Two Years Of Motherhood

Two Years Of Motherhood

I always joke that my birthday is a kind of month long Mardis Gras, with parties and fun and shenanigans galore. In truth I always try to make it like that, partially because January is a crap month otherwise, but partly because we all deserve a month to celebrate ourselves.

So it would seem that my Little Droid is following suit. It feels very much as though November is his month; but it’s also my month to reflect. Remembering those days waiting to give birth and how they felt they would last forever; remembering his birth and how terrifying-magical-beautiful it was, remembering the days afterwards when we huddled together in that newborn cocoon, whilst around us our friends and family circled like wise, loving planets, sending food, flowers, baby clothes and hovering for cuddles.

To celebrate Artoo Detoo’s second birthday, I thought I’d share some of the wisdom (ha) I’ve gained since becoming a mother, in the hope that if you’re on this train ride too, or about to embark, it will help you to cut yourself some slack.

Lesson 1: You are not in charge.

Oh, you make decisions. You decide where you go, how long you stay, how and what to feed etc etc. But your baby is the boss. It’s ironic, isn’t it; we spend all that time learning how to be adults and be in charge of our own destinies only for it to be completely shattered by a toddler screaming because he wants a toy in the supermarket. Or wants to go to playgroup dressed as a fairy princess. Or wants to play Playdoh when you want to go out.

Go with the flow. It’s easier, and you might even have a bit of fun.

Lesson 2: If you’re trying to be a good parent, you probably are.

You are the best parent for your little one. You. Not your mum, not that old lady on the bus who tutted because your baby didn’t have gloves on (you try keeping gloves on a surly one-year old, madam), not Super Nanny. You. I was determined to be pretty strict with my kid. Bedtime routines, no fussy eating, no messing around and screen time kept to a minimum. What a delusional arse I was. I have discovered, to my surprise, that there is a name for my kind of hippy-dippy parenting (other than ‘Total Pushover’), and it’s Gentle Parenting. I also know parents who read all the books on gentle and attachment parenting, resolved to be just that and are now the kind of disciplinarians who sleep-train and have sticker charts and potty trained early, and do all the stuff I thought I would. You end up being the parent your child needs. Let’s face it, all toddlers are total feral balls of energy anyway; what all the ones I know have in common are that they all know how beloved they are. And that’s the secret.

Lesson 3: This Too Shall Pass. Eventually. We Hope.

Often on my Facebook memories something will pop up about how much I hope the baby will be sleeping “by then”. Well, he’s two now and that is still very much hit-and-miss. We’ll go weeks when he only wakes up once or twice for boob, then weeks where he refuses to go to bed, then weeks where he wakes up six times a night. It’s mad. There is no pattern to it, and we are slaves to our tiny son’s sleep nonsense. However, I know that this is just a season. Even if it is a bloody long season. One day in the not too distant, I’ll hopefully be using a lever to remove his bed from his back to get him to school. Fingers crossed.

Lesson 4: Lower Your Expectations.

Low. Lower than low. Hades low, to quote Josh in The West Wing. I had hoped that by now my son would be tucking into all kinds of exciting cuisine, but to be honest most days he survives on Weetabix, pasta and biscuits. In fairness to him he’s a little behind on the whole eating thing, having started six months late thanks to his allergies and undiagnosed silent reflux, but some days it can be difficult to get him to eat anything at all, let alone something that might have a passing relationship with vitamins. My boobs are still very much involved, despite the fact I thought they would have happily retired back to their previous ornamental status by now. Droid’s little mates have me totally pegged as the Biscuit Lady, and come begging like little puppies whilst their own mums roll their eyes (I’m sorry for corrupting your kids, ladies). It’s all fine. He’ll get the hang of it at some point, and at least he’ll eat several different types of veg. Sometimes.

