1.  Pirates

2.  Lunch a deux

3.  The Cot

Back in with Son 2 aged 21m as I’m still not sleeping. Wakened by “Mummmeeee.” I peered round the pile of pillows I’d put between me and the cot to stop him seeing me. He peered back. “Boo,” he said.  I picked him up. “Wa-wa,” he said, pointing to the  glass on the bedside table.  I gave him a gulp, and laid him down beside me in the double bed. “Up,” he said.  Son 1 aged 4y 9m was already downstairs watching telly with The Man.  Son 1 has been busting for me to play pirates with him.  Pang.  I played it with him on Sunday but cannot remember the last time we played together before then.  He had the treasure, the monsters and the Tower Of Doom. My pirates were going to attack the castle. I put together an airforce of four Peter Pans and Tinkerbell, ready to attack his three-headed dragon. I took my eye off the Playmobil pirates for an instant and they’d been scalped, their earrings stolen. “Earrings are treasure,” I was told. Son 1 is Very Particular about how the Playmobil pirates are dressed - they can never vary from how they came out of their boxes. I’d put them together any old how.  Every now and then, during the battle, Son 1 stopped and looked at my efforts, shaking his head. “That is just so wrong.”  Afterwards, he and Wonder Nanny dressed them properly. She of course knows every set of cuffs and kerchiefs.

The Man and I left the boys with Wonder Nanny and went for lunch.  For us, a Good Thing.  We decided to move Son 2 into Son 1’s bedroom so I can read in bed if I can’t sleep.   We want them in together, and this week is a good time because I’m off and can sort/get up if things don’t work out.  

When we got back Wonder Nanny left for a doctor’s appointment.  The boys and I watched Ice Age.     ”Son 1, would you like to have Son 2 ’s cot in with you?” “Yes! Yes! Let’s move it now!” “Son 2, would you like us to put your cot in Son 1’s room so you can sleep with him?” “No.”  Wails from Son 1. Clearly, Son 2 hadn’t understood.  “Would you like to sleep with Son 1?” “No.”   I gave it one more shot. “Shall we put your cot next to Son 1’s bed?” “No.”  And yet it moved.  I really don’t think Son 2 was happy, but Son 1 was delighted.   I lay Son 2 down in the cot.  In the same position, in the same place Son 1 used to sleep, till he was about 2y 9m, when we moved him into his bed to get the cot clear for the arrival of Son 2.  Another Pang, and I don’t think it was back trouble.

1.  Wake Me Up

2.  Bad Boys

3.  Freedom

Son 2 aged 18m had an awful night.  I got back late from the Big City, he cried, I went in and he was burning up.  So, worried he had my cold, and worried he needed Mummy Serotonin, I slept with him. And was instantly reminded why I don’t do it.  He just doesn’t sleep if I’m with him.  At one point he had me pressed against the foot of the cot, the bars in the side of my head, as he lay T-boned alongside the pillows, his hard little head shoved into me.  In the morning he cried to get up, his sleeping bag twisted round and round him so he could no longer move.  My head stayed on the pillow.   Son 1 aged 4y 6m came in, chattering.  Son 2 pushed himself up on his arms and smiled.

The Beach By The Garden was the Wednesday trip.  The other two mums were already there.  Son 1 played with Best Friend, Best Friend’s little brother, and 3 year old.  Son 2, flashing through the Seven Dwarfs of Over-Tiredness.  Crabby, Floppy, Clingy, Tetchy, Dozy, Clumsy and Loud.   The four big boys scattered like marbles.  I put the beach tent up, hoping it would keep them all in one place.  They tried to tow it away by the guy ropes.   One Mum went, Son 2 fell asleep At Long Last, and we de-camped to the Garden.   The three big boys played among the young Gunnera on Snake Island, lying on their tummies, watching the fish flicker back and forth in the streams. I bought them ice cream.  They stripped off and played monkeys, eating chocolate ice creams and climbing on railings.

In the evening I picked up one Wednesday Mother and drove over to the other’s.  We drank Cava and sauvignon blanc, and planned virtual dinner parties to stop us talking about children.   We got as far as Jo Brand, Michelle Shocked, Sawyer from Lost, Jane Austen, Jesus and Shakespeare.  We had problems coming up with enough women, and decided Society Was To Blame.  Then we did Which Chef?  And we got back late.

