Second Baby Dilema number 208,765,356

How different babies can be. My first baby, my boy, didn't even really cry when he was born. As soon as he was handed to me he was quiet. Happy to be out in the world and taking it all in.

He came out perfect and happy and already totally at peace with who he was was and his surroundings. He slept though at 3 weeks and I don't thinks we heard him cry more than a couple of time in his first 4 months.

Our daughter on the other hand, entered the world kicking and screaming, not just like a normal cry, she sounded like a sodding velociraptor. It was quite something, to the point where my mum who was staying with us, after 4 of her own children, said she'd never heard anything like it.

I felt like a first time mummy all over again. Who was this little she-demon? I was accustomed to a baby that was fed and put in a crib or bouncy chair and just chilled out. A baby that actually cried to be put down.

Suddenly I had this little soul that needed constant cuddles and very little tolerance to being even a little bit hungry. It was terrifying. Especially since I already had an 18 month old that demanded my attention. Despite having been the most ridiculously easy baby is making up for it in spades as a toddler! He is like a little hurricane leaving mess and exhausted adults in his wake.

I have read so many times mothers writing that they have either neglected their first for the second or the baby for their older sibling and I can't decide which one I have done. I think I am guilty of both to be honest. I have had to let the baby cry while I cook the toddler his dinner but similarly his dinner has also had to wait while I have seen to his sister.

I have also, in the spirit of honesty, left both of them shouting while I sit on the loo with the door shut reading parenting blogs trying to make myself feel better about myself. I hope that anyone reading my blog sat on the toilet hiding from their children can take solace in the fact that they are not alone! X X

I do like my kids really!

So most of my posts so far have made me sound like I don't really like my kids. That is so not the case. I adore my children. They are my favourite people.

But, my children are the biggest frustration of my life. I am frustrated by my toddler's complete unwillingness to try and learn when I teach him, and I am completely infuriated when he then demonstrates that 'unlearned' knowledge at another and un-witnessed time.

I develop a migraine before we eat out with the stress of everything that can go wrong and resign myself to being 'that mum' in the restaurant that can't control her children, and then am blown away when they behave beautifully.

I don't have mum guilt. My husband and I were, apparently,  both absolute arse-hole children so why should we expect better? By all accounts ours actually are better. Our baby barely makes a peep unless she is hungry, my brother is actually convinced she is one of the animatronic babies from 'call the midwife' and our toddler although really fucking loud can be an absolute superstar.

That doesn't though stop the fact that sometimes he is the most frustrating little fucker I have ever come across. My love and devotion to him does not stop me wanting to drop kick him out our kitchen window. It merely stops me from actually doing it.

To me talking about being a parent is to actually acknowledge all parts of it. Without guilt. Without censorship. And without saying what I think others should think I should say. Being a parent is hard but it's fun and funny!

So I do bitch about my kids, I do joke about wanting to beat them with sticks or give them away (they would be given back pretty quickly) but then I put them to bed and have a glass of wine and miss them while they are sleeping!

Parenting is the biggest contradiction of them all!

Mummy's version of Row Row

Scrub, scrub, scrub the floors
Quickly free of poo,
Just think in two more years they can use the loo!

Wash, wash, wash the clothes,
 the towels the sheets the bed,
Quickly get them on the line so mum can rest her weary head.

Paint paint paint a tree,
a sheep, a cow a duck,
Keep smiling and look as though you give a flying fuck!

Blow blow blow their nose
quickly when they sneeze,
If you don't move fast enough they will use their sleeve!

Pass, pass, pass the wine
to parents everywhere,
If we had to do without we would have no hair!

Read, read, read their book
time and time again,
Some one please just kill me now and bury me in the 'den!


This song as been brought to you by a mum who has sung row row too many times by 9am!!!

For my maaayte!

So the time has come for us to find a new home. Our family is growing and it seems the house is shrinking. Onwards and upwards and all that.

When we first decided to buy a new house I was really excited. I naively assumed that we would be able to find a slightly bigger house somewhere in the village and life would continue as normal.

Nope! No such luck.

The village has become ridiculously expensive and since we don't have 3/4 million pounds tucked under the sofa cushions we have had to look elsewhere.

The excitement has now been marred by sadness and trepidation though and not for the reasons you might think. Leaving our first house makes me sad because it's a great house and I love it. Leaving the village makes me sad because I have built a life here and it's a lovely place to live. But the thing that makes me most sad, the thing I want to do the least, the thing that makes me not want to do it,  is having to leave my friend, my maayte.