Lesson 5: Time Is A Funny Thing

It really is. That first year was sloooooow, and I remember a lot of it. But I don’t remember much of Arthur’s second year. I remember everything from his newborn days as though they were last year, which is extremely weird. This past year has been a blur. When people say “Doesn’t it go fast?” I go “Er… sometimes…” because a lot of that first year dragged and dragged and I felt frightened and worried and as though I didn’t know what I was doing. Which I didn’t, of course. Nobody does. But then they get a bit more robust, and you get to know them better, and you work out where their little brains are at (in Droid’s case it’s usually steam trains), and it does get fractionally, infinitesimally easier. The one thing I do try to remember is that he won’t always be this little, this cute, this into me. I try very hard to imprint on my mind the moments when he puts his arms up to me and says “I carry you?”, or when he hugs me tight and says “Aaaaah, Mummy.”

And now, I’ve got to go and wake him up in the hope that he’ll go to sleep before 9pm later.

Good luck.


19 Months Of Breastfeeding

I can’t really believe I’m writing this. Who would have thought we’d still be going after all these months?

Arthur. That’s who.

Some babies seem to naturally move away from milk as they eat more. They’re just less interested in it. Not mine. As he grows and gets more and more interested in life, exploring, language and generally growing his little self up, it seems more and more that Artoo needs me, my body, my boobs to help ground him and give him a little respite, a place of peace and quiet, to help him get to sleep. It’s a joy and a privilege to watch him tearing around, screaming and shrieking with joy when he finds something particularly exciting, chatting away to me and telling me everything he sees. I look at the little boy he’s becoming with his newly shorn hair and his little round face lit up with glee and mischief and for this month, at least, I am grateful that he still needs me and still wants to feed from me. I feel as though I have so few bits left of Baby Arthur, that tiny little newborn, and breastfeeding is one of them. Although it’s hard to reconcile that tiny little creature with the solid boy I lay across my lap now.

What are the others? The other baby things I’m clinging onto?

  1. Baby vests and sleepsuits. He looks adorable charging around in them and I’m just hoping against hope that they exist in 2-3 size, not least because I suspect he won’t be potty training for a while yet.

  2. Using the buggy in the parent facing option. I don’t do it every day, but it’s lovely sometimes to be able to chat to him properly as we’re on the move and to watch as his eyes close for a nap.

  3. The travel cot. He still sleeps in it every night, and since it’s really difficult to climb out of (believe me, he tries), I can’t see us changing that any time soon. I’m dreading him being able to escape his bed.

At 19 months there’s a lot going on for Arthur. Haircuts, moving house, soft play, learning how to share. He needs his comforter, and for now I’m just fine with that being me. He’ll pull away from me soon enough; I’ll keep him as my baby for as long as I can.

Dear Arthur, aged 18 months

Half way between one and two, and you’re brilliant. I could leave it there, only I’m scared of forgetting everything and not being able to tell you what you’re like. Obsessed with cars for starters. You love them and you can name lots of vehicles in your own Arthur-speak: car, digga, tacta, amunance, nee-naw, tayne, aberdane (this covers all aeronautical specimens). You shout them out, time and again, every time you see one, each sighting so exciting to you even in this city where cars are almost as plentiful as people. A car park is your idea of heaven, and when we took you to a motor museum in the Lakes you went bananas, running round and touching all the wheels on the classic cars. A sweet, bearded man followed us around with a rag to wipe off your little handprints.

Your moods are extreme. You can go from happy and carefree to complete meltdown stampy tantrum in a second, if the thing you’re trying to do doesn’t work, if I stop you from doing something dangerous, if I try to (God forbid) change your nappy or trim your nails. You’d be happy rolling around in your own muck with nails like Edward Scissor-Hands. It’s a little bit heartbreaking when you sob “all done” when you want us to stop tormenting you with care.
On the rare occasions when I’m not right near you, if I’m having a bath or a walk after your Dad’s come home and you’re in bed, a memory of you clamping your legs round my waist as I pick you up, kissing me unbidden or smiling at me will sneak into my head and I will grin and miss you. I miss you when you’re asleep, bottom sticking up in the air, hand clutching a car or teddy, but I’m glad you seem fonder of it now. It makes us both less grumpy.
I’m still breastfeeding you, although you eat much more now and would have Weetabix for every meal if you could. Oh, I’m sure some people think I’m mad, but on a good day that lovely cuddle and stillness is still wonderful. I gaze at you, trying to commit everything to memory. You want more if you’re feeling overwhelmed, or we’re in a new place or situation. These days you run your little toy car across my chest as you drink.

