Fire, Fire!

The boys and I spent the morning at the Firefighter Championships, climbing on old fire engines, watching fire demos and idolising the firemen that were all around us. I’m not sure what it is about firemen that gets little boys so excited, but the boys loved it, Declan has been telling me all of his plans to grow up and be a fireman, just like his “Gar gar”, Dan’s dad.

Four years and five days ago I sat on this same fire engine on my way to our wedding, I think I looked probably about as nervous as Conman looks up there, there aren’t seatbelts on that thing, and I had visions of falling off it onto the road, just my legs, uncomfortable shoes and knickers sticking up from a pile of tulle and satin.

We watched a demo of what happens when you throw water onto an oil fire – just 100ml of water caused this huge explosion.

Back when I was working in my Dad’s restaurant, one of the staff had a brain snap and poured a saucepan of water into the oil of the deep fat fryer, it wasn’t hot enough to explode (the oil in the picture was actually on fire) but it caused the hot oil to geezer right up to the ceiling. Scary as hell.

Unfortunately, that’s the end of any fun for the next fourty eight hours. This weekend has been dubbed, “The Weekend Of Doom”, I am spending it giving the house a thorough clean, and Dan is spending it doing his taxes, I might even make the kids eat vegetables this weekend just so they don’t feel left out.

Babies

Earlier this week as I tucked Declan into bed he looked intently at me and asked:

“Mummy, are you going to have a baby?”

I floundered, my brain did the mental equivalent of rolling over and playing dead whilst I racked my brain for an appropriate answer that he would understand and at the same time wouldn’t cause me to become an emotional wreck.

“Not anytime soon buddy”

“You need to have a baby with Declan!”

“That’s not how it works, Mummies only have babies with Daddies”

“Nope… Daddy is just far too tired for that.”

O.o

——————-

Babies will be soon, August the 19th marks the magical 6 month mark that I was given to wait until I even started trying to get knocked up. I still have to do some tests, and personally I don’t really see it actually happening any time soon as my cycle is completely shot to shit still. I’ve been playing crosshair bingo on fertility friend… you know the one, where you delete various temperatures until they tell you that you’ve ovulated. That’s probably the less scientific way to “take charge” of my fertility, but it makes me feel better and slightly less broken when a stupid website tells me that my uterus isn’t completely b0rked.

I started packing away the size one and size three clothes yesterday. Dan delights in each and every milestone, whereas I just want to squish them up and make little bonsai babies that I can hang on to. How dare they grow up without my permission.

Snips And Snails…

and puppy dog tails.

That’s what my little home is made of.

Connor is fast on his way to two years old, and still has yet to talk or walk. He tries, he makes plenty of progress, and then stops and regresses back to where he was.

Declan’s psych says not to worry about it at all, that his understanding of what we say to him is far too advanced for anything to be an issue.

I am inclined to agree. He has everyone of us wrapped around his finger, knowing that he can get the entire room looking and cheering at him if he takes a couple of steps unsupported, or being able to communicate without any kind of effort, just a series of nods, head shakes and points.

In my continuing attempt to cut down on the amount of unknowns in Declan’s diet I made homemade cordial last night, I slaved over a hot stove, boiled rasberries and sugar syrup down and made a beautiful 100% natural bright red drink for him to enjoy.

I gave it to him tonight, I told him it was “Mummy’s Special Cordial” and how it was much better for him than the usual stuff. He took an enthusiastic swig, pulled a face, handed me the cup back and suggested I poured it down the sink.

It’s a good job I love them.

Grotty feet and all.

Smile, Though Your Heart Is Breaking

If I come out of the other side of this learning one thing, it’s to truly appreciate what I do have, to enjoy the moments that make me smile and keep me going each day.

Like the love Dan has for the boys and myself.

Connor’s refusal to ever grow up.

Completed projects.

And interruptions

Second Child Syndrome

A couple of days ago I backdated a photopost about Connor, I was hoping to sneak it in under the radar, but forgot about the magic of RSS, and of course the people reading my feed saw it pop up.

Why am I backdating posts about my littlest babe you ask?

Guilt.

No. Worse than that. Mother’s guilt.

Connor already gets the short end of the stick on a lot of things, most of his clothes are hand me downs, his brother’s temperament and issues means that he dominates our time, the poor kid doesn’t even get a room of his own, he has to share it with piles of paperwork, dead computers and furniture that won’t fit anywhere else.

