I'm on a major downer. One of those "Woe is me, I'm the worst mother EVAH and everyone thinks I'm shit at my job and my children hate me and I don't know how to deal with them and wah wah frigging WAH."

I dunno where it's come from. Maybe I'm just tired. SO very, very tired. Yes I'm on holiday, I appreciate that, but it doesn't matter where the hell you are, you're always a mum, you're always doing your job. I'm not saying PND. I'm still fighting that, every waking day. But I know I'm not happy with myself right now.

And so, instead of whining about it all and going on and on, and then have all you lovely internetz peeps leave lovely messages and the like, and tell me to stop being so fucking ridiculous and to just get the hell over myself, I have chosen to indulge you with copious amounts of my obviously gorgeous children on holiday.

There may be duplicates. But you know, sometimes just seeing the picture once isn't enough.

We're on Day 4 sans pacifier. He still has it for bedtimes, but doesn't have it at all in the day. I think being away on holiday has helped a bit, yet we expected child of Satan to have emerged by now, especially as he's sleeping in one colossal single bed in a creepy bedroom on his own.

He's been on the naughty pillow a few times, rarely more than once a day to be honest, in fact only one day was he on there twice. Despite somehow still looking and being awesomely cute and awesome and by the way, did I mention awesome?

You know who else is awesome? You guys. I'd also like to thank everyone for their responses regarding the whole speech thing...we (D and I) appreciate all your feedback which has been very informative. Needless to say we're still Wah wah wahhh yaddah yaddah, and understand what you're all saying.

I noticed a lot of people mentioned that perhaps he's just not ready to talk; I'd have to say the opposite. There have been so many times where the poor kiddo is pointing at something or shaking his head furiously shouting "AUUH!!!" louder and louder, hoping we'll somehow understand him. So many of his tantrums begin by means of him not being able to communicate. And he babbles. Boy does he babble. But it's all the same word, or sound. That "auh" noise.

His signing is great; he's picking up new words at a rate of knots at the moment, yet with each new word he signs, comes the sound "auh". To be honest, if he wasn't learning to sign, we'd all be fucked. (Hello, can you say "screaming murderous tantrum"?)

I was told to follow my instincts. They say the Mama is always right, right? My instincts tell me Noah is late to talk, and though I wouldn't expect him to hit every milestone "at the right time" (whenever that may be), my instincts tell me he's late and that whilst I shouldn't go all out panic, I do feel something is wrong.

I'm not on all out panic mode, that's a while away yet. But I do still stand by there being something not quite right. Maybe I'll be proved wrong.
I haven't read comments from yesterday's post yet, but I know I can't wait to see what you all had to say regarding Noah and possible "Speech Delays". And um, after all my whining and panicking and shit, Noah did a day without his soother today, having it only for a nap time (where we gave it to him without thinking) and at bedtime (when he asked for it).

Annoyingly, awesome as that was (and I swear to the good lord we were freaking THRILLED, especially as it wasn't planned), I still found myself analysing his every move, listening to his every sound, all day.

Why is he lining his cars up all pointing the same way on the window sill like that?

Did he just say the words "thank you"?

Why does he always have to have everything "just so" when he wants to watch tv?

If I say "light" twenty times over to him, do you think he'll say it back?

Are all toddlers this quirky?

Probably not, but not so many are this cool.
For quite some time, I have been very worried about Noah's speech.

*collective gasp/eye rolling/blissful ignorance*

No seriously. I know you're all like, "uh, dude? Not even two."

And I'm all nervous mom, hand wringing, um-ing and ah-ing about it all. And then I kinda do the whole cocky well-my-kiddo-was-walking-at-8-months thing in that way that’s being an asshole but pretending not to be an asshole, even though I’m totally being an asshole.

Now he’s nearly two. I am genuinely worried now. I didn't make a big deal of it before because exactly that; he's only nearly two. And I'm all "well he's been busy walking and um, being uh, physically developed, and uh, that's been his priority and stuff". You know, in a not so assholey kinda way.

But he’s done all that now. He walks, runs, jumps, spins around, falls over, tumbles, gets up, climbs up, climbs down, do all that crazy shit Sportacus does...and it’s all so easy to him and he’ll do it again and again.

But he’ll point to a light in a room, and say “UH”. The same noise he made when pointing to lights last Christmas, some nine months ago. He’ll make that same noise for most things.

Noah’s current vocab:
Dada, Mama, Nana, teeth, twenty, Isaac, no, Lee.

