My little one is two years old next week. 

I've can't believe I've managed to keep this mini human happy, fed, watered and entertained for two whole years. 

He talks (a lot) walks, actually scrap that- RUNS, loves chocolate, avocados, curry, rice, chicken and cars, (his first word at 6 months) peppa frickin pig and trains.

I'm still in shock. Two whole years.

Even more so, after I've just weighed out TWO hefty bills for his party; one farm, one afternoon tea.

It hasn't been easy, it's been massively challenging, and after year one I decided to call it a day with his dad.

That's irrelevant, but little digs at me about being a crap mum (his own insecurities) eventually grated on me and I've questioned myself a lot. Was I, am I crap? 

Maybe I had a little PND, I've never challenged it - I know I'm quite miserable in comparison to before, and my hormones are more erratic and unstable than Lady C in the Jungle. 

Enough of the misog, and enough of the moaning. 
But in the last few months I've suddenly felt so confident in my motherly decisions - I know we have a massive bond now - I know I'm doing great. 

One, because I can get him through a whole book and keep him engrossed using intonation and excitement in my voice. While, alternatively this wriggly, energetic creature escapes if anyone else tries to do it. 

I can have a mini convo with him, & whilst I'm chuckling at his very adamant 'no's', I instinctively know deep down what he wants.

At times, like when he's under the weather & refusing food (trust me, he loves his grub), I keep persevering, however frustrating and painful it is. I always know what he wants (tilda kiddies rice is often a winner or a petit filous).



I adored him so much when he was born and was constantly in awe, maybe a little obsessed, but I never felt like I bonded hugely. I just felt I was going through the motions. Poo, milk (boob at the time), dress him, dress myself - it was a real struggle. I felt constantly anxious. 

Even to the point of removing myself a lot from social situations as I found it so hard putting on an act when I found it HUGELY difficult, especially with lack of sleep, energy etc - I felt I'd break at any given moment. 
I still do it now. I hate being weak,  especially friends seeing me that way.

Sometimes I felt I was drifting further away from my single girlfriends - further away from the party girl lifestyle I had. 

But fast forward a year, and believe me - the single lifestyle really ain't all that. 
Don't get me wrong I LOVE a good night out.

Daddy has him sometimes over the weekend, then I can plan to see friends. In a way, I cherish them a lot more & don't take my nights with them for granted. 

Staying in has become the new going out. 
I don't drink half as much, mainly because the whopping hangovers aren't conclusive with mothering successfully, and no one is there to pass you milky, sweet tea and a bacon sarnie. 

Yes, we may be sarcastic here on Bub, but one thing is we're absolutely so grateful to have healthy, happy (sometimes) children. 

Fran, the other mummy blogger on here, sadly lost her son, Oliver, before he was two. 
His body was attacking itself after he was born premature and needed a transplant - he went on to develop GVHD.

You will see from her posts she is expecting again (20 weeks).
Never take anything for granted. Cherish every second. She's having a little girl now, FYI.

My mum regales me with tales how she rarely slept, watching my every breath. Rewind back a year, I was so selfish and exhausted I was too busy sleeping to do that. How wracked with guilt do I feel now? 

I'm writing the post merely to say, that that huge rush of love has overwhelmed me - it's taken almost two years. Judge or join me. 
I've never thought he's not wonderful, but it's taken me this long to realise just HOW much.




Nobody is perfect. We can all have a laugh about our  mothering fails. 
Soothing their sobs, and drying their tears; like today's example as a tickling game went a bit wrong. So first he twatted himself on his head and rolled arse over tit off the sofa. 
Then just before bed time, is obsessed with the new bed-come-sofa thingy, sprinted at it before I even made it up the stairs & inevitably he smacked his lip on the corner. 

The past selfishness of being centred around me, has now transcended in another way. 
I want him all to myself. 

I love a coffee with him, accompanied by peppa pig (the third wheel in our relationship). 
If he's not stuffing another distraction like fruit toast in his gob.

Alternatively we love our lunch dates (well, I think he does). Wheeling my croaking bugaboo into the pub/restaurant, 
as the waitress rolls her eyes and tells you they're fully booked. 

Restaurants are fun - honest. I spend at least 18 mins charging after the pram escapee who loves emptying the contents of anything and everything. 
He started unwrapping the pre-wrapped Christmas pressies the other day and 'helping' with the fairy lights. Every little thing is an adventure and rightly so.