I can't imagine what I would have done over the last 2 1/2 years without her. She has been my friend, my rock, my partner in crime. My maayte. I think I took it for granted that she would be there (or rather that I would be here) and we would be 100 yards from each other until we were older and grey less blonde and our kids were grown.

We have been great and terrible influences on each other, we bring each other up and down and she is a massive part of why I enjoyed (and am enjoying) my maternity leave so much. I think I am the best version of myself when I'm with her.

I knew we were made for each other from the moment we first met in a pregnancy pilates class. There was a room full of glamorous ladies, with beautiful bumps all glowing and smiling and just loving life. I was green with envy..and nausea due to the 'all fucking day and night sickness' and felt like crying when I thought I was alone in my misery.

Until...there was the best sound in the world. The groan of a fat fed up pregnant lady hating life on the other side of the room. I knew right then and there she was the gal for me! Thankfully she felt the same way. She was comforted by my lack of comfort and we both felt better knowing the other felt worse!

4 babies and 2 1/2 years later and it's all about to change. I will be moving across the city, I won't walk passed her house every day on my way to the pub playground or shops. Our children won't go to school together. I won't see her everyday. So I'm sad.

I realise that to some people reading this I come off as a weirdo stalker lady, and if I do that's ok, you would understand if you had her as your maayte too!

2 hours..it's not a lot but it's plenty!

I love my kids, that's a-given. And I love being a mum. Sometimes though I want to scream my fucking head off!

Sometimes as I read A Squash And A Squeeze for the 30th time in a day (which I do in an hilarious yet brilliant welsh accent which I have perfected) I consider stabbing myself in the eye with the nearest Schliech dinosaur or farm animal or kudu or whatever the fuck that is.

Sometimes the idea of watching Toy Story or bloody Kung Fu Panda makes me want to scratch the skin off my face!

Sometimes as I sing sleeping bloody bunnies for the millionth time in a row I feel like pouring my once boiling hot cup of tea over my head in exasperation.

I don't know why some parts of parenting make me want to harm myself in such alarming ways but it does.

2 hours. 2 hours though seems to be enough to curb the urge to try and self mutilate with a Duplo block.

Unfortunately 2 hours is hard to find with small 2 small children. They rarely nap together and if they do there is shit to be done. Washing needs doing, dishwasher needs loading, kitchen needs cleaning and by the time it's done the 2 hours is more likely to be 5 minutes and a cold cup of coffee.

But when I do get it, when the stars align, the kids magically sync their naps and the clothes, well, stay dirty, it is sodding bliss.

2 hours to do whatever, to do nothing. In the quiet. With no lovable animated character or book with pictures in it, no song that requires actions. It is amazing. It's like hitting reset on my nerves.

Bring on the books, the games the songs. Fuck it, bring on meal time!

Give me 2 hours and I can take on anything!

bad mummy

I am so cross with myself. I am literally the worst mummy into the world! 😫

My babies have been sick for a week. Vomiting, diarrhoea, temperatures, which as children go is pretty much the norm...mostly.

This time, I knew it was a bit different, they have been REALLY sick. Watery stool and projectile vomit for days on end. The nurse in me just wrote it off as a bad case of gastroenteritis. Don't bother the Dr unless you need to. Most children can be looked after at home. No need to panic, don't take them to the GP. Care for them in the home... 48 hours clear.. And all that jazz.

But.. I think I was wrong. Bollocks to my degree. Bollocks to my training. My kids are really sick and if I had listened to the mummy in me rather than the healthcare professional I would have called the GP on Friday and had them checked over.

Instead my toddler already looks like something out of an Oxfam advert and my previously fatty bum baby is all skinny and gone from growing out of 3-6 month vests back in to her 0-3 month clothes.

My toddler, who I was sure was getting better, has just filled his bed with puke and thrown up the first meal he has eaten in a week.

I am filled with emotions..

My first is fury with myself for not acting sooner.

My second is disappointment with the nursery. They had put a note on the door saying there was sickness going around. But this is not a virus. I don't believe it is a virus. Have they been informed that any child has had food poisoning or a bacterial infection?

While I have been writing this, I have had a phone call from a friend who's child is also sick (who hasn't had contact with mine) who thinks they have caught it from the playground.

Sometimes we don't realise that children are as sick as they are. Sometimes we don't realise they are sick at all.

This time I can't help but think that there is someone with a test result that says this isn't a virus. This is bacterial. This is more serious and we haven't been told.