Aaaaaand that’s it. Of those 8 words, the first four are clear as day. The last four are identifiable because we understand him. No one else does. He said hiya a few times. We haven’t heard that for a while. His sign language, however, is impressive in my opinion. Sometimes we only have to use a sign once in context and he’ll remember it.

Noah’s current signs:
Please/thank you, yes, no, eat, more, biscuit, milk, sorry, brother, duck, chicken, monkey, teddy bear, hug, baby, car, wheel, hot, smell, beep, noise, sleep, cry, drink, elephant, star, hello/bye bye, fish, medicine.

There are more but I can’t even remember them right now (he knows more than me).

Noah’s animal sounds:
Dog, cat, chicken, monkey, elephant, lion, zebra, horse, frog, cow.

He’s only 20 months. ACK. He’s ONLY 20 months. But you know what? I worry. I worry a LOT. Can you tell I’m worried? Because I really am worried.

I want to blame it on his dummy. I hate that thing, and I want to get rid of it. Hell I wanted to get rid of it ages ago, but my spineless self couldn’t face the tears and tantrums that would follow. Having said that of course, he’s going through so many fantastic tears and tantrums these days, I often wonder to myself what difference it would make.

But the fact is, we tell him to take his dummy out to speak to us and the exact same noise comes out. Also, I say again, when he does say some of his words, they’re as clear as day. The rest, well, I haven’t a clue. There’s rarely a change in inflection, his babble is minimal and usually revolves around the words he already knows.

I’m in danger. You know that webpage that makes you an instant doctor, qualified or no? You know, where all your heart's desires are fulfilled, every question answered? Well at the moment I’m doing all I can to make sure I don’t try to become an expert in verbal communication.

D and I sat and had a very long talk last night. He’s worried too. We’re on holiday at the moment, and we’ve decided that when we get back, we’re going cold turkey on dummy elimination. It’s gone, it’s over, time to let it go. We wanted it gone by the time he was one. I failed. Then I said 18 months. I didn’t even try. So now, it has to be by the time he’s two. We just cannot face him still having it when he’s 3. I appreciate some people let their children have their soothers until they’re 5, 6 sometimes maybe 7 years old.

I also appreciate when people say “Ahww but it makes him happy! Other babies still have theirs...” D’s response was “Ok so if feeding people cocaine makes them happy, should we also do that to our child?” I love his way of thinking, and oddly enough, that makes sense to me.

I’m nervous. We’re both nervous. Noah still seems awesome somehow.

Noah...hmm. Noah. He became a teenager overnight. Tantrums, strops, hell we have a Naughty Pillow. And he's done time.

Noah pushes my buttons. Impressively well. Like, "hey bitch momma, are you annoyed right now? Well I'm really gonna show you annoyed. Check it!"

And then he'll proceed to annoy the shit out of me.

And I'm all, "bitch? You don't want to mess with me. I am the momma. The Momma."

Still, I often wonder if I can sell him on eBay.
At college, there was this (sinister and creepy) girl, who always claimed she never had "friends", she had acquaintances. For me, at the time this was the dumbest thing I ever heard. Does that make me chopped liver to you love? Are all these people who talk to you, daily, hang around with you, daily, buy you gritty hot chocolate from the college cafe, daily, are they all falling into a certain category? Do they have to lick your boots and sleep with you (though not necessarily in that order) to become a "friend"?

Looking back, I start to wonder if she was right. I'd noticed that quite a few times over the last couple of years, I wasn't really sure if I had any friends. Not just friends, but "real friends". People who know me. People who know enough about me. There are one or two people who know a reasonable amount me, who I could go and see if I wanted to, but don't see very often. And they're great. And I love them dearly, and care about them. And then I thought about the people who I see almost regularly, and realised, that maybe they really don't know me.

I haven't had a bet friend since high school, and I haven't spoken to her for a looonnng time. Nothing went wrong, we just very much drifted apart, became very different people. And since then, my only other friend who knows perhaps as much as that is my husband. He knows almost everything. I say almost, because I don't even remember how much he knows, how much I've told him. But I don't have anyone else like that. Does that make me a freak? Is it because I'm dull, uninteresting, no one wants to hear the same old shit? Or is it because of the wall that I forever seem to put around me?