 I wish I was as excited and over zealous about spaghetti in Zizzi as he is (although I do have a wheat intolerance so probably best to avoid!)

The pram was actually part of a purchase of full bedroom kit, car seat etc all for £1k. 
I thought it was a bargs, and I'm not one of these mums who has to have the best pram - although I did go on to get a Jeremy Scott, whoops! 
What I'm wittering on about is that it's a bit on the old side, and 'mugged off' may be more appropriate.

General life-styling is quite difficult as a mum. Clattering in for another lunch time meal, one time I discovered there was nothing to entertain the kids (no colouring pencils, not even a straw for them to drink from). I moaned about that.

Probably doesn't sound THAT bad, but it is when faced with two mini- mites having a meltdown. 
I promptly complained - resulting in red faces and a £10 voucher, thank-you very much. Bitch face pen-forgetting mofos.

Today I had a door slammed in my face by a rather irksome old git as he  pretended not to notice me and the cumbersome pram. 

A gaggle of nice young men half heartedly jumped up to my rescue (yet still watched me struggling foot in door trying to push my archaic pram) and didn't quite 'save' me in time. 

Always liking to take matters into my own hands, I charged into said irksome ankles as he made his order and nonchalantly placed my own all through sweetly smiling.


Mumservations....

Basically, as mums we're all in the same boat right now. Single, married, engaged - a mum is a mum, the experience is testing regardless - but equally massively rewarding.

We're probably a little bit angrier than pre-life project, due to sleep deprivation and general intolerances to dicks (in all senses) and constant illnesses.

Some twats are completely unaware of mums plus mini humans - maybe I was one of those dicks once, but I can only remember going gooey and smiling each time I was affronted with a mini.

One other positive that's come out of this mum ting is I'm on bloody time! Precision planning has force this tardy moo to get to places in record time (Minus work. That's different).

Life is so rewarding now, it's also hard, bloody hard at times. 
It's very easy to become bitter and resentful on others who have it easy & all that shiz - but every experience is different. I don't think there's any 'easy' in all of this. 
I really love my experience, but I wholly agree it would be very different if I had someone to share it with.

Yesterday, for instance, my Saturday night, (yeah, and?) we had a bloody horrendous day. Snot, tantrums, tears, constipation - that was just me. 
Oh, and his bloody pram brake broke on top of the creaking, so the wheels are making the most horrendous dragging noise - lots of unimpressed looks in M & S - cheers mums, thanks for the support!

I did ask the kind security guard to help, but the clackety-clack happened as soon as I wheeled off again. 

Sickness & Mumbathing & Poos

He's been rather Ill this weekend, so ive done the dutiful mother and enjoyed the cuddles I never normally get. I went to bed smug as I'd survived the day - and smiling that he was peacefully sleeping as I watched catch- up tv in bed. Minus a wine. Instead accompanied by a nice soggy jacket potato & random spinach shiz. 
So far removed from the Shoreditch delicacies I used to drunkenly chow-down on. 

'Mum bathing' is my guilty pleasure when he snoozes (baths with more product than water). I sit on my phone (yeah, sad I know) and and admire those vlogging and blogging about testing times. I chuckle along with those blogging about their less-than perfect lives against those with the monochrome bedrooms and perfect babies (why is mine always covered in food/snot/mud?)

Were very lucky to have Fran on board, she's incredible. Juggling a 7-year old, full time job and feeling nauseous at 20 weeks. All whilst still raw and grieving from Oliver.

There's really nothing wrong with moaning about how crap your day has been, or highlighting the madness, embarrassing moments, shiftiness - just not at 'Flossy' or 'Daves' expense.

It's uncomfortable to read a post (aka the child - the annoyance) imagine if it was you, the subject, reading it down the line? You'd feel, well, crap. 

Did my mother really think that little of me, and did I really ruin her wine o clock because I wanted to play peppa pig for the umpteenth time (around 52 episodes yesterday, actually). 

We choose to have our sprogs, we choose to take the life project on, so smile in the face of adversity, grumble to your friends, we've all got a sense of humour but don't make them feel like they're an inconvenience. 

You gotta laugh! Don't tell me your little one doesn't make you chuckle when theres more water in the floor than in the bath? Or they say no to every food offering to man? The ubiquitous quivering bottom lip or the spectacular tantrums mid Gap store. 

They're bloody brilliant - even the token floating poo I'm currently scooping out of the bath...