1.   Cots

2.   Coughs

3.   Cartoons

Son 1 aged 5y 1m in the Big Bed whispered in the dark:  “Is it time to get up?”  “Dunno.Whatdoestheclocksay?”  ”Six… two…five. No!  Six… five.. five… No! Six… two… five…”  “Well which one is it?”  The child cannot tell the time, and he is still a bit wobbly on his fives and twos. But 0625 is achievable, and five to seven is Armageddon. I’d been awake most of the night and couldn’t get my eyes open. ”Six two five. I think.” It was a Good Thing.  I went to the bathroom to put my contact lenses in, and heard Son 2 aged 2y 1m stir. By the time I got downstairs, Son 1 had turned the light on, climbed in the cot and was lying next to Son 2.  “Look Mummy. I got my Son 1,” he said. Son 1 cuddled him, cute, cute, cute. I leant down towards Son 2. “Shall I get you up?” He looked me in the eye. “Go ‘way Mummy.”  ”Let me take this off then,” I reached for his sleeping bag. ”NO!” he screeched. ”Go ‘way Mummy.”  “What about your nappy?  Have you done a poo?” “I all right.” I went downstairs and put the coffee on.

I’ve finished at The Office now until a week on Friday. This is a Good Thing. I’m so tired my eyes are watering,  I’ve still got a rattling cough and my throat hasn’t been back to normal since I lost my voice.  I haven’t taken more than a week off at once since my maternity leave finished.  http://mumsnet.com/blogs/serenedays/2008/03/28/back-to-work/ I really would like a little lie down.

They were excited when I came home, but it was controllable.  They took forever over their jelly, and then span bathtime out.  Son 2 sat happily through five books and then harrassed Son 1 by throwing toys in his bath. Son 1 was in a very complicated narrative game involving Dory, Nemo and  floating sea horses.  I swapped them over - I don’t bath them together because of Son 1’s molluscum - and Son 2 weed in the water with a big smile on his face. And then drank it while I was cleaning Son 2’s teeth.  Not quite as delightful as the moment when, lying on the nappy mat, he stuck his finger up his bum: “I touch my poo” and then stuck it up his nose.  I will see if I can get him to stop doing that before he wants to go out with girls.

1.  The Moment It Stopped…

2.  The Driver

3.  The Run

I’ve had to spell out the 3 Good Things, because Son 2 aged 1 is killing us.  Sunday night was ok… we got him in his cot three times before I finally went into bed with him.  Last night was sheer hell.  He was up for nearly three hours.  Wriggling, crying, crying wriggling.  New trick: lock your legs in your sleeping bag  rock hard and stretch up your body until the shoulder press studs pop and you can kick your way out like a snake shedding its skin.  Because then your wriggling potential increases tenfold.  He had Calpol, he had ibuprofen.  He had a new nappy, which it took two adults to hold him down to get it on.  He had water, he had cuddles, he had me.  In the end I said: “Mummy’s had enough now.  Go to sleep, or go in the cot.”  And - at last the Positive Point - he snuggled down on my shoulder and went to sleep.

We all woke up late.  Wonder Nanny is on holiday, so The Man had taken today off to look after Son 1 aged 4 and Son 2.  I had to go to The City for a training session. The nighttime warzone has gone on for two weeks now, and I probably should take some time off.  But I’m grimly determined.  Two of my colleagues carshared with me and one of them drove, which was great.  I sat in the back among the sticky smoothies, feathers, sand, pine cones and toy sword - my late start meant I didn’t get time to clean the car out. Another factor in soldiering on was of course the deep truth that had I stayed home, The Man would have gone to work…

When I got back he said he’d been clock-watching for me since 2.30pm (still in my meeting in The City then… well over two hours away…)  He doesn’t know how I do Wednesdays.  The boys had been good as gold, but Son 2 had only slept for 15 minutes.  We put the boys to bed.  I got Son 2 in his cot.  Within 20 minutes he had started yelling again.  And we left him.  I feel awful, because I know it’s teeth, separation anxiety, over-tiredness, a smashed routine, Wonder Nanny vanishing and probably reflux too.  And the only cure is Mummy.  But I wanted to go running.  I came back three miles later and Son 2 had only just stopped crying.  I started work and he started again.  I’m bound to wake him up when I have a shower, but then I’ll take him in with me.  And hope tonight will be the night it all gets better. 

