Skip to main content

The "Lost" Months of Blog Silence

Three months of blogging silence.  No, we're not all sleeping through the night.  No, I've not run out of things to say.

Our baby is now 11 months and is more alert, mobile and curious.  His little hands can now touch all the things he's only seen from a static place on the floor.  His increasing teeth can now bite down on all those tasty hard surfaces that he's longingly gazed at from afar.  Within seconds, he's crawled to the shoe rack, smelling rubber boots or stroking velcro straps.  He's emptying cupboards and climbing the stairs.  He's tugging the curtains and teething on table legs.  He's outgrown all the clothes that he was wearing three months ago and has cut three more teeth.

His older brother is wiser, silver-tongued and now nappy-free.  He role-plays with sticks and talks to the toys; he's solving the jigsaws and sowing the seeds.  He's grown 25mm (ish) and expanded his vocabulary by roughly 50 words.  He now puts on funny voices when giving roles to his teddies and can do a forward roll.  He's been obsessed by planting seeds and we now have to avoid the seed display in Tesco or face yet another seed packet or meltdown.  Our windowsills are packed full of his handy work with a trowel: courgettes, cucumbers, tomatoes, pumpkins, butternut squash, sunflowers, wild flowers, carrots.  Even fennel.  Any upcoming birthdays will be getting some seedlings.
He's also trying out a bit of sarcasm:
Papa cracks a joke
Leo, in monotone: "Good one, Papa."
So proud.

In three months, I'm older and wiser, too.  I've started a new outdoor playgroup, 'Books in the Woods': an informal gathering of lovely people to share in a story and roam among trees.  I've read (or re-read) a few books (Anna Karenina, Othello, Tess of the D'Ubervilles, Death of a Salesman, Lord of the Flies, Wonder, Jane Eyre, Atonement) and given hours of Literature tuition to GCSE and A-Level students.  I've also set up a unique playgroup in a local care home, specialising in Dementia care, that trials this week, mixing our youngest and eldest generations.  The idea is simply to have a giggle and spread some joy, but we might all learn something about ourselves and each other as we sing old time nursery rhymes, chase bubbles and chatter over tea and biscuits.  More on this after next week.

We've also had local council elections and our PM has called for General Election next month.  Woop.

Are we sleeping more? Not really.  Are we sleep-deprived? Not critically.  Are we worried that our boys aren't sleeping through the night? Not especially.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Unexpected Loneliness of New Motherhood

There's that lovely moon again, a kindly face watching over her sleepy brood. Awake for another nocturnal milk feast, I treasure these simple moments of just baby, moonshine and me, but those first months of motherhood were tinged with loneliness - a surprising predicament that I hadn't prepared myself for.  I associated loneliness with the elderly and the bereaved.  What right did I - a healthy, mobile person, with a family and a home- have to complain of loneliness?  Encouraged by similar experiences shared on social media (see Channel 4's special loneliness season). I finally feel able to share my thoughts on this wonderful and challenging chapter.
Why was new motherhood so lonely?

1.The Monologues.  I went from teaching full time in a secondary school, talking with hundreds of people a day, to being alone with my newborn, nine hours a day, everyday.  Sure, we 'chatted' in our own way and those delightful smiles and gurgles went a long way, but I would yearn fo…

Parenting in a New World of Walls

All a parent ever wants is a better world for their children, safe and full of opportunity.  Over generations, my family has gradually bettered themselves financially and academically.  On my dad's side, he was the first to attend a university, juggling school work with weekend shifts at his parents' fish shop.  On my mum's side, daughter of a Punjabi Civil Servant, her grandfather travelled on a dhow across the Indian Ocean to find new opportunities in British East Africa; her parents had emigrated on British Passports to escape Idi Amin's racial purification programme in 1972.  My childhood was happy and comfortable in bucolic charm, with a colour television and piano lessons.
I was twelve before I really understood racism.  Growing up in Tory Lincolnshire, the current hotbed for Farage's Brexit fans, I was aware of being a little different:  I had a Granny and a Naniji; I worshipped in a Church and in a Gurudwara and my mum sent me to my friend's pyjama party…

Babywearing: One Mum's Fall Down The Rabbit Hole.

Before parenthood, my husband and I assumed that we'd need to spend money on a pram.  Wrong.  We assumed that our baby would happily fall asleep in a pram.  Wrong.  We assumed that we could buy one of those cute baby carriers from a reputable baby shop and all should be well.  Wrong.

My other half purchased the best-reviewed carrier online and we (rather uncomfortably) carried our eldest as much as we could, especially for walks, short naps and trips on the tube.We liked the versatility and the cuddles.Our baby liked the comfort and the warmth.We also thought it was some unwritten law to train your baby to sleep in a pram and many unhappy hours were spent jiggling the buggy, or once finally asleep, avoiding potholes, sirens and dog-walkers with their barking packs - we'd avoid certain shops with harsh lighting, or smooth floors, or those with steps and heavy doors.Whatever the ambience though, he always contentedly nodded off in the carrier.I tried to carry him as much as I co…