You’ve been walking for ages now, 7 months, so you’re pretty good at it. We go for walks in the park with your reins, you trot beside me and point out anything interesting. I’d take them off only I’m pretty sure you’d do a runner. The new daredevil climbing is interesting too. I can leave a room for thirty seconds, come back and find you standing on an item of furniture, trying to get the pictures off the walls. You think it’s hilarious; I think it’s terrifying.

You know everyone’s name in the family now, chanting them as you look at photos. Amma, Pa-pa, Nana, Dad-dad, Auntie, Uncle. You’re getting the hang of your cousins’ names too. Mummy, which was a distant dream when you turned one and would only say Daddy, is your favourite word to shout when you’re happy, sad, or need food. Which covers everything, really.

My current favourite of your words and phrases took me a while to work out. You’ve been picking up the phone and saying “Allo!” for a few weeks, but recently you’ve started addressing things, insects, people and greeting them with “Allo, cee-cee.” I realised recently it’s your version of “Hello, sweetie”, something I say to you. You’ve been calling the ants and woodlice in the garden sweetie.

We’ll be moving house soon. A new chapter for our little family, new friends, new streets. A big upheaval in any life, but when you’re only 18 months old it’s an even bigger challenge. I can’t wait. You make everything more fun.

I love you.


Toddler Travels

It feels like an age since I wrote my travel post last June. It IS an age. Mountains have risen and fallen, stars have been born and died, and somehow Arthur has turned from a baby into a toddler, much as I hate to admit it.


This holiday has been slightly easier in the sense that we’ve come to my family’s caravan in the Lakes. We spent the first week in a lovely holiday place with extended family, which was great fun and awesome for Arthur thanks to all the attention he got. I’m going to talk about our second week at the caravan since that’s probably more true to most people’s holiday experiences, with no willing babysitters! It’s a place I’ve known and loved for fifteen years, and even though it requires a little jiggery pokery in the second bedroom to fit Arthur’s cot in, we make it work. There’s so much I love about coming up here, but honestly the sense of peace and oneness with the landscape is the best bit.. The “van” is on a working farm, with sheep, rabbits and cows dotted around and the work of the farm continuing around us. The view from the living room window is straight out over the fells to the best sunsets in the world, and I love nothing better than watching it dip behind the landscape with a glass of wine or beer. It’s different every time; sometimes gentle pastels, sometimes a blaze of riotous colour. If you’re lucky and it’s a clear night the sunset will give way to an inky black sky that will eventually put on the galaxy’s best light show; aka the Milky Way. But enough about the location; it’s time to talk about what we’ve done right and wrong so you can learn from our mistakes.


Let’s start with the bad news, shall we?


  1. Overpacking. Yep, despite the fact that toddlers really do need lots of crap, they really don’t need that much crap, especially when they’re in a new and exciting place. I also didn’t need this many clothes, even for two weeks. There’s a launderette near where we’re staying and it’s very easy to drop off our clothes and get them all nicely washed and folded for us. We could have done this holiday on a lot less. Our biggest issue on the way back will be TOYS. We’ve got enough toys and books for Arthur to open his own shop, most of which have been, ahem, picked up thanks to extremely generous relatives since we’ve been here.
  2. Sleeping arrangements: I don’t think we’d really got this organised properly before bedtime on the first night, which meant it was all a bit of a disaster. Lots of howling and a good old-fashioned three hour wake-up, which meant the whole family was in a complete grump the next day. We needed to rearrange all the furniture in the room to make it work, and it would have been much better if instead of trying to stick rigidly to bedtime we’d let Arthur explore his surroundings and enjoy the excitement. He simply wasn’t ready to go to bed, and forcing the issue made things worse. Lesson learned.
  3. Baby-proofing. Last time we came to the van Arthur was crawling and cruising all over the place, but his first steps were still a month or so away. We could build soft-play cushion forts and not worry about him. This time he’s opened every cupboard about 50 times, tried to climb up the shelves in the kitchen, pulled the fireguard down, learnt how to open the flipping doors, hidden one of his shoes in the fridge and on and on. Worst moment so far was when he opened the front door to the caravan and fell out onto the stone steps. Only my husband’s cricket reflexes stopped him from falling head first and hurting himself; as it was he just had a shock. The doors are well and truly locked as routine now, and the next time we come we’ll do a quick scout round to make sure everything is Arthur-proofed, which is a level up from normal baby-proofing, alas.
  4. We didn’t download any of Arthur’s favourite CBeebies buddies. ERROR.