I will be getting sample pots in the morning and I will be sending shit and puke and anything else that comes out of my babies because they are not getting better and they should be by now.

Sometimes we have to trust our gut as a mummy and fuck the reasonable rationale voice in our head. Sometimes they are wrong and this time I FEAR THEY ARE.

Sucking the snot

My husband reminded me last night of the funniest conversation, so I just had to share...

When my son was about 4 months old he, and it seemed every other baby, had the most horrendous cold. He was so congested he was sleeping in his bouncy chair as he just couldn't breathe properly if he led in his cot. Poor little buba!

Since every other baby in the world seemed to also have a cold I went to baby group, (you know the one you should go to) and joined a group of mummies and their babies chatting about these awful colds.

One mummy had sent her husband out in the middle of the night to get a Calpol plug-in to try, another had purchased a bulb syringe to perform a nasal lavage. There were various contraptions and inventions that had been employed (I am sure all with their unique benefits!) including a mains powered paediatric nasal suction kit! Others had tried more conventional methods such as Olbas oil on the sleeping bag or burning Eucalyptus in a burner.

The one thing that all these methods had in common was that they had been pretty ineffective.

One of the mummies then looked at my little monkey who was busy gumming on a toy suitable for ages 2+ and noticed that he was looking a little less snot ridden than some of the other babies.

"What have you tried?" She asked politely.

"I just sucked the snot out!" I replied. O.M.G!!!!! The looks I got!

I have to explain here that my little buddy was really suffering, I had him in the bathroom with me while I showered so the steam would help loosen it but he was just too bunged up, so I bought him into the shower with me as I thought it might be easier to get some of the snot out if his nose and face were all wet but he was just desperate, so I stuck my mouth around his nose and sucked all the snot right out of there. I'm not going to lie, it was disgusting. There was loads of it. It was thick and green and really grim. I sucked it out and spat it straight down the drain of the shower and my little boy was so relieved. He smiled and relaxed and we got dressed and went to baby group.

Back to the faces....shock and disgust, I caused quite a disturbance in the ranks. My best mummy friend, my maayte, thought the whole thing was hilarious and was in the background pissing herself with laughter, but I was a bit surprised at the silence and then I was really embarrassed that I had told everybody.

That wasn't the funny conversation that I was telling you all about...that came later when I was recounting the whole story, snot sucking, baby group mums and all to my sister in law. Her answer was priceless..

"I don't see what the big deal is...It's no different than a blow job!"

My fussy hat shopper

My son is fabulous. Both in the sense that I am his mother and I think he his fabulous and in the sense that he is 'fabulous darling'!

He is not even two yet and he already has his own total sense of self, he likes to choose his clothes and loves an accessory, whether it is Daddy's watch or a random bag, hat, or necklace that he has found somewhere. He wears them with style!

Over the last few months as he has learned to undress himself he has started to make more decisions about what he wears (or doesn't) and now vetoes clothes when we are out shopping.

Due to his ENORMOUS head, we need to buy him a new sun hat as his sort of 'sits' on top rather than actually being worn but we are having trouble. He is struggling to find one that he likes. (First world toddler problems! FFS!!)

Over the last month or so he must have tried on 30 hats and none of them have been up to scratch! Well, that's not true, he found one in M&Co that he took off a shelf but it was age 7-9 and too big even for his ridiculous head (he needs age 4 even though he's not even 2). It was a pale blue boater type hat with palm leaves on it and a ribbon around the rim. He had a total head fit (if only the hat did!) when I told him he couldn't have it, it was literally down to his chin. They didn't have a smaller size and he threw each and every other hat down with disdain.

It is beginning to become somewhat of an issue, he is so fair and it is getting sunnier by the day. I shall not be beaten, I shall not be discouraged. We will continue to go hat shopping and try each and every one until he finds THE hat. I just hope to God that when we do eventually find one that he likes, which we will because I am NOT a quitter, that I don't fucking lose it!

Is it wrong to like my children sick?

Having spent the last week looking after my very sick children I have discovered something a little disturbing about myself!

I love an insecure and/or sick child!

My son is 22 months, he is super independent and isn't really one for hugging.
It's probably my fault. Since he was a small baby I have always put him down to nap and encouraged him to play on his own. "Never cuddle a sleeping baby" has always been my philosophy. Not because I am an uber strict parent but because I find having babies/small children stifling at times and putting them down to sleep gives me space to breath.

As a result I have a child that as a baby cried to be put down when he was tired, never wants to sit on my lap or have a snuggle and only likes to be kissed on the cheek!

