Sometimes, when you're sitting around and chatting, you say things which of course, you don't mean literally. For example, "Slap my belly with a soggy cucumber and call me Terry McGee, I wish I had my own personal rain cloud so I could shower whenever I liked".

So today, whilst sitting with Mrs. Nanny, Noah and feeding Isaac, Mrs. Nanny and I were talking about how well behaved Noah had been, and how his tantrums had been quite minimal, in comparison to the colossal earthquakes we'd been used to. I replied saying "Yeah, and I bet when you leave at 5:15, about 5 minutes later the shit will hit the fan".

We laughed, we speculated, we joked some more. And at 5:15, Mrs. Nanny left, while I sat on the sofa nursing Isaac on old Lefty, with Noah cuddled next to me. Was so lovely.

5:20 Isaac finished feeding.

5:21 Isaac pulled a peculiar face and strained a little.

5:22 My right hip became very warm.

5:24 Still wondering whether what I thought had happened, had really happened.

5:26 Noah jumped up, signing for food and then suddenly pointed at the yellow trail of crap which was running between down the nursing pillow, across the top of my trousers and on to the sofa.

5:27 I pick up Isaac, still wondering what the fuck was going to be the best way to deal with the situation; he promptly barfs straight down my vest, into my bra, down himself, and over most of what we were wearing.

5:28 Tweeted it on twitter. Obviously.

5:29 Noah signing frantically for food while also trying to drag the nursing pillow out of the room; the nursing pillow covered in Isaac's fast moving, questionable smelling, very yellow crap.

5:30 Put Isaac in the changing table on his cot, somehow peeled off my vest and trousers, took the covers off the pillows, put Noah in his chair, heated up his tea (old fail-safe lamb and sweet potato with breadsticks), over heated it so he got impatient and was practically scream-signing for food (never seen a kid willingly smack his own face so hard).

5:32 Prided myself on getting reasonably sorted. And wondered whether I got some of the crap in my hair.* Noah started chowing on his food anyway (you know the boy actually says "nommm noommm nommmm" while he's eating? Awesome).

5:33 Went back to Isaac, discovered he had barfed again, all over himself, the changing table and projectiled it into the cot. Changed nappy, changing mat, wiped him down fast as possible.

5:35 Called Mrs. Nanny and informed her of the good news, that apparently things CAN COME TRUE.

5:40 Cleaned up Isaac, put him on his front on the sofa surrounded by pillows (where he promptly barfed again). Grabbed the nursing pillow, went to the front door in my bra and pants, frantically waving at D (who at just pulled up on the drive) to get the fuck in the house as FAST AS POSSIBLE. Go upstairs to wash pillow in the bath.

5:50 Return downstairs to find Noah happily eating his tea, and D and Isaac sitting on the sofa deep in conversation like nothing ever happened.

It's a good job I can take the shit with the cute, right?

*I still haven't checked. I'm guessing no.
I am lame. So very lame at blogging. I confess to fobbing you off with a frightening picture of the little boy on Sunday (who is still doing that frightening thing, and regularly freaking out his parents).

Big boy has chicken pox. Again. Somehow. Like, he had it a few weeks ago. And having just come back from the doctors, have been told he has it again. He was as confused as I. And having had a fever of 38.6 all day, and putting him to bed without any fuss at all (he was like a limp noodle, barely able to lift his arms up to be picked up), he keeps crying out in his sleep every so often. In pain, I can only assume. I know they get ill, of course I know that, but it still sucks to see my super soldier really miserable and barely able to move.

Isaac is still being annoyingly cute. And I say annoyingly because I'm a little wary that when he's being a little nightmare, he's only going to have to dish out his winning smile and I'll turn to barfy mommy mush. He's still doing that crazy lifting his head up shit which leaves me a shaking wreck in the corner of the room, wondering what the hell is to come next. Incidentally, next to come was propping himself up on his elbows and pushing himself forwards in his cot with his feet. Yes, at 7 weeks, effectively shuffling forwards. On his front. So after that, we really ARE wondering what's next, especially if it looks like he's to follow his brother's footsteps.

7 week old show-down.

And the similarities don't end there either.

At least we know they're related.

And yeah, they are just as cute as each other.

Because pictures speak a thousand words.
And I mean the bigger of the two, because he seems to have disappeared somewhere, and some twisted fucker has replaced him with a toddler who knows (and does) far too much already.

The baby gate has been moved from the stairs to the door on his room. Mainly because of this.

Yep, he's fast asleep. On the floor. At the top of the stairs.