The good stuff!


  1. Frankly, coming somewhere we know like the backs of our hands. No stress, no drama, just somewhere we adore. We don’t have to worry about finding out where to go or what to do (although we have researched local soft play places), we can just concentrate on enjoying it and taking each day as it comes.
  2. Baby waterproof clothing. The Lake District in April = wet.
  3. Being baby led. Sounds obvious, but we’ve worked out a way to get the most out of the holiday whilst making sure Arthur has a good nap each day that isn’t affected by travelling around too much. We get up early (as if we could do anything else), go and do something very local like a walk round the local park, a visit to the swings or a mooch round the shops. We head back to the van for lunch (making this a cheap holiday too), and then do something in the afternoon depending on what the weather’s like. It’s an incredibly chilled out way to do it, and it means we’re still getting to do plenty of stuff and feel like we’ve had some lovely time together. Figure out what will work around your own tiny tyrant’s needs and just do that; forcing whole day hikes or bike rides on an overtired baby is a bad idea. Well, I think so anyway.


Hope this helps if you’re planning a Spring/Summer holiday with a toddler or two!

Sixteen Months Of Breastfeeding

This month has been harder. I’m flagging. We’ve had a massive, lengthy sickness bug during which Arthur was even refusing breast milk. That meant having to pump, which is my nemesis. We’ve gone from that to making up for lost time;pulling at my top, saying “Boob! Boob!”, tantruming if his needs aren’t immediately met. He’s even been attempting to latch onto my arm if I don’t comply straight away, or trying to pull my top down to get at them. The night feeds have gone back up, too. Less sleep again when I wasn’t getting a whole lot in the first place. Combine this with the hormonal changes from this up-and-down feeding and I’m feeling pretty tired and a bit low.

I’ve been getting a little more anxious about feeding in public, too. I don’t often have to nowadays, but there are times when it’s unavoidable. I was at a Christening as Godmother, and you can’t have someone shrieking “BOOOOOB” at the top of their lungs in church. So out they came, as soon as he started the top-tugging. Nobody minded, and as it happened the vicar was just at that moment extolling the virtues of motherhood. So I felt free to feed and be relaxed. Most of the time, though, you can’t help worrying what people think. Even a confident extrovert has limits; and I am British.

So why the heck am I still doing it? If you’d told me after month 1 that we’d still be doing this now, I’d have been horrified. I thought it would be six months and done.

Well, there are the WHO guidelines. There’s the convenience of knowing I have a nutritious snack for him whenever I need one. There’s the knowledge that it comforts him like nothing else can; I’ve noticed that in new environments he’s seeking me out for reassurance. There’s the fact that we’re on the milk weaning ladder and I might soon be able to offer him cow’s milk, so trying for formula now seems a little silly. Mostly though it’s the roar in the middle of the night. How the hell will I say no to that? How will I fight that instinct? There are still so many lovely moments still going on even though it’s hard and I’m not ready to stop yet. Someday soon he’ll be able to understand that it’s time to dial it back and eventually move on but right now he still feels very much a baby who needs his mum. Boobs and all.

Fifteen Months

(Please note that as ever I am only talking about my own experience. All mothers should do what they need to and what is right for them without reference to anyone else).

Today I’m marking 15 months since Arthur burst into our lives. Along with that is the milestone of another month of breastfeeding.