1. Siesta 

2. Fiesta

3. Blessed

Son 2 aged 11m slept through the night.  Tum ti tum.  He’s been in a 1 Tog sleeping bag the whole summer.  Because he cannot overheat or He Will Die A Cot Death.   He’s pooed in one and the other is in the wash so last night he was in a 2.5 Tog.  And didn’t murmer.  Tum ti tum.  Maybe the cry I thought meant “Where are you all?  Come Baaaaaaaack” meant “Bring warm plump parents I am freeeeeeeeeeeeeeezing.”    

There is another Festival in The Town, the roads are closed, the flags are out, there are stalls and music everywhere, so we off we went  to meet the Wednesday Friends.  Son 1 aged 3 y 11m walked all the way through town in his Captain Hook outfit.  “And why did he get that?” said one mother, witheringly.  Because Mummy needed to see if it fitted (= couldn’t wait to see what he looked like in it.)  And was then unable to get it off him. The children played in the Museum; we went into the Marquee so I could feed Son 2.  A swing band started up, Son 2 really enjoyed it and kept pointing.  We lost a child, we found him.  Son 1 went in The Big Pram and fell asleep.  Son 2 was in the sling - another advantage to his being small. I walked them back and Son 2 stayed awake all the way.  At home he walked up and down the kitchen on Son 1’s ELC wooden trolley.  With his grapefruit smile and his hearty chuckle. 

I ran round the Headland tonight.  I went through The Town so I could see what was going on for the Festival.  And I guessed the Bookshop would stay open late and I wanted to get a couple of last-minute presents for Son 2.  It was gloomy, grey, windy and wet.  I wore tracksters and a long sleeved top - bought by the pre-children me in Fort William, on my 40th, “to wear when the baby is here to get my figure back.”  But I was over-hot, so I think I’ll go back to shorts.  The Headland was misty and drizzly with a wind at the Far Point that slammed into you like a train.  I remembered the evening I walked round it crying in the darkness after the miscarriage.  And I remembered the evenings BC when I ran round it in the pitch black, with the occasional sweep of the lighthouse on the Headland Opposite the only light.  And then I got home, and we wrapped Son 2’s presents, and toasted him with a glass of Cava, because the champagne wasn’t cold enough.  We’ve done the first year, and we have another heavenly child.

1.  Mother’s Tired, She Needs a Rest

2.  House of Fun

3.  Embarrassment

We got the children to bed at 1815 yesterday.  Which meant Son 2, the 11 month old who can tell the time, woke up at 0515.  I changed him.  No poo, so  I put him in one of the plasticky nappies we bought him in Portugal in May when we ran out.  I don’t like them much.  Too hot for him. Give him nappy rash.  And, even though it’s Son 2 and he’s not very big, they are too small for him.  But it was only for a couple of hours till he did his poo.  Fed him, both sides,  and put him back to sleep, next to me on the downstairs double bed.  The Man came down at 0720, and lay on the other side of the sleeping baby.  A lovely lie in.  The Man went downstairs and came back with tea, coffee, pineapple juice and apple rings for the boys.  Son 1 aged 3 y 10m woke up and came in with us.  Son 2 still asleep, so Son 1 snugged next to him, putting his arms around him, stroking his face “Ah, Son 2, I love you, you’re so soft.”

Son 2 woke up and did his lovely four-up, three-down smile.  The Man said he needed his nappy changing. “Oh you do it,” I said.  “I want my coffee.”  The Man unzipped the sleeping bag.  “He’s not wearing a nappy!”  “Yes he is,” I said. “One of the holiday nappies.”  Only Son 2 wriggles a lot when he’s going to sleep.  And he’d wriggled his way out of the cheap nappy that doesn’t fit.  Filled his sleeping bag with poo, and then paddled his legs up and down in it.  Fake tanned his legs and lower body an authentic-looking orange-brown.  A couple of hours before.  Nicely dried.  A bewildered baby in the bath.  And then his first shower.  Which made him laugh.

The Man rang me at work. Could I get the children.  I don’t usually get them from nursery, and when I got there Son 2 was in the arms of Son 1’s favourite nursery nurse.  And he didn’t cry when he saw me.  Just laughed and reached out his hands.  Son 1 raided Son 2’s food bag, which was where the nursery nurses had put the cakes he’d made.  He was allowed one in the car.  “Mummy are you going to look for a Captain Hook costume for me?”  We chatted about costumes until we were nearly home when he said “Mummy, you embarrass me.”  He said it as if he was trying out the word to see what would happen.  So I said “Oh I know darling, when I pretend I think you want a Peter Pan costume, just to make you say you want a Captain Hook costume, that’s embarrassing, isn’t it?”    Which is worse  - a clueless mother embarrassing her child, or a clueless mother trying not to embarrass her child.  I’m sure, in good time, that he’ll let me know.