• Parent checklist


    There should be some kind of realistic planned parenthood checklist before you decide if parenthood is right for you.
    Forget financial stability, a roof over your head.

    Are you willing to never sleep properly again.
    Did you enjoy your old waistline.
    Do you mind having eye bags that match your eye shadow.
    Are you willing to always share your food and hide behind kitchen counters when you want to eat something you don’t want to share.
    Do you like pooing alone.
    Do you enjoy every cupboard being emptied four times a day.
    Can you handle a child crying over you not letting them eat the dog.
    Are you willing to learn that poo comes in fifty colours.
    Can you speak tantrum.
    Do you like quiet meals out.
    Are you able to apply your make up with a small child using your hair as church bells and colouring their legs in with your Mac foundation.
    Are you comfortable with the fact that one day your child will reach for your sanitary products.
    Are you able to tidy up 40 times a day.
    Do you have the hands of a small child to do up the most ridiculously sized child buttons.
    Can you accept the fact that one day you will feel like a mum warrior and the next like you want to check into a hotel. Alone.
    Do you like wine.

  • Sleep battles


    I don’t feel envious of people whose children go to bed with ease and sleep all night. I feel glad for you, I wouldn’t wish sleepless nights and bed battles on anyone. For this is truly an exhausting battle in a war I don’t want to be part of.
    When you have a child who by day is an angel, the kind of company you are proud of, it can be a real mind screw when at night you find yourself fed up with them.
    I could say I love you 400 times a day with ease but by night I mutter please shut up to myself more times than I am proud of.
    Desperate for downtime, I question why you fight sleep so much. Knowing you just want to be with me, feeling bad that for a few hours a night, I don’t want to be with you.

    Wondering why you wake up, when I do everything right, then realising what is right for one person may not be right for another.

    Trying to blame it on everything I can. Teething, jabs, growth spurt, milk change….
    Wondering if something is wrong with you or is something wrong with me.

    I wouldn’t wish these sleep battles on anyone but I do wish I was on the other side.
    I am mother hear me roar, but I am also tired hear me yawn

    Motherhood, fueled by caffeine, love, and humour.

    So I raise a glass to all you going through the battles and know that you are not alone.

    Team no sleep,

    A xIMG_20160203_214136

  • Turning One


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    To my darling daughter,

    We did it. We survived.

    This beautiful year. A never ending marathon.

    And what a year it has been.

    I never imagined I would be typing this post so soon. It seemed a second ago you were a skinny legged newborn sleeping on my chest. A second ago that I was experiencing colic and spending most of my day bouncing you up and down like a 90s rapper.

    You grew, you learnt to eat, move, chatter.

    I gave you more Calpol  than I imagined I would and months 9 – 11 were a teething haze.

    You taught me patience but we have had lots of times when I would cry because I was so desperate for you to go to sleep and you would just want to hang with me like a drunken friend who doesn’t know when to leave a party.

    We spent our days playing and being silly, buying you more clothes than you need. Exploring everything that is new to your eyes and both behaving as silly as each other.

    You gave me eye bags that have eye bags, that carried extra eye bags incase the other ones ran out. You have ruined my back from bending over the cot and patting you repeatedly before I crept out of your room like a rookie burglar.

    You made me realise who and what was important to me and to let the silly things go.

    I taught you words and you mimicked me with the eagerness of a puppy.

    Most importantly, you taught me love like I never knew before and for that I am eternally grateful to you.

    Happy Birthday Phoebe Cecily Violet, Here’s to the next year,

     

    Mama Ali xxx

     