When he's sick though that all changes. He just needs his mummy so much, he cries for cuddles and snuggles on my lap all day. I love it!
That might be a terrible thing to admit but it's true.

It was the same when his baby sister was born. He loved her straight away, he was such a good boy, he never made a fuss, or acted up, he was so good. But, I could tell that underneath it all he was a little bit worried about what it all meant, even at 18 months old he seemed to have the insight to know that things were changing.

When I would finish feeding the baby he would climb up onto my lap for a cuddle or would pull me off the sofa to the floor to play with him. It was so nice to have him want me all to himself.

My children are my world and sometimes, when they're screaming in my face, shouting no, or asking for their dad, I forget that I am theirs too!

To dress or not to dress? That is the question!

Whether or not to dress your baby seems to be as big of an issue as breast v bottle or Nsync v Backstreet Boys.

My babies have been dressed since the day they came home from hospital. Don't get me wrong they're not wearing tweed and leather and stiff scratchy denim but they do wear lovely little outfits and I love it.

I personally think "sleep suits" are for sleeping in, and for my friends that say they are "baby grows" and babies wear them while they're growing, well, babies do most of their growing at night so my arguement still stands.

My first pregnancy was just the most miserable of experiences and the only thing that really cheered me up was filling online shopping baskets of either little boys or girls clothes ready for when they popped out and I knew which basket to buy!  I was excited to have my very own real life dress up dolls and I still am. I enjoy shopping for my children more than I enjoy shopping for myself and whilst I leave the house looking dishevelled and a little bit dirty my kids look great. It seems pointless, it is I'm sure, but I like seeing them looking nice.

I find dressing the babies serves a purpose as well (other than them looking fabulous). I am not really one for routines. I don't impose strict 11am nap times and lunch time is when ever people are hungry but I do find that getting dressed in the morning and getting ready for bed in the evening helps both me and them mentally prepare for what's to come, whether it's starting our day or going to bed.

Perhaps more importantly it helps me feel like I have achieved something with my day. If me and the kids are all up and clean and dressed I feel like we're ready and raring to do something with our day, even if we don't end up doing anything. I feel more motivated to leave the house, or tackle a "day out" and then the days when we don't go out and we don't get dressed are a rarity and a treat. We LOVE pyjama days! My toddler is positively excited by them. We sloth out in pjs and watch tv  Toy Story and Kung Fu Panda on repeat and it feels great!

The power of love or the smell of vomit?

10 years ago washing someone else's vomit out my hair at 4am was a sign of a good night had by all. Now not so much. It is all just part and parcel of the joys of parenthood. It is amazing how much the power of love can help you cope with.

 When my toddler vomitted all over the garden and himself during a bbq with friends yesterday afternoon he was feeling pretty sorry for himself. As he was busy bringing his boots up my first action was to try and clean some of the chunks from his person. As I stripped him off and attacked him with wet wipes I looked down at his little face. He was so sad and so vulnerable, and despite being so gross I didn't hesitate to scoop him up, puke and all, to give him a cuddle. 

After a few more tears and a bit more snot and vomit I got the two of through the shower and into some clean pjs and rejoined the "party". Never let a bit of puke come between you and a good bbq! The boy calmed down and with a few sips of water and a viewing of Toy Story 2 he went to bed without too much trouble.

4am. The joy that is 4 am. He wakes up feeling very sad and very hungry, my dear darling husband in his dreary state and infinite wisdom lovingly went and made him a bottle of milk and then put him in our bed. A fact I only became aware of when the whole lot came at speed out of his mouth and into my face and my hair and everywhere else in the bed! Nice! Again I looked down at my sad little boy and despite the fact that both he and I were quite literally dripping with sick nothing else seemed as important as giving him his cuddles. 

After stripping him, the bed and myself off and loading the washing machine, making my husband a cup of tea while he cuddled the vomit monster I had a shower, again.

As I shampooed my hair for the third time I couldn't help but flash back to my early 20's when washing a boy's vomit out of my hair would have probably made me love him a little less! Now the boy is small and squishy and made by me it kind of makes me love him more. I never thought there would be a time where vomiting in the middle of a bbq or puking in my face whilst I slept would be acceptable let alone endearing but that is the power of love! Stronger than the smell of vomit every time!

Backsides and Bra lines

I have never been a skinny person. I have massive tits and wobbly thighs and I drink too much cider to have a flat stomach but since having children I feel like blancmange!