We figured this wasn't very healthy, and also decided he probably shouldn't have free unsupervised access to the plug socket in the wall, just above his head. Yeah.

What's even funnier is that we're now looking at a taller gate as he can almost propel (and I DO mean propel) himself over the gates at the moment. He gets about halfway then stops, perhaps because he realises he may smash his head on the floor at any time. Or, because he hasn't figured out how to flip over the top of the gate. Yet.

His tantrums are still coming thick and fast; he's like a volcano on the verge of repeat eruption, and there's just no telling when it's coming. My favourites would have to be the ones where he screams, kicks anything near him and tries to throw his favourite tricycle over the baby gate. So we're thinking maybe he's a teeny tiny bit frustrated?

And just to make things absolutely perfect, the Kiddo is popping 6 teeth. All at the same time. Yes, six. Four canine teeth, two molars. The inside of his mouth looks like he's been chewing a wasp, and his eating is sometimes impossible. And sometimes fantastic.

Because in this family, we obviously don't do things by halves.
Yes we did it. We took the side off the cot.

Because I'm too young to die repeatedly from a heart attack. So of course we put a "safety bar" on the side.

And what amazed us both, was after a little bit of to-ing and fro-ing, and then leaving him to it (with a baby gate at the top of the stairs), and one small whine where he dropped his paci's down the stairs, around 7:45pm (usually when he finally falls asleep) we found this.

He had taken his favourite books off the shelf to read, and played with an empty Disney box. Then gone to sleep. Last night (Night #2) he went off without even fussing at the gate.

And now, he's just gone down for his day nap. No fuss.

If there is a God? I thank you now. Because two days of Big Kiddo going to bed in a cot bed without fuss is worth A BILLION (well, maybe two or three) days worth of sleepless nights.

Damn I'm a proud mum.

Once upon a time, a toddler decided to climb/fall/lunge out of his cot repeatedly. Finally, at 17 months old, his parents decided it was time to bite the bullet and take the side off the cot. They still haven't done it yet, but recently they thought they should pull their finger out when they discovered the 17 month old boy leaning across the top of his cot to lie along his windowsill.

Dadda took him off and momma freaked out.

The End.


Once upon a time, maybe a day ago, a shiny new 5 week old child did this.

He stood up on his momma's lap. His head is not supported. His body is not leaning his momma. His arms are pushing his torso away from his momma. This is a regular occurrence.

Shortly after this pic, his dadda took him, and momma freaked out.

The End.
Yes yes, I'm shit at blogging at the mo. It's called "I have two children who are both lovely and yet somehow rarely sleep and I'm tired and probably lazy and also very hungry and dare I get the laptop open while Noah is around and ready to wreak havoc and oh YEAH he has chicken pox for real and that leads to some of the most awesome frustrated tantrums I have EVAH SEEN for a kiddo his age."

Not that you'd believe it to look at the cute face he gives you.

Isaac is still HUGE (I swear he's almost as big as Noah) and is still very lovely. He's presently propped on my front snoring away (I'm typing one handed - tis fun). He's been snuffly for three weeks now, I hear he is being nominated for President of the Facial Orifice Fluid Society which we're very pleased about. Obviously.

He also still barfs like there's no tomorrow. However we have now found good reason for this. It's called "Mom, I'm just gonna keep feeding from this here boob until you latch me off, regardless of whether I explode milk if I just keep going", and I gotta say it's just fun.

(Yesterday I went through 3 changes of clothes, he got through 7 vests and well over a dozen burpees. The washing machine and tumble drier are my best friends. We're very proud.)

"What? 7 vests? No mother, you must be mistaken..."

I'm clearly babbling crap cos I don't have anything particularly interesting to say. Other people are writing about far more entertaining things. Can I point you in the direction of something more exciting perhaps? Some one else's more interesting blog?

Or maybe, just maybe, I can distract you with some FREAKING AWESOME PICS of Isaac taken by Alan Bremner?

The Squoochiest Mouth EVAH.

Yes you're right. He IS cute. Good GOD that mouth.

6 days old.
How I didn't piss Alan off with all my cooing smoochy goo noises, I'll never know.

And how the hell he got Isaac to stay put while he slept is beyond me.

This last one is specially for those who love the pic of him in the bath (pic of Isaac, not Alan, cos that's just very, very wrong), I know loads of people loved the squooched up face. Well, ladies, hang on on to your uterus cos this one will kill ya.

You can visit Sprout Photography and I swear to the good lord in all his poppy-seed cracker-ness, you won't be disappointed. He takes a mean pic.

All images copyright © 2009, Sprout Photography