Mr S turns 2

Hi, my name is mama bear and I am here to hand in my membership card for the 2 under 2 club. I'm officially no longer a member. My little big man has just turned 2 and I'm not going to lie……… I'm heartbroken. 

 

Obviously I am happy that Mr S is a healthy, happy 2-year-old, yet I seem to find myself getting emotional at how quickly it has happened. I'm just not ready to have a toddler. I know everyone says 'time goes so fast enjoy it while you can', but it's true, time DOES go so fast, far too fast. 

It been a whole 24 months since the birth of my perfect little big man and in honour of that I'm going to share with you my birth story. 

I had a lot of pain towards the end of my pregnancy with Mr S, they never actually found why, they presumed some old scar tissue stretching, but I'll never truly know. As a result of this pain I was induced at 37 weeks. 

When I went in to be induced I didn't really understand the process and was expecting, as in one born every minute, a pessary and instant labour resulting in a wonderful birth, and maybe for some, that is what happens, that isn't what happened in my case. 

So I had my 1st pessary and went off for a long walk, or waddle as hubby called it. Then my 2nd pessary, at this point it was early evening so they sent hubby home. I felt so lonely and frightened. My contractions started in the early hours of the morning, they weren't strong or regular so they wouldn't bring my hubby in. When he arrived in the morning everything had stopped, dam false labour. So they went ahead with a third pessary and hours later still nothing. 

"We're going to take you to labour ward, break your waters and start the drip"

Having my waters broke was traumatic but once the contractions started and the gas and air made its arrival I had forgot all about it. I was contracting for 23 hours with regular examinations and only gas and air. After almost a day of pain I got the news I didn't want to hear. I was still only 2cms and they had to stop and proceed with an emergency c section. 

I broke down in tears. Everything suddenly went so fast. I felt like hundreds of people in scrubs arrived. Putting a gown on me, removing my earrings, removing my drip. Everything was happening at once. Despite all the chaos my hubby was right there, in our own little bubble telling me how proud he was of me and that we would have our baby boy in our arms any minute. 

I felt so dejected, I had been in labour all that time and I couldn't have the natural birth I wanted. I don't actually remember much of the C-section. I only remember hubby making constant eye contact with me telling me it was all fine, but his eyes looked nervous, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. 

Then I heard it, at 5.52am on 19th August  my baby boy cried as he entered the world. He was perfect in every way and I knew instantly I would love him forever. When they gave Mr S to us I noticed that hubby had a tear in his eye and because of that I broke down into the happiest tears ever. 

 

Despite the disappointment of having a C-section in the end, I enjoyed every moment of bringing my son into this world. I felt so close to my husband who was amazing throughout. I felt nervous as hell when we walked in as a two, I felt proud as hell when we walked out a three. 

Happy birthday Mr S!! 

Good day to you x

I am what I am

Before I begin my usual blog I just wanted to mention a friend of mine. She is a single mother, (is kicking ass at it). She works dam hard every day and has never stopped reaching for her dreams. She now has an amazing career, provides a fantastic life for her son Mr C and has just manged to buy her first house. I cannot express how proud I am of her and proud she should be of herself. You’re doing a ‘jolly’ good job Mrs.

We had a lovely night in for my sister’s birthday. Me, my sister, my mum and my auntie M. We started off on the Pimm’s and ended up on the wine. The conversation started off very lady like and ended up about pubic hair and sleeping naked. We started early so by 7pm we were questioning how we became such light weights.

I attempted to make a cheesecake for my sister birthday cake, despite my best efforts it would not set. I balanced candles on the top, sang happy birthday, then handed out spoons and explained that I could not provide slices, as this was more of a soup than a cheesecake. I was given a 1 for presentation but a 10 for taste. Everyone knows that’s what matters. At least I didn’t have a soggy bottom.

Mr J had a lovely moment today where he felt, in his words, very grown up. He emptied his piggy bank and had saved enough money to buy a game he had wanted for his Xbox. The pride on his face when he handed the money over, knowing he had saved and bought it all on his own. I gave him £1 to start off his next little saving mission which he was over the moon with. I asked him, “so Mr J what are you saving up for now”. His response was brilliant. “I’m saving up to buy a rug”. I obviously questioned why a 7-year-old child would want to save his pocket money to buy furnishings for his bedroom. His answer was simply brilliant and typically Mr J. “well I like the feel of the one I’m sat on”. BRILLIANT. What is it with the children in my life wanting to buy all their things from the home department? My Christmas shopping list for this year is so far a rug and a chicken egg timer. 

I am a huge fan of children being children. By that I mean I hate that boys have to be boys and girls have to be girls, they should just be children. I took Mr S out in a lovely pink and navy t- shirt, while we were out having fun I heard an older child say, “mummy why is that boy wearing pink, only girls wear pink.” I felt ashamed, as if I had set my little boy up to be picked on because I picked a girl’s colour, I stood right there in the middle of the play centre running out his future of bullies in school, having no friends, complete failure in life and all because I was a terrible mother who made bad choices. How sad is that, a 7 year oldish child made me feel ashamed because of a colour. At that moment I stopped being irrational and looked at Mr S. He was wearing clean clothes, had a huge smile on his face, was having fun with his brother and mama on a lovely day out and couldn’t stop looking at his perfect self in the mirror. I realised that it didn’t matter what that child had said because my child would have a happy and successful life no matter what colour his t-shirt was, because he is loved, cared for and allowed to be who he is.

Mr S and Mr B both enjoy a variety of toys and we have no such thing as boys and girl’s toys in our house. Mr S’s current favourites are a styling head with a toy hairdryer, a train and his water activity table. We had to buy him the styling head so that he would stop trying to brush my hair, (he is not gentle) and he loves it. Mr B is 8 months old so will grab and play with pretty much anything. He is happiest when he is in his jumparoo or knawing on teething toys. The most effective seems to be one his godfather bought him, Sophie la giraffe, it is the best teething toy, I just wish we had known about it with Mr S. Here's the link if you want to check it out. http://sophielagirafe.co.uk/.  My stepson, Mr J, loves playing dress up and whenever his cousins are here they appear in around 4 outfits an hour, ranging from superheroes to cave men. Miss M my niece puts Mr J in a princess dress and makes him do a twirl, he enjoys it and loves when we laugh along with him. 

I can’t help but shudder when I see little boys crying and their parents say, “stop being a girl”. Why do tears make you a girl? I regularly see a poster in my doctors waiting room stating that suicide is the leading cause of death in young men, I can’t help but feel like those passing comments of ‘boys don’t cry’ will teach them to bottle up their emotions and keep it all locked in, all in the name of being masculine.

I understand that people have a choice when it comes to parenting. If you want your son to play with cars and only wear blue, then crack on. If you want your daughter in pink and only pink while playing Barbie’s, then that’s your decision. You bring up your children in a way that makes you happy, as long as it makes them happy as well.

Good day to you x

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