encouraging all sorts of naughtiness, like taking off shoes and socks as soon as they’ve been put on and the Nice Nursery Lady’s back is turned.

They (the Nice Nursery Ladies) need  to plan big operations, like getting us all dressed to go and play outside, which means they often start slowly and quietly, ‘processing’ us one at a time.  No such luck yesterday.  I heard the magic word “outside” whispered, and couldn’t help myself.  “BOOTS!” I yelled, at the top of my voice, immediately alerting the munchkins to the fact that action was imminent.

Well, it seems they like the fresh air and the garden toys as much as I do.  The ensuing chaos can only be compared to the excitement in a dog-owner’s home when he or she calls “Walkies!”

My work here is done.

CB x

Toddler Dance - I've Got The Beat!

I got told off today, by proxy.  How rubbish is that?!  Mummy went out for lunch while I was at nursery and was harangued on my behalf by Grandma and Auntie B because I’ve not been writing so much recently.  It’s true, I haven’t been as prolific as late so I guess I owe you all an apology.

I am sorry, loyal readers and beloved family.  It’s no excuse, but things have been pretty hectic around here recently.  Mummy’s been hogging the computer a bit because she’s trying to set up a business so I haven’t had much of a sniff to write.  And it’s been so long since I’ve been on Twitter, I’m not sure I can even remember my password!

Anyway, the good news is, Mummy’s almost ready to go and she’s going to buy her own laptop which means Daddy and I can have the old one back.

So while I’m here, I’ll tell you about my dancing.  Have you seen Chuggington?  It’s a fab little programme on CBeebies about trains, always with a nice little moral tale.  It’s ok, but it’s the titles that are worth waiting for.  The beat just takes me, every time!

I think I must ‘feel’ music differently from The Olds – they’re so stiff and boring!  I like to use every part of my body to express myself.  Just let the music do its thing.  Sometimes I even get close to a rhythm!  (Otherwise, I’m dancing like Mummy!)

I groove in the car when Daddy plays his Rock, although I find the straps a bit restrictive.  At least you can do justice to Daddy’s music by nodding your head backwards and forwards forcefully.  I get to hear other stuff, too – sometimes classical, sometimes kiddy songs, sometimes mainstream pop.  Mummy was a Britpop fan, so I’m getting into that now but it’s not that easy to dance to. 

My friend and I have also recently discovered that we can dance together, too, so we row our boats together, or do Ring O’ Roses.  I like falling down!  And now I can wind a bobbin with the best of them, there’s no stopping me.

So what gets your toddlers’ feet tapping?

CB x

Tips For Delaying Babies' Bedtime

If you ask Mummy, I've been playing up at bedtime recently.  I disagree. I think it's more well thought out logic applied to staying up a little later, now that I'm a big girl.

We've had a bedtime routine since I was a very tiny baby; bath, story, cuddles, bed.  That's still great, and I still like all of that (usually) but I'm quite into books at the moment so I negotiate for more than one at bedtime.  Well, I say 'negotiate,' but in fact I mean demand.  We're averaging about four a night at the moment.  It's quite obvious though, and Mummy sees it coming now.

So, little people, if you want to grab those extra few minutes in the evening, here are my more subtle tips:

1.     Refuse a cuddle.  Before my bath, I stop talking to Daddy.  I won't say goodnight to him, and I go to my room.  Mummy's then trying to proceed with Bedtime, and I get very remorseful suddenly.  I cannot possibly even contemplate going to sleep without saying goodnight to Daddy, and I make sure the wailing says that loud and clear.  There's obviously the making-up time, too, for giving him the cold shoulder earlier, so he gets a special Chatty Baby 'doddle' with arms round his neck and everything!

Now, I think there is a 'life' to this ploy too, because Daddy's starting to come in to say goodnight to me before lights out, but come on, it took them long enough to cotton on!

2.     Cry Poo! This one is a dead cert, mark my words.  I like to use this one just as soon as Mummy turns the light out.  It cannot fail to bring one or other of them back in, even if they think I'm kidding - they daren't risk leaving me in a dirty nappy all night.  I only ever wee at that time of day, but they never know.  It can be quite uncomfortable saving the wee up through all those stories, but it's worth it.