  • The parents alphabet


    The parents alphabet

    A is for Abs. Remember them?
    B is for bottle or boobs. The thing one person will always have an opinion on.
    C is for Calpol. Say no more.
    D is for dreaming. Dreaming of a whole nights sleep.
    E is for eyeballs. The thing your baby will love to poke first thing in the morning.
    F is for farting. They do it a lot. They love fart noises.
    G is for grandparents. Or life savers.
    H is for hormones. The things that make you go from normal to bat shit crazy in 0.2 seconds.
    I is for Iggle piggle. No avoiding that little blue bugger.
    J is for jam. For when you pretend to feed them a healthy meal but sometimes jam on toast creeps in.
    K is for kisses. The things that make it all worthwhile.
    L is for lie ins. Just joking, wrong list.
    M is for mama. You will hear that name in your dreams and sometimes nightmares.
    N is for nightime. Something you didn’t realise was so precious, pre baby.
    O is for olbas oil. That and snuffle rub. The signature scent of your baby.
    P is for poo. Poomageddons. Poonamis. Your life is taken over by poo.
    Q is for quaking. That thing you do when you hear them move or cough in the night.
    R is for running after. The thing you will do a lot.
    S is for soft play. The place where germs breed but your child can go crazy whilst you pretend to watch.
    T is for teething. The reason why parents drink.
    U is for using your clothes to wipe up snot.
    V is for vagina. Poor poor vagina.
    W is for wine. Your new best friend.
    X is for xylophone. Anyone still own the stick?
    Y is for yoghurts. The ssh pudding.
    Z is for zombie. Not just for the walking dead.

  • No colds allowed


    Having a bad cold pre baby: Wahh I feel really ill, just going to lie in bed all day watch House and sleep it off.

    Having a bad cold with a baby: Wahh I feel really ill, just going to wake up at 6:30, play whose that hiding in my bed, down a glass of vitamin c and a paracetamol whilst doing breakfast aeroplanes, play with my baby, change her, use her muslin as a snot rag (she does it too) feed her, take her to bed and tidy up, play with her, take more drugs, change her, feed her, do the hokey cokey, stare at the clock alot waiting for bedtime, play with her, feed her, put her to bed, clean up, cook….. Then curl up on the sofa in a quivering mess.

  • An ode to fireworks


    An ode to fireworks (now I’m a mum)
    Oh fireworks so noisy and bright.
    You really do make bedtime a fright.
    Pretty colours and sounds so fun.
    Unless that is, you are a mum.
    Banging till 2AM
    That used to be me.
    Instead you make me so angry.
    Whizzing and popping, things that burn
    Making my child toss and turn
    So shove your sparklers up your bum
    From an over tired, disgruntled mum.

  • The getting ready saga


    Shout out to all the mums who manage to get dressed and put their make up on, without wanting to throw their child in the bin.
    Getting ready has become a daily battle of chasing her round the room with one leg in my tights.
    Her shouting at me because I wont let her electrocute herself whilst I try and put my clothes on.
    And make up time. Well this has become somewhat of a skill, now I wrestle with a baby who wants to touch it all whilst applying even eyeliner wings.
    There should be some kind of medal for neat make up application with a grabby blusher brush sucker.
    Sometimes I understand the unmade mothers I see in town but I am never losing my face.

  • Survival


    How to survive motherhood:

    Drink wine.
    Laugh at the stressful days.
    Don’t put too much pressure on yourself.
    Drink wine.
    Don’t expect every day to be the same.
    Pat yourself on the back occasionally.
    Drink wine.
    If you need a cry when tired, do it.
    See your friends when you can.
    Drink wine.
    Know that you are not alone.
    Have some you time when possible.
    If there is no wine, drink that dodgy christmas liquor in the cupboard.

  • 9 Months


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    9 Months.
    This milestone hit me hard. The last haul before turning one. Buying 9-12 months sized clothes stung and I have found myself longing for the tiny Phoebe days. Just longing mind you, wouldn’t want to go back to the zombie hormone days.
    Phoebe has become quite the performer, she knows how to make you laugh and pulls questionable but cute faces.
    Words have started with weeeee, hi,mama,baa baa, hiya, ola (dog) and daddad (grandad)
    She is my child so her being a chatter box was a given.
    She has got the moves like Jagger, if Jagger was a drunken one legged horse. Bum shuffling everywhere, crawling when she has to and manoevering like Stig from Top Gear in her walker.
    Every day a new thing develops and it is amazing watching her change.
    Though on the 9 month of still not sleeping through, I could occasionally put her in the kennels for the night.
    That’s it now. The final countdown.

    Ali x