It’s just occurred to me that I first started writing these updates when Ted was seven months old, and he’s now 21 months, so I’m giving myself a little pat on the back for sticking with them for so long.
Here we are, another month in – and Master Ted seems to have transformed into a full-blown tantrum-ing toddler overnight.
One minute, he was happily counting up to 16 and emptying the kitchen cupboards to his heart’s content, causing no bother to anyone.
The next, he’s flinging objects around like a three-foot tyrant, and crying because I served him water at 5 degrees Celsius, not 5.2 as requested. God forbid he finds out it comes from the tap and not from a Fijian island.
I jest, of course. Most of the time I have no idea why he gets so cross because he can’t tell me – which is no doubt at the root of his frustration. That, and the fact that I won’t let him have his 23rd Rich Tea biscuit of the day.
(They must be Rich Teas or Digestives to meet the approval of Ted, the biscuit purist. None of your chocolate-covered, icing-coated, jam-filled varieties for our T; I suspect he would argue that fancier biscuits are for plebs with less sophisticated palates. And GOT TO BE MCVITIE’S. ALWAYS. He refused my mum’s attempts to fool him with Aldi Digestives the other day.)
I’m exaggerating, mostly, about the tantrums. (Not the biscuits.)
Most days, currently, we have only two or three grumpy spells that never last that long. Touch wood. It’s just that he’s been such a joy, in the main, for such a long time now that it has come as a bit of a shock that he has started being stroppy.
And he’s started trying to bite, too – which I am definitely NOT on board with. (Stating the obvious since the early 1980s, that’s me.)
On a related note, I mentioned last time how breastfeeding had become agony, a combination of pregnancy sensitivity and Ted’s teeth taking more of a lead role during feeding.
It is still agony. Ted is still like a small, determined crocodile.
I made the decision about 10 days ago to cut back on feeding, and we’re now down to one last bedtime feed each day.
It’s gone OK, all things considered.
Ted was very clingy to begin with, in the mornings especially. I couldn’t sit on the sofa for the first two hours of the day because he’d start trying to climb on me and he got upset. As did I, at not being able to sit down.
Things are slowly getting easier. I can sit down again, in short bursts at least. He’s still attempting to climb on me in the mornings, presumably to feed, but he’s becoming much easier to distract, with an early breakfast or an entire series of Numberblocks.
In all, the last few weeks have been relatively challenging, but with two notable, wonderful upsides:
1) his sleep is still pretty good (I say ‘pretty good’ because I did have to go in and settle him at 3am the other morning, and because he’s been waking up around 5:30am recently – but this is still ‘pretty good’ when those memories of 2-3 wakings a night are still so fresh)
2) he has finally started saying ‘mummy’! I’ll walk into the room and he’ll shout it out, running towards me, and I am instantly the soppiest sap that I always suspected I might become.
(Actually, he says ‘mammy’ not ‘mummy’ – like he’s a wee lad from Limerick who loves potatoes and Westlife – but I will take it.)
(If I have any Irish readers, PLEASE FORGIVE ME for the xenophobic leanings of the above sentence used for a cheap laugh: inexcusable. I mean, AS IF anyone likes Westlife!*)
(*Actually that latest song that I hear a lot on Radio 2 – YES WHAT OF IT? – isn’t too awful, is it?**)
(**WHO AM I AGAIN??)
So yes, I imagine that I will never tire of hearing ‘mummy’ – or ‘mammy’ – and he will get away with murder from hereon in. (Hopefully that level of leniency will never be required, but you know what I mean.)
As for me, I’m doing OK. This is week 19 of pregnancy and I feel HUGE, particularly on a night and if I’ve had second helpings of pasta for tea. Last night I tried on a stretchy skirt I’d bought from Primark for £6 and honestly, I looked full term. Yikes.
I’m starting to feel the baby move – those tiny fluttery sensations that can be mistaken for wind – and it is lovely, and surreal.
I can’t really imagine a baby in the house again, and August still seems very far away, so it’s strange to feel those almost undetectable movements and to be reminded that yep, it is happening.
I’m feeling quite positive about my writing, and the blog, and am motivated to keep going with it – even though traffic to my site has dwindled a bit, after having some unexpected success through Pinterest when I first started using it at the start of the year.
It’s a slog to keep going with something when progress is slooooowwwwwwww, but thinking that I’ve got five months to plough on, until – all being well – life will be thrown into happy chaos once more, is the little whip that is currently cracking my not-so-little bottom.
So we’ll leave it here for today, while I get back to my plan for world domination, or domination of my house at least. Any tips for overthrowing a three-foot (occasional) tyrant?
Bye for now x
Hello, I'm Laura. I write about parenting, life, style, building a business and finding success on your own terms.
You'll find plenty here to get your teeth into. (Useless pun very much intended...) X
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