I used to always have a fat face and bat wings, but now, weirdly, I have a jawline, (I am sure, in part, as a result of constantly clenching it when trying not to scream at a toddler who is eating his rice one grain at a time!) and no smaller bat wings..hummingbird wings? from carrying 2 small children in and out of the house a million times a day.

But now, now I'm fat in different places, I have replaced my moon face with back fat and a balloon belly. The back fat is what really gets me, even when I was actually just fat I never had back fat. Now my backside basically starts at my bra line! It is disturbing!

Having two babies in 18 months has left my fat skin devoid of any elasticity so I am like a balloon that has been inflated and deflated too many times, a bit saggy and sad looking.

Thankfully my baby is a little fatty and she is quite literally milking the fat off my back. The back crack is more of a slight back cleavage now but I am dreading the day I take her off the boob. Partly because I love feeding her, but mostly because it means it will be harder to lose any more weight, or to be honest, just to not put any back on.

The reality already is, the less milk she drinks the more wine I do! After 9 months of pregnancy and 4 months of exclusive breastfeeding I am already taking every opportunity to get 'on it'!

I haven’t decided yet which one would make me happier, guzzling wine or a not fat back. I fear I cant have them both!

Should we just whip 'em out?

I am a breastfeeding mum. I do breastfeed in public. But, and it is a big but, I am torn on the coverage on the issue. I find it amazing that some people think it is unnatural (wtf?!) and I think Alyssa Milano is a great advocate for us mummies and has empowered many women to feed in public with more confidence.

I feel desperately sad for mums that feel too embarrassed to feed their baby in public, the mums that are confined to toilet cubicles and changing rooms. This is not on and shame on the arseholes that made them feel it was necessary!

I have been lucky (so far). I have not encountered any hostility or disapproval when I have breast fed either of my children in public but I have to admit I do often feel the need to wear a breast feeding bib thing..you know one of those colourful capes with the wire at the top so you can see the baby.

I don't wear it because of other people, I wear it because of me, because of my ginormous tits! I envy the mummies that are able to sit with their baby on the breast looking tidy and relaxed. I am not one of those mummies. My boobs are about the size of my 4 month old's head, and she has a big head! A friend once pointed out that There are many words to describe my boobs but 'discreet' is not one of them! They are big and imposing and have a mind of their own. Once the clip on the faded grey nursing bra is released they burst out of my clothing like the craken out of the sea!
Then there is the milk. Once it starts it is a kin to cracking open a fire hydrant, that shit is getting everywhere! I mean it. I'm soaked, the baby is drowning and I am dangerously close to having to pay for the dry cleaning of every other patron of which ever coffee shop I happen to be in. So I cover up.

Here is my but...

I was in a coffee shop the other day, (it is a 'breastfeeding centre' and everyone is welcome. Lovely.) and as I walked in I saw something that made me double take.

In the middle of the cafe there was an enormous pillow with an enormous boob flopped across it in all it's glory. On the corner of this great green velvet cushion was a baby, nibbling on the end of a nipple! I have to admit that even I, also a breastfeeding mum with gigantic tits, had to double take. I ordered my coffee and sat down with a friend and felt a little embarrassed as I passed.

I felt ashamed as I sat down that I had stared and more ashamed that it had made me feel uncomfortable. But... Here it is, my but... having put a lot of thought into it, it was unnecessary. The woman was exercising her right to breastfeed in public, yes, absolutely, more power to her. But... The way she was feeding didn't seem to be about her and her baby, it felt like it was about the rest of the world seeing it. She wasn't holding her baby, she wasn't even really feeding her baby and I'm not really sure what purpose the boudoir pillow was serving other than to draw more attention to it all.

I know, I know, who am I to judge, how dare I, I am setting the cause back years...these are all things I have reprimanded myself for already. But isn't she too? Is it not because of scenes that make a room full of other mothers shift in their chairs that make other people do it over the more discreet feeding?

Or .. Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps I too should be whipping them out with a little more gusto, dry cleaning bills be damned!

I am surprised with myself, and a little disappointed that this was an issue for me. My friend had the same reaction as did many other people in the cafe. I am sure this post is going to cause a lot of criticism. I have not written it to chastise or to shame any one, merely to illustrate a point. Until this particular trip to this particular cafe I I was 100% certain that I was 100% for breastfeeding in public and then I saw something that made me question myself.

I don't believe that women should feel the need to cover themselves or their babies while nursing and I will never think it is acceptable for women to feel they have to sit in a public toilet to do it but should there be a medium? Should we consider other people when we feed? I don't really believe so no. That would raise more questions..how much boob is too much boob? Should we put it away as soon as the baby comes off? How much nipple is too much nipple? If I had to ask myself these questions every time I fed my baby I would end up never leaving the house.

