I can’t help getting…maudlin? sentimental?….when writing these life updates. They are a monthly reminder of how quickly time passes, of how quickly life passes – not that I really need a reminder. The changes in Ted from month to month, week to week, day to day mean that it is right there in front of me, constantly; it’s a joy and a massive, bittersweet privilege to witness.
Anyway. I’ll try to keep my emotions in check, even though this is the month that Ted will turn two. TWO! Officially not a baby anymore (signalled by the end of the counting-age-in-months thing I yapped on about last time).
But for now he is 23 months and 1 week and I am forever the proud mother cliché, astounded daily by his learning rate.
His speech is way ahead of where it was even a month ago: he can repeat pretty much everything he hears – slightly worrying! – yet still has his own funny little labels for things.
After HATING Calpol as a baby – or more likely, hating that syringe thing it comes with these days – he is currently like a junkie with it. (We ditched the syringe a long time ago and now go old-school with a spoon. This would all sound terrible out of context, wouldn’t it? And I should point out here that he’s got a cold at the moment; we don’t offer it willy-nilly. Calpol, that is.)
Anyway, the point I was meant to be making about Calpol was about funny pronunciations – as soon as I went into his room the other morning, he was demanding ‘medmas’ (medicine). Yikes.
(Luckily for you, dear reader, I can’t quite remember ALL of his odd little pronunciations, otherwise I might be tempted to create a Ted dictionary that, even by my standards, would make agonisingly dull reading for anyone apart from me.)
(And for future Ted of course, who I’m sure would be thrilled if I were to surprise him with such a tome at his 21st birthday party. *Makes mental note to start Ted dictionary today*)
In other news, he is still completely averse to sitting on any of his ride-on toys, preferring to push them around the house instead. One upside of this is that it prompted his very first sentence (kind of): “bum on bike” – my mum frequently says to him “get your bum on that bike”. Wot larks, eh?
Perhaps it is a bit odd that he won’t sit on his bike, or his Batman or Thomas the Tank ride-on, but while I’m half-fretting over him being ‘behind’ because he won’t use his behind, I’m also fretting about him being ‘too’ good with numbers.
He can now count backwards from 10, as well as forwards, so this obviously means he’s going to be a boffin with no friends by the time he’s 18.
The poor kid really can’t win.
Anyway. At least the fretting will stop in in three months’ time when baby 2 will hopefully be with us, and I’ll have forgotten who Ted is.
“What do you mean I have another child? Ohhhhh, I wondered who it was sat upstairs watching Numberblocks!!! I remember now. Todd someone?”
(Or is it the other way around, and the baby will be put in a corner and forgotten about? Time will tell!)
All is currently well on the preggo front, touch wood. I’m 27 weeks now, and feeling OK. Weirdly I don’t feel as ginormous as I did a month ago; maybe I’m getting used to my rotundness again.
I have an anterior placenta this time around, which, as the sonographer explained at my 20 week scan, means baby’s movements might not feel as pronounced as they would otherwise. And the movements do seem softer, and not as noticeable as they were with Ted.
I’m sure I’d be freaking out about this if it was baby 1 – or maybe not, as I wouldn’t know any different? Either way, I currently feel quite relaxed about everything. Probably because I am always so bloody tired.
As I write this, we’re about to go off on a little caravan holiday to Primrose Valley, just up the road. I’m really looking forward to it – although the weather is meant to be APPALLING – but it means that May will be another month where I have less work time than I’d like.
I’ve got another paid writing commission in the bag – woohoooo – but not exactly sure when I’ll complete it, not least because it feels trickier than the piece I worked on last month. So of course I’m faffing about and procrastinating, writing about bums on bikes – or lack of – instead.
There have been a couple of sh*tty things that have happened, fairly close to home, over the last few weeks that mean I feel like a grade-A kn*bhead for complaining or feeling fed-up about anything. What right do I have?
I have my gorgeous boy and my bump and Gray and our lovely house and our caravan holiday and everything else *touch wood*….
Yet I’m telling myself that it’s still OK for me to feel frustrated by a lack of work progress, or to feel irritated by something G does (like breathing, ho ho), or to feel a bit bored when Ted’s been up since 5am and we’ve no plans for the day.
I can feel massively grateful and lucky and be thankful for everything while still striving towards something more and feeling frustrated once in a while. I’m aware of being a brat and I’m trying not to be but I’ll try and be kind to myself too.
Anyway, I’ll probably leave it there for this month. Thank you for reading, and 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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