3.     Put your own babies to bed.  I have so many teddies and dolls in my bed at the moment, there's hardly any room for me!  Each night, I'm crying for another one to join the happy gang, then before I'll even contemplate sleep, I have to make them all comfortable.  That might mean giving them my pillow, it might mean wrapping them in blankets to keep them warm.  Whatever you did last night, try something else tonight.  Keep parents on their toes!

Good luck, babies!  (And if you have any other crackers, be sure to let me know!)

CB x

Playing With Baby Dolls

I mentioned earlier this week that I have a great fondness for baby dolls.  It’s got Mummy very excited that her toddler is playing with dolls and engaging with role play.  Apparently another milestone, or something.

It doesn’t seem like make-believe to me, but at least my baby neither cries when she’s hungry not objects if I toss her aside when something more interesting comes up. I take my duties very seriously, shoving the bottle in the general direction of a plastic mouth that doesn’t open and wrapping them up in a towel if I can’t find a blanket when I need one.

The ‘developmental leap’ is that I, or any other toddler pretending when they play, is that I’ve learned to imagine something is something else.  Like the box is a bed, or my bib is a face-cloth.  I’m learning empathy and how it feels to be a mummy (it’s actually quite hard work!) and also that I can be anything I want; when I’ve had enough of being a mummy, I can go and get a hat and be a fireman or a builder.  I don’t really know what either of them does yet, other than they wear cool hats!

I’ve been demanding my two babies every night for a while now, and I won’t sleep without them.  They come everywhere with me, if I remember, including nursery.  Imagine then my surprise and delight in seeing a room full of babies (dolls) when I arrived at ‘school’ this week, along with all the paraphernalia that goes with them; high chair, bed, blankies, nappies and clothes.  I love clothes!  I ditched my piddly little dolls over my shoulder without a second glance.

I was still busy caring for the plastic babies when Mummy collected me at the end of the day.

CB x

Shoesday Tuesday (on Thursday)

A like a good meme, and this one (Shoesday Tuesday) sounds like a GOOD meme!  I realise it’s actually Thursday but I’ve just discovered it and I just can’t wait till next week.

So here it is. I love shoes.  A lot!  I love choosing my own shoes, I love playing with other people’s shoes, and I have an eye for a beauty.  I was building up a nice little collection (nothing like Mummy’s, but then she has a few years on me) and then would you believe, my feet have grown! I’m back to square one!

I chose myself a pretty red pair at the shoe shop, and Mummy got me some more flashing trainers, but my photos this time are of my ‘old’ shoes.

These are my every day shoes, a couple of pairs to cover all my outfits.  Both Clarks, you can’t go wrong.

These boots were made for walking, and that’s just what they did. With short skirts, with shorts and tights (yup, I’m with it, down with the kids) or even skinny jeans.  Thank you, Sainsbury’s, for bringing these into my life.

My trainers.  The flowers flash on impact so they look really cool when I'm running around.  Mummy's tried to show you that by keeping the flash off, but it doesn't really show up. Clark's again.

And finally my party shoes.  They don’t really need an introduction; they sparkle, they party, I boogied on down in them, so much so that I started rubbing off the sequins on the toes.  My fault, not Monsoon’s.

So there you have it.  Always up for talking about shoes.  Have a look at some others at Blue Bear Wood.

CB x

Baby Talk - Learning To Communicate

We were talking earlier this week (well, technically the mummies were talking while we babies had lunch) about speech and words and language, and our capabilities.  One yummy mummy had read that by 18 months, we should have at least discernable six words that we can use in context.

I’m getting there with my speaking, but whilst I think I’m pretty good, it seems that not all my words are technically English, so I thought it would be quite fun to record them now.  Well, Mummy thought. Some might well be absorbed into our family lexicon, but Mummy didn’t want to risk losing the others with her forgetfulness.

So, everyone have a laugh at the baby:

Bit – loosely, a biscuit but can be used for any other treaty-type thing

Dildo – next door’s cat (he’s registered at the vet as Dylan)

Knob-knob – a man.  Something I heard Daddy say and repeated; Mummy laughed so I’ve said it again

Muck – a white drink, preferably served warm

Peace – good manners, as in, “Muck. Peace,” rather than, “Muck” on its own, or, “Muck. Now!”