I  would like to think at some point breastfeeding in public won't need to be divisive, we won't feel the need to either make a statement or hide away, we will just get on with it and no one will notice.

Comply or Cry..my method of parenting

Hi!

Firstly, let me explain! Before you jump up and down and call social services my blog is not going to be about some ultra conservative, right wing, spare the rod, type parenting method. <Breathe> This post is about how I parent, which I think really is how most of us parent, and why to me it is the fundamental basis of being a parent.

When my son (almost 2) was a tiny baby and we would go to these Mummy and baby groups that you should go to, I would regularly end up in conversations about 'parenting methods'. I was not into Gina Ford and had never heard of Janet Lansbury, I actually got confused and thought of Angela Lansbury and my mind quickly wandered off to Bedknobs and Broomsticks and thought that would be a cool way of raising kids, but I digress... I certainly wasn't going to do bloody attachment parenting. I would sit and listen to the Mummies talk about their routines and chapters from books and the trials of wearing a baby whilst making a cup of tea in 3 minutes at 11.17am and silently scream to myself that I thought it was all a little bonkers. When someone asked me during one of these conversations "Who do you do?" I opened my mouth before having really engaged my (tired baby) brain and answered "I just suck it and see!". As I looked upon their blank yet unimpressed faces I tried to explain...."My philosophy is if it works ... Baby stops screaming, well, woohoo! ... If it doesn't, f*ck it, move on and try something else! Suck it and See!" and there in that moment my very own parenting method was born, ta da!

Since then my parenting style has evolved to meet the ever growing challenges of a feral and ever so slightly rabid toddler. I now adopt the "Comply or Cry" parenting method. This one I am particularly proud of. I even named my blog after it. As all parents will be painfully aware some things have to happen whether you or your baby like it or not. I find most of them relate to personal hygiene. Some things aren't choices - wearing nappies, brushing teeth, and simply just having the shit wiped from the backside and back of the neck, and the feet, and the earlobes, and wherever else it ends up!

I always explain to my toddler what I need to do. I ask him nicely to help mummy, I sing a song about wiping poo from earlobes while I try to do it, I bribe with treats, and then I inevitably end up pinning the little bugger to the floor with my knees whilst I attack him with wet wipes to remove the faecal matter from around his person before wrestling a clean nappy on him, at which point he screams until it is over. He had the option. Comply or Cry!

Again, this works with teeth brushing, I ask him to do it himself, I try brushing my teeth with him to encourage him to make the decision to brush his teeth himself, I sing a song, I say Ahhhhhhh with my mouth wide while trying to get the toothbrush in his mouth, aaaand then I pin the bugger to the floor with my knees whilst I get the toothbrush in there and brush away the strawberry pips and ketchup residue, at which  point he screams until it is all over. He had his chance. Comply or Cry!

I find that as my children grow this method is being employed more and more in our house and out of it. Getting small children into car seats, putting coats on in the rain, putting hats on in the sun, wearing shoes, wearing clothes, getting into a pram, getting out of a pram. It really is quite adaptable.

I don't really buy into 'doing a method'. When I was pregnant I didn't think I needed to read a book on routines or 'how to', I still don't. If that's how you like to do it, great but I think having a 'method' is restrictive and almost certainly sets parents up for failure, I would definitely have failed. I like the chaos and the unknown and have found that my babies have ended up falling into routine by themselves, and I have followed.

Before I had children, I, like most, had this completely romanticised notion of how it would be. My children would be clean and quiet and well behaved and say "Yes Mummy!" when I asked them to do things. The reality is dirtier and noisier and nothing close to obedient. In fact if I'm honest I don't ever really get the "Mummy" part, he calls me Dad and mostly just shouts and points emphatically when he needs something.

The weird thing about parenting is that the small things are the hardest, the teethbrushing and the shoe wearing and the in and out of the pramming. The big stuff, the growing and developing stuff happens on its own, when I'm not looking. Suddenly he is talking and making his own (questionable) clothing decisions, weeing in a potty on the floor and gives me his cheek to kiss instead of his wet sticky lips.

So yes, although I try the "cooperative" approach the "coercive" is where we end up. It is a shorter, quicker, more successful route to where we need to end up with the small stuff so that we can do things, many things, go to the zoo, make cakes, do painting, things that help with the big stuff, things we will remember forever.

The things that really matter.