1.  Babyschool

2.  Message From A Blog Reader

3.  The Comeback

Son 2 aged 16m sat through the whole of Tiddler.  He has a fish-thing anyway, opening and closing his mouth as a baby sign whenever he sees one.   He is an entry level Julia and Axel fan - he likes Monkey Puzzle, which I always feel is a good tale for the child of a Working Mother.  Although in our house it was sabotaged somewhat when I read out “Mummy doesn’t have great big saggy knees,” and The Man walked briskly by and said “Oh yes she does.”  He likes The Gruffalo.  But until today we hadn’t got much further.    This morning though he was glued to it.  The only disruption came from Son 1 aged 4y 4m who came down from watching telly upstairs and said: “She didn’t write it down for Son 2, she wrote it down for ME.”  And then Son 2 picked it again this evening out of a pile on the bed.

While I was at The Office I had a text from The Man:  ”Glad to read the heart scan was ok.”  “Thanks for asking,” I texted back.

When I got back, Son 1 was insistent.  “Don’t put me to bed before 8 o’clock.”  The Man had rung and said he’d be back then.  Son 2 had been swimming with Wonder Nanny.    I put him down to bed.   Little fat arms round my neck, pulling my face close to his.   On his cot pillow.  Jaysus that child can cry.  He screeched and shrieked and sobbed.  And this was before I left him.  I am still doing my lullaby/three rounds of Summertime, five counts down from 100 and then Nighty Night thing.  And he is still doing his ATOMIC SCREAMING.  The Man came back.  And Son 1 smiled and cuddled and cuddled and smiled.  Happiness all over his face.

1.   Dawn Presence

2.   Perfect Presents

3.   Present Tense

The Man was away overnight.  I woke at 0615, aware of a presence, a pitter-patter of footsteps, the light touch of hands feeling for me in the dark and a whispered: “Mummy I want a wee.”  “Ok-don’t-worry-I’ll-put-a-light-on.” “It’s coming. Now.”  “Okay-okay-okay.”  We sorted him out, and then Son 1 aged 4y 2m climbed into bed. The idea was that we would cuddle in the cold and have a little snooze.  He didn’t stop talking.  We went downstairs for snacks and drinks, and then heard Son 2 aged 15 m wailing.  “Go upstairs and look after him while I bring the tray up.” Up he went.  Son 2 stopped crying.  When I got up Son 1 had put the lights on, put a balloon in his brother’s cot and was bouncing on the bed to entertain him.  A natural.  I might get him to babysit.

I Christmas-ed shopped at lunchtime.  Nanna is going to see The Family on Saturday, so my meagre pile of presents needed boosting.  And Nanna is going on the train, so the presents must be no weight.  She wanted make-up, which I think is quite cool as she is a lady of a certain age.  I only really managed to get hers, but I was pleased with it.  I looked everywhere for light presents suitable for The Brother and The Godfather.  Socks. Belts. Hankies.  Stuff it we’ll have to pay for lunch next time they visit. Teenaged Niece and Nephew are going to have money, which is all they want anyway.  And then I bought two more books for Son 1.  I had a long, long look for stocking fillers for Son 2.  I really am finding him very hard.  He’s got an ambulance Son 1 picked for his birthday that he likes, but other than it’s remote controls, computers, wires, phones and stairs.  And books. He likes books.  His latest trick is climbing up on the piles in Son 1’s room and surfing down on the top book, but he does like looking at them as well.

The Man came back from his Business Trip, which was a third Good Thing.   He had the shower on for Son 1 when I came up the stairs, which meant he didn’t hear Son 2 screaming because he’d caught his little baby fingers in a cupboard door.  I keep thinking I should just let Son 2 learn the hard way not to play with doors … but then I flash forward to the interview in the Guardian: “I lost the use of my right hand when I was a year old and my fingers got flower-pressed in the door hinge.”  We did the whole of Son 1’s babyhood with just two stair gates, so we still don’t quite believe the way Son 2 climbs on the the things we put down to stop him climbing.  We’re sure that his accepting, biddable side will emerge in a few more weeks.

1.  Finger shadows

2.  Finger walking

3.  Finger food 

 I am comforting Son 2 aged 14m to sleep  by putting the fan on for white noise, sticking my head in the cot next to him till he drowses, then straightening up my pulverised back and kneeling down with my hand on his chest till I dare take it away, put the cot side up and tiptoe out.  This is progress from the weeks of getting him to sleep by lying next to him on a double bed, and having him in the bed with an adult overnight.  So.  He woke this morning at 0515.  The Man went down and lay next to him on the bed.  Son 2 cried and cried.  I gave in. I went down, put him in the cot and did my bent-over-the-cot-my-head-next-to-his-soft-fluffy-hair.  He went quiet.  He lay still.  And then he started making shadows on the wall of his cot by waving in front of the light from the extension lead… and making fish noises.  Which progressed to bah bah bah bah bah.  Translation: I’m really bored and I want to get up, but I can keep myself busy if you want your head like that.”  My back again made the decision and I took him downstairs for milk and a snack.  It was five to six.