Poo – a universal word for any nappy bi-products

Sick – banging tunes on Daddy’s iPod, sometimes on the radio – for dancing to

Tattoo – conveys gratitude on receipt of a bit, muck, or anything else I’ve asked for

Tit – this is the command I give Hairy Dog when I’d like him to put his bottom on the ground

I have more conventional words like Mummy and Daddy, cat, bat, bird, car, all the regular animal sounds etc, but as they actually sound like the English word they’re supposed to, I guess they’re not at all funny.

CB x

Helping Toddlers Make Friends

I don’t have brothers or sisters yet, so Mummy and Daddy are keen for me to socialise with people my own age and make my own friends.  They think it’ll help my confidence and self-esteem, and improve my overall well-being.  Mummy is well aware how beneficial fulfilling friendships are so she wants me to have nice friends, too.

As with adult relationships though, toddler friendships can’t be forced.  Children learn from watching, so we need to spend time with other children to build our social skills. Mummy’s well aware of me learning from seeing  – I carry a handbag over my arm like she does, I dunk my bread in my soup like Daddy does.  I’m also copying what I hear now, so Daddy has to mind his language!

Now, the point of this story is about toddler friendships and an incident at the soft play place last week.  For a long time, babies play side by side, alone, rather than with each other, but now that we’ve become toddlers, my friends and I are starting to play together.  I love chasing and being chased, and the shrieks of laughter as we do laps around the sofa at a friend’s house is testimony to that.

I’m sure it’s really tempting for mummies to jump in and do things for us, but it’s important that you let us start to sort things out for ourselves.  How else will we learn, and find our own two feet to stand on?

So, there we were at the soft play.  I can be quite stand-offish to start with.  I like to survey the scene before I get stuck in, check out the lay of the land.  By the time I’d warmed up, I’d spotted a little girl I thought I might like to play with, or at least show some affection to.  She was roughly the same age as me, perhaps a little younger.  I followed her around for a bit, after all, no-one appreciates someone being too forward!  When the time was right, I launched my cuddle.  So far, so good.  She didn’t cry, she didn’t wriggle, I thought it was ok.  I gave her another one.  Same thing.  By the third time, I was hoping for a little reciprocation, but instead I was prised off her by her over-protective mother who came charging across the room to her daughter’s ‘rescue.’

Talk about a sledgehammer to crack a nut!  Now, I’ll admit, if I were a hulking great rugby player charging down the wing at high speed, you might accuse me of a high tackle, but there was certainly not that reaction from the tackle-ee.  She was sitting inside a car, I was standing beside it, so I could only wrap my arms around her neck.  I promise I was gentle!

In my opinion, the mother totally over-reacted; the child was not struggling, not crying, not seeming the least bit distressed.  Better surely to have let the girl sort it out for herself, if she needed to?  Teach her to have a voice, stand up for herself.  I hadn’t done anything aggressive, but if I had, it might just have been that I was trying to communicate – we toddlers are just learning, so don’t always realise that hitting or pushing might not be the best way to get someone to play a game. That’s where it might be appropriate for you grown-ups to step in, but to channel that ‘energy’ towards a more positive interaction.  That way, we learn what’s wrong, but also how to do it right next time. 

CB x

Hapy New Year!

Happy New Year, everyone!  I hope you and your families all enjoyed the festivities.  Our Christmas was pretty quiet after all Mummy’s build-up because we were all ill.  Santa came though, and he brought he lots of lovely things.  I had wonderful gifts from everyone – one very lucky baby!

New Year was good, too.  We went away with two of Mummy’s friends and their families, so I’ve had friends to play with all week.  We’ve made beautiful play-doh models, coloured-in with wax crayons, splashed in puddles, and played hide-and-seek.  Mummy even told us how to play Sardines, just to spice things up a little.  Such fun!

With all this talk of a new year, it seems like a good chance to have a look back over the last year and look ahead to what’s to come in 2012.

