Boys and their toys

I dread to think how much money I’ve spent on toys for TJ.

Educational toys, fluffy toys, toys which take up my entire lounge toys.

He’s pretty good at playing with most of them. By playing with, I of course mean putting them in his mouth, knocking them over or trying to make everything shake like the maracas I bought him.

But, today, he’s spent much of the (very hot) day starting to cruise around the furniture. I have to bum scoot around the lounge behind him as he’s still oh so wobbly. But what’s he taken with him almost every step of the way today? My lip balm. A little pot of Vaseline which is quite conveniently perfectly sized for a baby hand, and makes a good noise when you bash it on stuff. That pot cost me around £1 a year and a half ago. Not one thing from Fisher Price costs that and will enjoy such longevity.

Update – TJ now won’t go anywhere without a coaster.

Baby, Motherhood, Mums

What a boob.

Where did my boobs go?

I swear I just spent around 18 months having a fairly decent pair for the first time in my life.

But, a couple of months after stopping breastfeeding my TJ, and my chest is pretty much back to being just nipple.

I’ve never been particularly gifted in that region. The irony is I was the first of my friends to get boobs at 11 years old. But, they stopped growing at 12 years old so I had to be happy filling an A cup.

During pregnancy and the months immediately following, when I combi fed my little man, I sported quite a rack. I loved it. I finally got that boob job from Mother Nature, and it was better late than never.

But now it’s gone again. I’ve had to sadly stash away the bigger bras in the hope one day they may fit again while I go back to the smaller varieties I had happily hidden at the bottom of my underwear drawer.

I suppose as they are small, least I don’t now have saggy boobs. But I don’t have any boobs at all.

Now I understand why women have more than one baby. It’s all about getting the boobs back…!


Mum dating

Hey, I just met you. And this is crazy. So, here’s my number. Call me maybe?

I’m not a single parent. I’m just about to celebrate six years of marriage to TJ’s Dad. But I feel like I’m back in the dating game.

I recently returned to work. The end of maternity leave meant the end of a weekly calendar of baby classes and chats with fellow mums while the little ones scrambled around on the floor. But I’m only working part-time, so what happens on the days I’m off work in the future but not going to a baby sesh every day?

Mum-dating. That awkward time when you don’t know whether to ask for the number of the mum you shared a laugh with while playing peekaboo (with the baby). The one who you found out lives near you, has a baby roughly the same age, and loves a wine at the end of the day like any sane person would.

So imagine my delight when, walking back from nursery, I bumped into one such mum-friend and she asked me if we could exchange phone numbers. I could have kissed her, I was that flattered. Once we got past the awkward realisation that we knew our babies names but not each other’s, we swapped numbers and both went on our merry way with a skip in our step.

Woohooo, friendship with fellow mums is what keeps us going during those long Tuesday’s when TJ may be being hard work and it’s 5 hours until daddy comes home (aka wine o’clock)

I hope we do actually meet up now. I’ll try not to obsessively check my phone for messages like I did when I was a teenager anyway.