We went to The Beach.  Both sets of Wednesday Friends, a gloriously mild day out of the north wind.  I’d wrapped both boys up, but they ended up just playing in sweatshirt sleeves.  Son 1 aged 4y 1m and his Friend stuck together, dug together, menaced smaller children together, raided the food together, demanded ice creams together.  Son 2 crawled and finger-walked and watched them, and watched the dogs and ransacked the food bag.  Doesn’t like peanut butter.  Spat it out.  We got coffee and tea, they got smoothies, the weather was great.

Back home Son 2 went to bed (in the cot… second time today, hooray hooray.)  Son 1banned from watching telly for squirting bubble mix in his brother’s eyes this morning, lay on the kitchen floor sticking Charlie and Lola stickers in a book.  I made a roast chicken meal.  A lovely young man came round to mend the tumble drier.  Nanna arrived.  Son 2 woke up and went nuts in the kitchen because of the cooking smell.  First The Man, and then Nanna took him outside.  We managed to sit down, all five of us at the meal table together.  Star for us in the Family Mealtime book.  Both children asleep by 7.30pm and then I went running.  That’s quite a few more than three good things.

1.  Sleeping Through

2.  Sock Triumph

3.  Soft Touch

Son 2 aged 14m went down in his cot last night and stayed there until 0620 this morning.  Which last night gave me the tortured choice of check him and wake him up vs what if he’s dead?    I have never, ever, heard of or encountered anyone who sleeps as lightly as Son 2.  I swear the ting of a radiator, the click of a knee or the sound of a contact lens falling on the floor can wake him.   But we’re getting there.  A month ago I could only get him to sleep by lying on the bed next to him, and had to go to him each time he awoke in case he rolled off.  And he needed a grown up to sleep with him.  And now he’s doing ok on his own.  Unless your tummy rumbles…

I found the sock, hooray hooray.  A woman in a pinny, smoking a fag, watched me carefully as I scoured the Quay.  “I’m looking for a little boy sock,” I said. “We lost it in the dark last night.” “There’s a sock over there,” she said. “But it’s not a little boy’s.”  Yes it was.  Squodged, soaking, muddy and run over several times.   Yes I know it’s only a sock.  But inconvenience/annoyance of having to go back and look for it < inconvenience/annoyance of having five Nursery socks.  Forever.

The boys went to a play park with Wonder Nanny, and her Nanny Friend and her two charges… and then had them round this afternoon with the Thomas Wooden Railway boxes out.   A nightmare getting home from The Office.  A broken down bus on a single lane stretch and no escape from the stationary traffic.  Late late late.  Late for Wonder Nanny going home, late putting the boys to bed.  Son 2 is always first out of the bath, and then Son 1 aged 4 y 1m.  He wraps himself up in a big towel, and Son 2 helps me pat him dry.  Many, many giggles.

1.  Early reading

2.  Flashing Blue Lights

3. Down In The Cot

Son 2 aged 13m started off in his cot but wailed long and loud at some time post-midnight.  I had taken a whacking slug of Night Nurse so The Man went to the rescue.  In the morning we were all up late. I felt a lot better this morning… some clear blue water now between me and death’s door.  Son 2’s started having an opinion on which books we should do in the morning.  Today’s favourite was the little Word book… pictures of things to do with The Park, The Beach, The Farm, Wild Animals etc.  I think he’s using it and other similar books like dictionaries.  He sits very still staring at the pictures and listening to the words.  And then at the end flips the pages back to his favourite ones.

In the car, Son 1 aged 4y 1m played with his flashing blue light sabre from last night.  He was late for Nursery, and clung and clung.  He wants Son 2 to go to Nursery with him.  He wants to stay at home with Wonder Nanny and Son 2.  Oh boy.    I really do think he’d be bored at home, but maybe the New Nursery is just too far and too school-like.  The Office was, as usual, like stepping inside a mad computer game where for every one thing you successfully swat, three more leer up laughing.  For nine hours.  I staggered out, got into the car and drove home, remembering this time to put my headlights on.  A blue flashing light followed me for many miles.  Till I realised Son 1’s light sabre had bumped itself on in the rear passenger footwell.  