So, in brief summary of my year, I’ll cast my mind back to last January.  This time last year, I started nursery.  It was my first big step towards independence, and I’ve loved almost every minute of it; the first few days weren’t much good, but Mummy took longer to settle in that me.  I met my boyfriend there J

I’ve learned to crawl, then to walk, and now I’m running all over the place.  My love of shoes grows stronger every day, and I discovered handbags in 2011, too.  My inner diva is being nurtured and I think I could teach some of you a thing or two about tantrums already!  And I started blogging. Almost a year ago.

My friends and I have all had our first birthday parties (more lovely presents!)  Summer seemed to last forever.  Now, I’m getting the idea that grown-ups in this country love to talk about the weather, and generally how bad it is, so to avoid any “What summer?” comments, I’ll point out that we have photographic evidence of me playing in my paddling pool as early as April, and still in October.  That must be a good summer in anyone’s books.

I saw my first fireworks, my first carnival, and I met Santa again (twice).  So, 2012 has a lot to live up to.  As is customary at this time of year, I’ve pulled together a few resolutions of my own:

1.     I’m going to master the potty.  After the initial 'poo success,' it’s all been a bit, er, how shall I put it – hit and miss, with the emphasis on the miss.  I don’t like feeling wet or dirty.

2.     My words are going to become a bit more comprehensible, and I might even start joining them up!

3.     I’m going to spring clean my house and get it ready for summer, which could be as early as April again.

4.     We’re all going on holiday.  Together.  Officially, that decision has STILL not been taken, but I want to go abroad.  My horizons need broadening.

5.     I’m going to give Hairy Dog a bit of a break.  I think he had enough poking, pulling and body-slamming in 2011 to last a lifetime.

Have a good one!

CB x

My Favourite Christmas Song

I’ve ‘borrowed’ an idea from Mammasaurus in that I’m combining a couple of memes in one post; Actually Mummy tagged me to talk about my favourite Christmas song, and I’ll also tell you about my fondest Christmas memory. 

So, my favourite Christmas song.  Well, I’ve heard Wham’s Last Christmas SO many times because Mummy loves it, and I quite like some of the more ‘novelty’ songs, too, but Mummy’s so embarrassed about those that I’m not allowed to mention them.

Instead, I’m going to go for Chris Rea’s Driving Home For Christmas.  Now, it might come as a bit of a surprise to you, but I don’t drive yet.  This is where I merge seamlessly into my fondest Christmas memory; you see, this is only my second Christmas and while the first was lovely, I don’t remember  a huge amount about it.  Rather, I’m looking forward to creating a fondest memory this year and it feels like we’ve been driving towards this weekend for a long time.

Mummy and I went to stay with Grandma and Grandpa last year because Daddy was a long way away.  They did throw a wonderful, festive party, but I know Mummy was still sad, and that’s where the song comes in.  The lyrics, “So I sing for you, Though you can’t hear me,” were really appropriate for last year and Mummy and I spent a long time looking at pictures and talking about Daddy.

This year, Daddy’s with us and we’re looking forward to a perfect Christmas.  We’re off to the pantomime tomorrow to kick off the festivities officially – I can’t wait!

Merry Christmas, everyone!

CB x

Potty Training For Girls

Now, I know potty training is also for boys, but as far as we’re concerned in this house at the moment, I need to know the deal with potty training for girls – me and Mummy.  Daddy’s going to help, but let’s face it, Mummy’s going to have to deal with most of the whoopsies so she’s quite keen to minimise them.

Just to bring you up to speed, I’m still at the bottom end (no pun intended) of the ‘suggested’ age range for potty training. I’ve been quite interested for some time in the special chair in the bathroom that I’m not allowed to lick, that apparently grown-ups use,  although I have only ever seen Mummy and Daddy sitting on it.  They’re quite happy to tell me what’s going on, but I guess you all understand that without me spelling it out.

Anyway, getting to the point, Mummy thought it wouldn’t do any harm to get a potty and leave it around.  My dollies sit on from time to time, I sit on it, sometimes with my nappy on sometimes without.  Pre-potty, I’d had a few accidents during nappy-free time, and quite frankly, I find them mortifyingly embarrassing.  Just horrendous.  I don’t know whether to run away, crying my eyes out, or bury my head in Mummy’s leg, crying my eyes out.  I’ve started telling her, “poo,” when I’d like a clean nappy, so my awareness is improving.

