beckity

When Elsie is running around like a mad thing and I need her to calm down and get ready for bed, or eat her dinner, or generally behave more like a human being and less like a wild animal I tend to bring her to me, give her a big cuddle and look into those big brown eyes. 'Calm down, my love' I say, 'try and calm down.' Sometimes she stays for the cuddle, the thumb might sneak over to her mouth and it works. Generally though, she gives me a cheeky smile, pulls away from me and carries on as before. The other day, I was asking her not to do something. Details escape my poor tired brain, but let's say I was asking her not to kick the back of my seat in the car. It was definitely in the car. 'Why not Mummy?' she asked, all innocent sweetness. 'Well, when you kick my seat, I can feel it in my back and it's not very comfortable.' 'This isn't comfortable?' she asked, giving the seat a good kick to double-check. 'No! Elsie pl...

I check the screen of the thermometer. 'Sorry love' I tell Elsie, her face raised towards mine expectantly. 'You're not better. It's not as high as in the night but you're not well yet.' 'I'll go to school?' she asks, hopefully. 'No, you'll stay home today. If you rest lots and let your body recover, you can go to school tomorrow.' Her big eyes fill with tears. 'But I really want to go to school Mummy'. 'I know my love. But you're not well and if you go to school, it might make your friends ill too.' She considers this. 'I'll go to school another day'. Yes, yes you will. Many other days for the next 15 years...

We are talking to my parents, Elsie sitting on the sofa next to me, the conversation on loudspeaker so she can join in when she feels like it. 'Did you have fun with your friend yesterday Elsie?' my mum asks, 'what did you do?' 'She did a wee wee in her pants!' Elsie says, enjoying being the one to share the thrilling news. 'Oh dear, well accidents happen' my Mum says. 'I saw a photo of you both drawing.' 'Yes. And stickers!' Elsie remembers. The conversation turns to me and my current low mood, prompted by broken nights and a baby who seems to be having an incredibly hard time teething and not helped by a ridiculous early-morning collision with a parked car. 'It was so stupid!' I moan. 'I was going slowly, there was loads of room but I just wasn't concentrating and it's just another thing I've got to deal with now.' My parents are kind, tell me their own stories of mindless scrapes and I see that...

Everyone says it, in one way or another. Time flies! Where does the time go? Time's passing so fast... but I can't help but feel it flits past us even quicker than for many others. I was in the pharmacy asking for advice about an infected eye that was bothering Molly recently. The pharmacist was offering different options for washing it - boiled water, camomile... I told her how I was still breastfeeding and asked if the antibacterial qualities of breastmilk that the midwives raved about were still relevant. She looked down at 8-month old Molly in her pram and back at me 'well, yes, they do say that it helps, for babies .' I listened to the rest of her advice and paid a ridiculous amount for individually wrapped, sterile wipes but all the time I was screaming in my head 'she IS a baby!' She may wear clothes aimed at children double (yes double) her age but this is my baby!' It brought to mind an episode this summer when Marek and I were showing the girls...

My little girl understands three languages but says 'brefkast', 'puputer' and 'cucoomber'. She wears the clothes of a five year old but can tantrum with the best two year old. She propels herself along on a balance bike faster than I can walk but asks Daddy to carry her up the stairs to bed. She is smart and sassy and rebellious and charming and frustrating. My baby is three.

Today I have * cleaned banana off the dining room radiator; * changed a (reuseable) nappy outside the house and had to put the dirty one, human excrement and all, into my favourite handbag; * sunk into a deep bubble bath and put my head on my bath pillow only to find it covered in baby bitemarks. I have a charmed life, I think you'll agree.

Elsie runs over, carefully shielding one cupped hand with the other. She reaches me on the blanket and picks out an almost whole raspeberry from her collection. 'For me?" I feign surprise and give her a grin. I open my mouth as wide as I can and she pops it in. 'Mmmm!' I say, and before I can take a breath, she fixes her gaze on me and says 'what you say?' I stifle a giggle. 'Thank you Elsie.' 'You're welcome Mummy!' and smiling sweetly, she stuffs the remaining raspberries in her mouth.

Three nights now we've had a broken baby. I used to beam when people asked if she was sleeping through. 'She's 3 months and goes from about 9pm to about 6am' I'd say, thanking my lucky stars that we were through the newborn trials and established with a flexible but comforting routine. 'How often does she wake to eat?' they'd ask, and I'd look a little shame-faced and say 'she doesn't'. But then a couple of weeks ago we went through a growth spurt and the constant eating throughout the day ran over into the night. Soon we were having dream feeds at 10.30pm and top up feeds at 4am. That was ok though, the real trouble started three nights ago, when she would. not. sleep. Instead of putting her in her cot when she was drowsy, watching her suck her thumb and settle herself, we were suddenly rocking, jiggling, feeding her to sleep. We'd put her in her cot asleep and her eyes would snap open, followed by full on crying. Pick up, rock ...