The Tumble Drier man came while I was at The Office.  It’s mended, hooray.  And Wonder Nanny made muffins and minestrone soup while Son 2 was sleeping.   Son 2 was being bathed when I got back.  Son 1 was playing with a Pirate spotting book I bought from an Usbourne woman’s stall.  I cuddled Son 2, sang him his lullaby, gave him his milk and PUT HIM DOWN IN HIS COT hooray hooray.  Much excitement.  I can’t remember the last time I put him to sleep in his cot - not since well before I stopped feeding him.  I gave up at the point where I just couldn’t feed him to sleep any more, so it must be a couple of months.  He woke up once just as I’d finished with Son 1, and he yelled and yelled so I had to start again with him.  But he’s been sleeping there quietly so far for the rest of the evening so far…

1. Being Here Now

2. Stuffing

3. Bullseye

Getting back is a Praiseworthy Thing (been reading from the Booker Shortlist… also a Good Thing.) I’ve had a week of being ill and technological trauma. So. Today. Son 2 aged 14m slept for two and a half hours, and in the end I had to wake him up. He has done a couple of nights in the cot this week, but he wouldn’t sleep without me last night. Lifestyle Guru Hairdresser says I should just dump him in his cot and let him sort himself out. Soon. But he has little starfish fingers that gently pinch my neck till they find a bit they like to hold on to… and he has soft snuffly hair which he snuggles under my chin, and if I inch away from him he rolls his whole body into me…

Son 1 aged 4y 1m has a bucket of Trick or Treat booty gathered during a trek up and down The Terrace last night. He is allowed one piece after each meal, and thankfully hasn’t noticed that I have thinned it. None of our Friends did the Halloween thing… their children don’t know about it and they wanted to fend it off for another couple of years. I however have left Son 1 alone with Horrid Henry cds for 45 minutes at a time. So he wanted to lay his costume out on the bed. And in answer to a caring “What would you like to do today, Son 1?” question, said “Go upstairs and watch telly and stuff my face with sweets.”

Granny and Grandad said their goodbyes this evening; they are heading back tomorrow. They were delighted with and enchanted by the boys, but they don’t really do bad weather. They’ve booked in again for Christmas. We had a Last Supper of fillet steak, chips and peas. Or they did. My meal ended when Son 2 flung a lump of fillet at my lentil burger.

1.   The night shift 

2.  The Bug. Again.

3. The Finishing Line.

I had a marathon up-every-two-hours night.  Son 1 aged 3y 11m was very unwell yesterday evening, and called and called until I lay down with him.  We tried everything to get his temperature down, Calpol, Ibuprofen, taking his quilt out and putting just the cover on him, putting his fan on… in the end I put him in the Big Bed and he fell asleep so deeply he didn’t even notice when I put the light on and bounced up and down on the bed trying to swat a bluebottle which kept dive-bombing me.  (Got it in the end.)

He was a bit better today, but Son 2 aged 11m has now got The Bug.  High temperature, hacking cough, just wants mum.   I’ve got him to go to sleep on his own in his cot in the day - we’re down to 10 minutes of yelling now.  But not at night.  His whole life I’ve fed him to sleep, and then put him down, comforting him for a bit until he zizzes off.  Now he snaps himself awake the minute I pull the side up, and hollers until we get him.  The Man’s been lying down with him on the double bed to get him to sleep.  Last night I picked him up after a fit of the abdabs and he stretched out a Little Emperor hand to the double bed “I want to lie on that.”  The Man came in.  Son 2 stretched out a Little Emperor hand towards him. “With that.”

But he’s fantastic at the moment.  Another positive ID on the speech; a definite nah- nah when reaching for some banana chunks.   And, for the first time this morning, a pushing away of the breast with his hand.  He’d had most of his feed, and I’ve been cutting him back a bit in the morning, ready for when I start weaning him off on Thursday when he’s one.   I’ve got very mixed feelings about stopping feeding him.  It has been very very hard.  He’s the least snuggly baby on the planet, he still gets terrible wind and he still throws up just when you’re not expecting it.  But this evening he was finally lying there, fast asleep, breast in his mouth, looking so peaceful and content that AT LAST I felt madonna-and-child. I put him gently in his cot, taking care to lay his little downey head as gently as I could, edging my arm out from underneath him.  And then he jacknifed awake and ROOAAAAAAAAAARED for The Man.