So, yesterday morning, I was charging around my room playing, bare-bottomed, and I suddenly had the urge.  Mummy can spot it now because my eyes go a little pink and I stop what I’m doing, so she leaped across the room to grab the potty in the nick of time. Ta-dah!  I did it! One Number Two in the bag.  I gave myself a round of applause.

Mummy likes to think she’s in control around here, but I like to take charge of the schedule every now and then, to keep her on her toes.  She was going to breastfeed till I was at least six months.  Nah, I gave up at five.  She planned on doing this potty thing next summer, I say let’s spice things up a bit now.

I think it caught Mummy a bit by surprise.  She doesn’t even have a book on potty training yet, and Mummy has a book on everything.  A quick Google later and the three of us went out for me to pick my own potty, a step for me to reach the big girls’ loo, and a special seat to stop me falling in.  We’re armed with training pants, and some very pretty panties.

I’m after any other potty-training tips you have to get us all through this as quickly and easily as possible.  What do you have for us, lovely readers?

Sorry, that was a really sh*t post!  Ha ha!

CB x

My First Blog Post

Mammasaurus is getting all nostalgic this week and asking us to share our first blog posts again, so here’s mine from way back in March.  I’d just learned to crawl.  That seems like such a long time ago, now that I’m a Big Girl! 

No comments back then – let’s see how it fares this time round.  Have a look at the others here.

Ready . . . Steady . . . Go!

I’m finally on the move! Persistence was the key and I’d been practising for what seemed like forever. It all started when I thought about bearing some weight on my arms. My second leg kept getting stuck under my bottom and that held me back for a while – it wasn’t even really a shuffle at that stage, and boy, was it frustrating! I’m embarrassed to say, there were a few tantrums.

I think Independence might be my second name. It’s about time I started calling some shots around here – I’ll choose where I play, and if I don’t like what I’m given to play with, I’ll select something myself, even if it doesn’t fall into the conventional ‘toy’ bracket. Today, I’m liking plug sockets. It’s only right to point out to Daddy all the potential trip hazards so I’ve been waving loose cables at him wherever I find them. Someone could do themselves a nasty injury!

I think Mummy and Daddy were beginning to wonder if I’d ever figure it out. Daddy didn’t crawl but perfected a bum-shuffle, and Mummy went straight to walking. Even I am impressed with the speed I’ve built up in just a few days!

I think grown-ups should just chill out – we babies will manage to get around, don’t you worry! Some of my friends have been crawling for ages, others still aren’t. I sometimes wonder if I should have held out a little longer. I mean, why bother getting up to fetch something myself when if I scream loud enough, someone will just bring it to me.

So, must dash now – I’ve seen something on the other side of the room that needs investigating quickly!

CB

This Toddler Does Not Eat Breakfast!

I think breakfast is over-rated.  These days, I won’t eat it, whatever they give me.  Any of it.  If I’ve been asleep for hours (and sometimes I have, sometimes for really a very long time!) I want to get up and make the most of the day!  Why waste time eating?  There are toys to be played with, pictures to be drawn, not to mention the attention that must be lavished on Hairy Dog when I’ve not seen him in so long.  So, to assert my authority, I, the toddler, won’t eat breakfast.

It’s a small stand to make, but it does have Mummy’s attention focused at the moment.  All credit to her, she’s been quite inventive with the breakfast menu of late.  There’s been a bit of repetition, but generally there’s been something different every day for the last couple of weeks.  I might almost get excited to see what she’s come up with every day!

I’ve had the standard baby breakfasts of cereal with milk or yogurt.  We’ve done bread, sometimes toasted, with just butter or something a bit more interesting like jam or Marmite.  There was even chocolate spread this morning but I only know that because a little bit smeared on my thumb as I threw the plate to the floor without tasting the food.  I had to surreptitiously lick off the chocolate on my thumb so Mummy didn’t think she was making progress.  I’d be amazed if she thought chocolate spread was going to be a sustainable option because she’s quite insistent on me “eating properly.” I guess that’s why this breakfast lark has her knickers in a twist.