See the mildly annoying moving thing just underneath my header? I noticed that there was photo after photo of Declan, and the only photo of Conman was about to drop off the end into the oblivion of the interwebs, in favour of yet another Declan post. I had fallen into the trap of second child syndrome without even realising it.

So I tried to sneakily backdate a post and now I feel even worse because I got totally busted by my RSS readers.

Mother’s guilt could send a woman crazy.

Making The T-Shirt Fit The Crime

It all started so innocently. A bit of afternoon painting to fill up the time in between coming home from preschool and eating dinner. Sounds great right? Whatever could go wrong.

Allow me to present a photo essay of what could go wrong:

Declan likes to consider himself a post-modern impressionist.

He decided he needed a different application method.

I should probably make a crappy joke about being caught red handed here.

Right about this point I made the silly mistake of turning around to get Connor some milk. I turned back to see my eldest has moved on from paper and is now turning himself into an installation piece, smearing paint over his face and arms. Cue a quick dash to the bath with strict instructions not to touch anything.

Despite his protests I eventually convinced him it was going to take a little more than washing his hands to get rid of all the paint.

I’m not sure what’s worse about this photo, the state of his face or just how shaggy his hair is getting. The kid looks like he’s waiting for Fagin to contact him about an opening in the petty crime career path.

Lesson learned – never turn your back on a three year old when he’s armed with poster paint.

Little Conman was less that impressed with all the chaos.

Looking Lovely In Lilac

This is me “turning my son gay” if my husband is to be believed. He doesn’t approve of the lilac nappy, the dark purple one is okay, it’s “like Shaft” apparently, but the lilac is just one step away from transforming Connor into Carson Kressley.

Ravioli Night

There are few certainties in life, the trip home is always faster than the trip there, the milk will always be soured on the mornings that you REALLY need a coffee, a babies cannot eat an orange meal without taking the time to smush it into their cheeks and feel the texture of the tomato sauce on their skin.

Ravioli Night in our household is always followed by baths, baths that involved copious amounts of soap and scrubbing to remove every last bit of food debris.

At least he’s cute, right?

Twelve Months On

My baby boy turned one year old on Saturday.

One year since he shot out of my vag looking like a member of the Blue Man Group and entered the world.

One year since he was whisked off to the NICU before I’d seen him, with Dan following promising to return with a photo.

One year since I told Dan that he must have photographed the wrong baby because “my baby isn’t Asian!”.

One year since I learned that jaundice and swollen eyes from birth canal trauma can do funny things to your baby’s face.

One year of learning and growing and winding his older brother up

And yet it feels like he’s been in our lives forever. Not in an “oh god, when will this annoying house guest ever leave?” way, more in the way that he filled a hole that we weren’t even aware was there.

I’ve learned in the last twelve months just how different children can be. Declan and Connor have been raised in exactly the same way, and yet you couldn’t find two children less alike. My eldest will leap off a platform twice his height and just hopes that he lands well, whereas Connor will cling to you if you take the corner too fast whilst you’re carrying him to the bedroom. Declan will bounce off walls and demands constant amusement, Connor is quite happy to sit and take in the world. Declan started walking at nine months old and woe betide anyone who wanted him to sit down and chill out, Connor has only recently started to crawl and will happily sit down and cuddle with anyone that asks.

I love Declan with every piece of me, just as I love The Conman, but my entire pregnancy I was petrified of having two of him, two kids with that level of energy and gusto would have flattened me. From day one Connor was a different baby, he still has the stubborn streak that his brother has, and believe me, if he doesn’t approve of something, he’ll let you know, but he’s not the hellbeast that Declan was, and to an extent, still is. He’s calm, he’s quietly determined and he loves human touch. He is my little boob monster, my bed buddy in the mornings when he wakes up and wants cuddles, my living garbage disposal that will eat anything that looks like it might have at one stage been edible. The telly holds no interest for him, but he’s very aware of the world around him, and his play focuses more on mimicry, probably because he takes so much in.

I’m not sure how he’ll grow up, I’ve always said that Connor’s my rugby player and his brother is the soccer star, based soley on their build. I think he will be athletic and I think his silent resolve will get him further in certain elements of life than his brother’s brash way of taking on the world, I also think if he keeps on eating in the way he currently is we’re going to have to add extra suspension to the car.

So happy birthday my little Conman, thank you for filling that gap in our lives that we didn’t know we had, thank you for teaching your brother that he isn’t the centre of the universe and for teaching me that not everything is my fault, but that every baby is different from the next

And if you could walk sometime before college, that would be awesome.

Love always,

Mummy xxx