Would you like a yoghurt now Elsie? I ask, scooping up her empty plate. 'Yes!' she confirms, sliding down from her chair. 'Essie get!' She runs to the fridge. opens it up, grabs a soya yoghurt and returns to her place. I pass her a spoon and take the top off the pot for her. 'Oh lovely' I say, 'a blueberry yoghurt.' 'Boobree og-utt!' she says. 'Yeh-yeh-yeh-yoghurt' I correct. 'yeh-yeh-yeh-og-utt!' she responds. Leaving the og-utt aside for a moment, I concentrate on the blueberries. 'Blue-berry' I say. 'Boo-berree' "BLUE berry' 'Berloo berree' 'Blueberry' 'Boob baby' 'Blueberry yoghurt' 'Boob baby og-utt' I give up.

Elsie has sucked her thumb since she was two months old. This thumb-sucking has generally been accompanied by a cuddly blanket toy, which she twirls between her fingers as she sucks. In French these toys are called doudous, and Elsie has several of them. A doudou accompanies Elsie to her creche every day and is put to one side until nap time, which Elsie sometimes does and sometimes does not join in with. This morning, after she zipped her boots and popped the poppers on her coat I noticed her empty hands. 'Elsie my love, which doudou are you taking today?' She looked up at me, with a wide-eyed soulful look. 'No doudou' she said, shaking her head. 'Essie big girl!' and she flashed me a huge grin. She kissed me goodbye and walked out of the door, hand in hand with her Daddy. I watched her go, my two-and-a-half year old big girl.

I was holding a slumbering baby in my arms, looking out of our bedroom window at the snowy scene, when the car pulled up. I didn't think anything of it at first - we often get people parking outside our house - but when the two men got out, I started to take notice. There was something odd about the way they were walking; with purpose but slowly. They were both dressed in dark clothes and looked determined, as if they were actors in a film. The first guy looked back at the second and pointed towards our house. The second walked towards me, through the entrance to our front garden and towards our garage door. I started. What was he doing coming in through our garden? Suddenly I noticed a thumping in my chest and an urge to run. I went through to the bathroom where Marek was showering. 'There's a man trying to get in our garage!' I told him. He turned off the shower and looked at me 'what?' 'There's a man in our front garden' I said. 'It looks ...

The thing about number two is not that you don't worry as much, but that the worry is a little more in perspective. Whereas with the first one everything is critical and forever, you know by the time the second one comes along that everything is a phase. If she forgot how to breastfeed one week that doesn't mean that when she's relearned, she won't be so enthusiastic about it that she puts on a kilo in 2 weeks... This applies to number one too. Just because she has made a fuss about bedtime for the last few nights doesn't mean she won't grudgingly accept the routine tonight and go to sleep without a fuss. And just because we were losing our minds last weekend, feeling like every exchange was a mini battle doesn't mean she can't be a little charmer this weekend. Every tough time will pass, it will pass, it will pass...

I bring Molly up to my shoulder and start patting her back to bring the wind up. I can hear Marek upstairs, beginning to lose his temper, but still managing to keep control. After a few more minutes, with calm suggestions from her daddy and 'no!' coming consistently from our little girl, I hear Marek close the bedroom door and Elsie start wailing. He comes down the stairs and gives me a weary look. I pass him the baby, give him a kiss on the cheek and take my turn. 'What's all this?' I say quietly as I push open the door. Elsie is on her bed, on top of the covers, tears streaming down her face. She wipes her face as I come near and I sit down, bringing her onto my lap for a cuddle. She snuggles down and sucks harder on her thumb. 'Elsie, love' I start. 'It's bedtime. Daddy read you some books and now it's time to sleep.' She doesn't say anything. 'Would it help if I read you one last book?' I suggest. 'One book, then you g...

Bringing Molly into this world and through her first ten days has mainly taught me three things. 1. I specialise in making babies who don't know how to be born. 2. Once born, despite the best of intentions, they're not very competent at figuring out how to keep themselves alive. 3. If I were in another time and/or place I'd be screwed. Labour started naturally this time, and progressed steadily, helped along admittedly by a drip and waters being broken for me to spare the caesarian scar a lengthy period of contractions. It was only when fully dilated and the urge to push became overwhelming that the midwives brought in the doctor and with worried frowns explained the problem. Again, those words, 'back to back', 'not engaged', 'stuck' were uttered and again, that sinking realisation that my body would need to be cut open to let the baby out. Once safely extracted, I was whisked off to recovery again while Marek was left holding the baby. Again...

Christmas was wonderful, despite Marek succumbing to a 40 degree fever and spending the festive season in bed. It was a long-held family tradition of mine to watch Christmas unfold from the sofa, lying in my pyjamas, so it's sweet really that he took on this role from me, and allowed me to watch Christmas unfold from the sofa, dressed, but belly heavy and unmoving for much of the time the visitors rushed about preparing, entertaining, enjoying... New Year was quiet, apart from the neighbours epic firework hour, which Elsie slept right through. We did stay up but apart from a quick new year peck and a glass of alcohol-free fizz for me, didn't celebrate like in days gone by. Now we've managed to keep the baby in place past these markers though, we're keen to get her out. There is something in people's eyes as they walk past me in the street - partly impressed by the very size of the bump, partly terrified that they might be witness to the experience of bump becomi...