I’ve had an array of cooked options, too – omelettes, with ham or mushrooms or cheese, boiled eggs, scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage.

There’s always fruit on offer, and a couple of mouthfuls of banana is the most I’ve had for breakfast in ages and that’s only because I forgot myself and tucked in before I remembered I don’t eat breakfast.  Hairy Dog had the rest.

The clever thing about this game is that I’ll eat any of these things later in the day, I’m not a fussy eater, I just don’t want to eat first thing.  We often have a play before breakfast now as Mummy tries to make me think more time has passed than is actually the case, but I’m not stupid.

Milk, on the other hand, is something I will not miss out on.  The milk routine is much stricter in this house, and I’m quite insistent that we maintain those standards.  Mummy and Daddy have approximately ten seconds longer than it takes for me to walk from my bedroom to the kitchen in the morning before I go into a milk-deprivation-induced meltdown.  It can be done, but they need to be quick!

CB

Where I Do It . . .

I’ve been tagged by several people in the “Where Do You Do It?” meme – apologies for taking so long to get round to actually sharing with you all.

I generally do it here, on the sofa.

Sometimes I face forwards but other times I spin round and put my feet up on the sofa.  That way, I can see Daddy sitting in his chair, but I can also see the fire, which I really love.  I have my feet up tonight and the flames are licking the logs, which just makes the whole house feel so cosy.

I would love to have a proper office to write and work from, perhaps in the garden, and I (and Mummy) believe it will happen one day. Until then, I make myself comfy in the sitting room, beside the window, with my drink and my things around me.

Wot So Funee? Good Vibrations From The Cat Next Door

Our next door neighbours have a beautiful cat.  He’s white and really fluffy, and his name is Dylan.  He drives Hairy Dog crazy but does seem to enjoy taunting him.

Anyway, we were watching him yesterday and Mummy said, “Look, there’s Dylan. Can you say ‘Dylan?’”

“Dylan,” I dutifully responded.

“Oh, clever girl!” Mummy gushed, “Can you say it again?”

“D*ldo.” (I can’t put the vowel in for fear of weird traffic, but in case you’ve not figured it out, replace the '*' with an 'i'.)

Mummy sniggered.

“D*ldo.” I said again, and have done ever since.  I don’t understand – Wot So Funee?

Have a look at some of the other Funees at Actually Mummy here.

My Birth Story

I’m joining in with the blog hop over at Actually Mummy.  It’s sharing birth stories, so I thought Mummy would be better placed to write this one.  Have a look at the others here. She’s done me a letter to cover it all:

Dear CB,

I had what you might call a ‘text book’ pregnancy so I was hoping the birth would be straightforward, too.  We were so excited about meeting you, but then when you were two weeks late it was so frustrating.  We tried everything to coaxe you out; pineapple, curry, long walks.  No luck.

Then, the night before you were born, Daddy came home in a bit of a grump, saying how tired he was and that you’d better not come that night because he wanted some sleep. I was talking to Auntie K and we giggled thinking it would serve him right if you did decide to make an appearance that night.  And sure enough, as we lay in bed, I felt the first contractions.  I didn’t tell Daddy for the first hour or so because I wanted to be sure, but I was timing them.

He went to turn off the television at ten o’clock and I told him then that you were on your way.  He said a naughty word (in fact, he said a few) and told me to time the contractions and wake him up when they were regular.  More naughty words when I explained that I had already, and we got up.  I phoned the hospital and spoke to a midwife (a man, do we call him a midhusband?!) and he trotted out the spiel about timing contractions, asked if this was my first baby and told me that it would be hours yet but to call back when contractions were at least 45 seconds long and about 4 minutes apart.  Ok, I said.  I was at that point within an hour so rang him back to say we were coming in.

Daddy had had our bags ready for ages, but we still didn’t on the road swiftly.  He was making sandwiches!  It was quite a surreal moment, me pacing round the table in the kitchen with Daddy asking me if I wanted mayonnaise on mine.

It took us about three quarters of an hour to get to the birthing centre, which was in total darkness, as if no-one else was there.  In fact, it was just us and the mid-husband.  It was just after one in the morning.  He wasn’t that keen on coming to see us, or at least it felt that way; we were interrupting a quiet night for him.  At least we had the place to ourselves.