In one sense I’m amazed we’ve kept going this long. I look back at the pregnant me who was convinced I’d just breastfeed until six months and then miraculously Arthur would start eating well and drinking from a bottle, just like that, and I can’t believe how daft I was. It’s all been so much more complicated than that, what with allergies, bottle refusal and the fact he wouldn’t even have water from a cup until he was 13 months.

Even so, the strange thing is that most of the time I really enjoy breastfeeding. There’s so much written now about how painful and difficult it can be, and certainly we experienced a little of that during the early days. I never expected to like it.

The most difficult aspect of our breastfeeding “journey” has always been the fact that nobody else can help. It’s still a struggle, especially at night. When you’re on the third feed of the night and your back aches, your head aches, you can’t reach your water and your partner is snoring away blissfully whilst you inwardly curse them, breastfeeding is less than fun. Arthur’s sleep is something I wrote about in my previous post, and the one thing that will reliably calm him is boob, but it is tough.

Despite all of this I still want to continue. The day feeds are now a lovely point of stillness and repose, a chance for us to cuddle in days full of toys, learning, new words and zooming around everywhere. He’s started to feed more during the day, and I wonder if this is a way of getting some reassurance now that his little world is getting bigger all the time. When he had a tummy bug a couple of weeks ago I’m not sure what we would have done without breastfeeding as it was the only sustenance that passed his lips. I find it hard to imagine how I’ll parent without it.

So, how long will I keep going? Hard to say. Certainly to 18 months, probably beyond that. It’s not always easy, but it is always worth it.


Sleep, sleep, sleep. I’ve spent so long thinking about it, worrying about it, trying to fix it. I’ve written several pieces for the blog about Arthur’s sleep and how difficult it’s been, but I’ve canned all of them. They all seem so moany, so ungrateful somehow. How dare I complain about this gorgeous boy, this boy I longed for for so long when he can’t help it and he’s only a baby?

The fact is that even the parents with that amazing baby who sleeps through the night from 6 weeks onwards will eventually come a cropper with sleep. Maybe it’s worse if you’ve had it that good to suddenly go back to multiple night wakings or (shudder) the 2-4am party. I don’t know; I can only go on my own consistently grim experience. Arthur has always been fine at napping and found sleep at night difficult. At his worst he wakes up once an hour (thankfully we haven’t seen those days for a while), at his best he’ll do one middle of the night feed then wake very early to start the day. Those nights have always been rare, but it’s been my mission to achieve that as a starting point. None of this “sleeping through” nonsense for us. I honestly think I’d be awake with crippling anxiety if he did that anyway.

Arthur is very advanced in a lot of ways. He’s been zooming about the place since eleven months, has amassed an impressive vocabulary for one so little (although he’s still to give me any kind of name consistently), can tell you where lots of body parts are and makes some impressive animal noises. He’s great fun. But he’s still only fourteen months old, which by any standards isn’t a long time to be in the world. He’s been poorly for pretty much the entire winter which has ramped up breastfeeding again, and now he’s old enough to ask for it he also understands when he’s told he can’t have it, and that makes him sad. For the last few weeks, in order to try and get him a bit of sleep we’ve given in and pushed him to sleep in the pram upstairs and left him there while we have something of an evening. The problem with that tactic is that he has to be transferred, and as any parent of a newborn knows that’s pretty hit and miss, never more so when the baby in question is a pretty heavy lump rendering stealth unlikely.

However, for the past two nights we’ve managed to go back to those heady nights of one short wake-up. I think I’ve figured out what he’s trying to say to us, why he struggles so much.

He needs to be with us.

We’ve tried him in his own room on and off since six months, but it’s never lasted. I’ve always thought that was just for my convenience; multiple night wakings for a breastfed baby are much, much easier if that baby is in the same room. For the last two nights, however, after his bath (and making sure I’d given plenty of milk feeds in the hours prior to bed), I’ve put Arthur in his trusty travel cot in our room and sat with him. He has books and his teddy; I have my book too. He complains a little, chats a little, picks his nose to make me laugh, reaches out his hand to me in protest. It’s adorable. I smile and ask him to try and go to sleep. More dancing. Then it happens. The key in the lock.