Daddy and I had been to NCT classes and had a very rose-tinted idea about what the birth would be like.  I thought it would be lovely to have a waterbirth, with calming music playing and gorgeous scented candles filling the room with relaxing smells.  They’d told us that if the water became impossible, then on no account was I to end up on my back, because that’s absolutely the worst and most difficult position.  Daddy knew that, and he knew what I wanted in the way of pain relief, too.

As it happened, the mid-husband tried to persuade us to go home, saying it would be hours yet as I was only 2cm dilated.  I didn’t feel totally happy with that because it’s such a long drive, and because Grandma and Auntie B both had very quick labours.  Daddy was trying to help me, but felt that the professionals would know as they had far more experience than us, so we were discussing getting a cheapy hotel room up the road.  The mid-husband offered me bath while I made up my mind, but once I’d had it, the contractions were coming so hard and fast that I told Daddy in no uncertain terms we were going nowhere. 

I was walking around all the rooms in the birthing centre, because I could and because I couldn’t really stay still by that point.  I wandered past the birthing pool, annoyed that it still wasn’t being run for me, even though no-one else was there, and I’d been told it could help with the pain.  It had been my plan all along.

Then my waters broke. Everywhere.  A massive whoosh, and suddenly mess all over the floor!  There was blood and meconium in there too, which put paid to the water birth and meant we’d be on our way up the corridor to the main labour ward.  

What happened next was completely unexpected for me.  I went completely primal and went off into the bathroom on my own, looking for a quiet corner I could lie down in to have my baby in.  I sat in there, rocking, and suddenly had a huge urge to push.  “Overwhelming” doesn’t quite cover it!  Daddy came in with a lady and a wheelchair to take me up to the hospital, but they were just getting in my way!  I did go with them, but I really didn’t want to because I was convinced you were minutes away.

It did all happen quite quickly upstairs.  A nice lady came in to see us and told me not to push.  I believe I said quite forcefully that I was going to, so she agreed to have a look, and lo and behold, 10cm, ready to go.  Suddenly, the room was full of people, amazed at how quickly this first time mum was doing, and finally someone gave me some gas and air!  Entonox is wonderful stuff!  In fact, I wouldn’t give it up.  The midwife who took over was brilliant.  Scary, but brilliant.  She took charge straight away and looked a bit like I imagine a military matron would look.  I remember her saying, “Baby’s distressed,” but she acted very quickly and I trusted her, so we did as we were told. 

I was on my back by now, with my feet in stirrups, (about as far from my birth plan as I could get!) The cord was stuck around your neck, so the pushing was tightening it. She had to make a bit of a cut, to help you out quickly, and suddenly, there you were! 5:21 in the morning. Only six minutes for the second stage!  I bled quite a lot, so the midwife ordered Daddy to take off his shirt and he did the important skin to skin time with you while I was fixed up. 

Daddy’s version of this bit is quite funny, but not something you need to hear until you’re much older.  Suffice to say, I was caught by surprise when the midwife had to check that she hadn’t sewn through anything she didn’t mean to!

We took you home that evening and from then on, we have been the proudest parents you can imagine.  We love you so much, CB!

Love,

Mummy x

Baby Food Portions - Too Small In My Opinion!

I’ve long suspected that food in this house is being rationed.  Specifically, my food is being rationed.  The supply of fruit at any one sitting is limited.  Mummy tells me there is “no more” but then there is more at the next sitting, without any trips to the shop.  Now, I’m smart enough to know that our personal strawberry crop was rubbish this year, so either the fridge grows its own, or I’m being lied to.  A white lie, but a fib nonetheless.  Ice-cream, sweeties, all the ‘good stuff,’ comes in small portions!

I have it on good authority that dog food is on short supply, too.  Hairy Dog and I have decided that enough is enough and action needs to be taken.  We thought about some kind of distraction technique whereby I’d keep Mummy busy while he grabbed something from the cupboard, then I’d meet him in the garden when the coast was clear.

The plan was faultless, except for the fact that without opposable thumbs, Hairy Dog was a bit of liability.  We reversed roles.  HD was going to create a diversion and I would raid the cupboard.  He did try, bless him, but he’s cried wolf (or rather, “CAT! CAT! CAT!”) so many times that Mummy just wasn’t falling for it.  In the end, I just got up and made a run for the kitchen.  I walked with purpose, and no-one realised what was happening till I had lifted the cereal box out and wrenched the lid off. 

By tipping the Coco Pops upside down (other breakfast cereals are available) I was able to maximise the opportunity and created a bit of a scramble for me and Hairy Dog.  Brilliant! We stuffed our faces.  I love it when a plan comes together.

This is us with our spoils!

CB

Baby Shoe Obsession

My name is Chatty Baby and I am a shoe-aholic.  Obsessed is the only word I can use to describe it.  I love shoes! 

Mummy loves shoes too, but she’s never forced her passion for footwear on me.  I developed one all of my own.  She has a lot of shoes!  I like to arrange them for her.  She keeps them on a rack in the bedroom, but always in pairs.  I used to think that’s a bit restrictive so I spiced things up a bit for her and created my own pairs.  Sometimes, I would hide a few (never the same) somewhere else in the house, which I thought was a much better game than Mummy and Daddy seemed to.

Now I’ve grown up a bit, I understand the aesthetics and practicalities of a matching pair and I like to choose a pair for Mummy each day.  Sometimes, she gets ahead of herself and chooses her own but if I shout loud enough when I present her with my choice, she usually sees sense.

I like to carry shoes at baby groups, or anywhere else we go where people have to take off their shoes.  It’s not that I want them all for myself, I don’t.  I just like to look at them, feel them, appreciate their beauty, and then return them to their owner.

I have a beautiful pair of shiny pink shoes with purple flowers on the toes, and some gorgeous wellies, pink again, with red roses on them.  I like to put them on first thing in the morning; I have to toddle past them in the morning to get to the table for my milk, so it’s not unusual to find me having my breakfast in my pyjamas and wellies.  You can’t buy this sort of style, you know.

Mummy bought me some new boots yesterday, brown, knee-high, with gold and brown flowers all up the leg.  They’re fabulous!  I wanted to wear them after my bath last night while I had my story, but the big meanie said “no.”  I must have dreamt about them too because “Boots” was the first word I said to Mummy this morning when I got up.

So off I trotted to nursery to wow them with my footwear.  They were suitably impressed and my shoe obsession continues.  Anyone else out there share my passion?

CB

Bite For The Right

If you haven’t heard already, I’ve been getting my teeth into nursery, or more specifically, the babies there.  Mummy’s gone on and on about it since the Nursery Ladies grassed me up, I mean, told her.

It’s not that I want to hurt other children, I don’t.  It didn’t really occur to me that I was causing any real pain till the Nursery Ladies told me off and made me think about what I’d done.  There’s not even any positive attention in it for me.  I’m trying to communicate rather than just be wilfully naughty – I’m not a bad baby!

I do care passionately about some toys though, especially pushchairs.  Buggy Love is a big deal for me!  I sometimes feel threatened by the other babies, like they’re trying to take away my things.  There I go again, they’re the nursery’s things, but we have so many toys there and I wouldn’t mind if I wasn’t allowed to touch some of the other things as long as I had exclusivity on the pushchair.  Pushchairs.

Sometimes when I yell, The Aggressor backs down and moves away.  Sometimes, it takes a scream, and when that doesn’t work, biting moves them on.  It gives me a safety zone.  I do feel pressure and stress and because of my age, I don’t have the words to express myself or the social experience to really grasp the concept of sharing.

Thankfully, Mummy’s not of the opinion that biting me back is a good idea.  She doesn’t want to teach me that violence causes violence, but she is keen for me to stop. She’ll make sure that I know straight away that I’ve done something wrong.  Daddy says it’s like training a dog – if you don’t tell them off immeidately, they don’t make the connection – and I’m not sure I like that analogy!

Mummy’s trying hard to spot signs before I do it, but she’s not at nursery and the Nursery Ladies don’t have eyes in the back of their heads.  The good news for everyone involved is that because they rotate the toys, the pushchairs probably won’t be there next week.  That buys me a little more time to get soms speech together beyond, “NO!”

CB x