“Who’s that?” I ask him. A huge, beaming smile comes over his face. “Da-dee?” he asks. His Dad bounds up the stairs, two at a time, desperate to see his lad. They have a touching little chat, and Arthur demonstrates where his eyes, nose, mouth and ears are, sometimes getting them wrong on purpose with a little grin. After a few minutes, his Daddy kisses him and goes downstairs to make dinner. Arthur looks at me and cries, so I get him out of the cot and feed him.

He falls asleep. He knows we’re all home, together, and that’s what he’s been missing. That knowledge that his beloved Daddy has come home.

When we come up to bed he stirs a little but just rolls over. He knows we’re there and he’s happy with that. We sleep, all three of us together, just as families have since families began. I don’t wake and strain to hear him; I don’t need to. He’s right next to me.

He won’t be little forever, and when he’s older and more independent I can’t imagine ever regretting the nights he needed us to be together in order to sleep. I won’t get this again. Time to stop wondering how to fix what doesn’t need fixing. Time to start enjoying the process.

The Longest January On Record

It has been, hasn’t it? I’m not the January hater that so many are due to the fact my birthday falls earlier in the month, but Lordy this one has been long. We’ve been ill for pretty much the entire month and despite being an Autumn/Winter enthusiast I am now waiting impatiently for a bit more light, especially since that will mean more playing outside for my extremely active toddler. I’m writing this on January 130th.

Last year I posted about my take on New Year’s Resolutions and why they’ve never worked for me. In 2018 I’ve taken a similar tack to last year. Here’s how I’ve done January:

  1. Word Of The Year. For 2018 that’s “Contentment”. The last few years have been an absolute roller-coaster ride and this year I’m hoping for a little less drama and a lot more… well, contentment. A lot of that, of course, has to do with how I react to things rather than the events themselves.
  2. This year I used a lovely tool called Year Compass to review 2017 and plan for 2018, using my bullet journal to record my responses. It was lovely, and I thoroughly recommend it.
  3. I’ve got a focus for each month, which I’ve recorded in my bullet journal so I can look at it easily to remind myself of what I’m doing. I’m really looking forward to February’s Month Of Lipstick which was last year’s highlight.

If, like me, you’ve spent January with a head like cotton wool hiding from your responsibilities because you feel too rubbish to engage with anything, this is a good place to start. You can just as easily set intentions for your year at this end of the month, or really at any time. It’s just a gentler way to do it, and far more fun.

Happy New Year to you all.

When your baby gets a little bit older you’re sort of expected to go back “to normal”. People stop offering help, and start expecting you to be back to the way you used to be. As if you had some kind of lengthy convalescence and are now back to full health.

The thing is, though, you’re not.

Your joints still ache from breastfeeding. Your back hurts. You get barely enough sleep to survive. Your body feels like it’s been rearranged somehow; it’s still not entirely yours. And that’s not even thinking about the psychological effects of having a baby; the lasting effects of PND or PNA, constantly worrying about the little person you brought into the world and love so much you’re bewildered and frightened by it. After a year has passed you’re probably trying to juggle work with parenting, and, if you’re a stay at home parent, you might be bored out of your brain. Whichever path you’ve chosen (or been forced into due to circumstances) you more than likely feel guilty. It probably gnaws at you.

Whatever you’re doing right now, at this moment, your little person is there, in the background on a loop in your mind as you worry about whether you packed enough snacks for tomorrow and whether that rash us just post-viral and whether it would be selfish to get your partner to take over for a couple of hours so you can meet up with your friend who’s going through tough times.

I don’t have any answers for you, I’m so sorry. I won’t trot out the cliché “you got this” because if you’re anything like me a) you find it annoying and b) you feel very much as though you don’t got this.

All I will say is that I’m pretty sure most women feel like this after having a baby, and that it takes a lot longer than twelve months to get over pregnancy and birth, especially if you’ve endured trauma in either or both. All I will say is it’s OK. You’re OK, or, if you aren’t, you probably will be soon. Try as much as you can to reclaim something you used to love; even if it’s just relaxing in the bath with a paperback. Cling to your mum friends, because they know. They really do. And this:

Well done.