I did come to realise one, startling fact; I get on incredibly well with people whom I have never met, or rarely meet. I'm on twitter most days, and converse with a LOT of people on there. Many of them read this blog. Many of them know me. They know when I'm feeling shit, they know when I'm elated, they know all the hassle and nightmares and crap I've had to deal with. They've been supportive. And they've helped me. And I've only met 4 of the 598 people I'm following and of the 746 who are following me.

Am I deluded? Are they really my friends? How is it I get on better with them than people in "real life"? Does the internet build up the wall for me that I automatically put up in real life? Is it because I can be horribly elitist and choose who I want to talk to?

Next year I go to Blogher10 in NYC. Oddly enough I can't wait; not because of the conference, and not even so much because it's NYC, but because I want to meet some of the people across the pond who have been there for me, supported me, made me laugh and smile, shown me what a real friend can do, how a real friend can be.

But am I kidding myself? These people who I've never even met, but so desperately want to spend time with; are they friends, or acquaintances?

Pole-dancing doll.


*I know technically that's not silent, but I couldn't let this one pass by.
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Every year there's this huge shenanigan in America called Blogher. This year it was in Chicago. Next year it's in New York.

And D has booked my ticket, hotel and flight.


If you're going to be there, or if you're ANYWHERE in the NYC vicinity, I would LOVE to track you down, stalk you for a bit, be all over excited, squeal a lot, jump up and down and possibly say hi.

Blogher10. Will you be there?
NaBloPoMo is National Blog Posting Month or possibly words to that effect, I couldn't tell you because I can't even NaBloPoMo without adding a MoFo just for good measure.

I have failed miserably already, because you're supposed to post a blog entry, every day, for one month. And, uh, yes, it's now Sept 4th and I kind of missed day three already. But you know what? That's ok, because so far I've posted more this month than I probably have done for the last...6 months.

Whatevs. In any case, I'm aiming to post as often as possible this month, so I apologise in advance* for the masses of pointless posts and random rantings, which are my sorry excuses for blog posts.**

And also, as I'm typing this, D is sat with his bro watching Lesbian Vampire Killers. I should like to point out, that whilst I normally wouldn't object to this, it IS in fact, the second time this week he's watching it.

I don't think I'll be concerned, for now, but if I see it on the tv again, anytime soon, I may tweet it, bitch about it, then kick his butt.

* I don't apologise at all, of course, but my mother raised me better than that so I should at least feign politeness. Yeh.
** This post TOTALLY counts, because even though it's pointless crap, it's still informative, and reaches an audience, and some other shit. Nyer nyer.
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I'm kicking ass halfway through week two Sans Nanny. And this morning I was admiring my efforts as to how wonderful it would seem that my two, beautiful darling children were actually playing together. Isaac in the Baby Einstein, Noah showing him the toys around the edge.

And then it happened.

Isaac threw up. Nothing new of course, we're renaming him to Grabby McBarf-Bag.

Unfortunately, it turns out that Noah can't stomach seeing people being sick. So he also threw up. All over himself. And the floor. And the Baby Einstein. ...And Isaac.

And Isaac has done something to me since I was pregnant with him; I can no longer tolerate barf inducing sights and smells. So I'm cleaning up two barf-covered children, screaming at Noah to STAY THE HELL AWAY NO MAMA DOES NOT WANT YOU TO HELP CLEAN UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT WALK IN THE SICK RIGHT NOW PLEASE EVER, whilst willing myself to NOT join in the trend set by Grabby McB-B and start my own technicolour yawning. Noah decided to stand and watch In The Night Garden in his nappy.

He's a lovely kid, but you know, sometimes, he needs to be a little less helpful.

But that's ok, because you know, one minor setback for the day is fine, I can deal. I've only got a few days til I've got help again, and look at me! I'm coping like a real mom!

That was, until Noah went down for his nap and was still awake one and a half hours later. I gave up putting him back in his bed, because between trying to eat my lunch, answering the doorbell and trying to feed Isaac (thank GOD my mother was around to help look after him), going up and down the stairs repeatedly was getting quite dull, especially after the 5th time.

But, it's ok, because he eventually went to sleep.

I hasten to add I did leave the gate shut, and opened it when I went upstairs, to find him on the floor with his two burpees and spare dummy. Hey, don't knock the kid, he wins points for being fully equipped and prepared.

I get back to my lunch, which is semi-cold and manage to kick my drink over. By this point, the carpet now smells like sick, orange juice and lemonade. Oh, and Vanish and Febreeze, in my desperate attempt to clean it a bit.

I'm obviously proud of my form by this point.

Isaac finally gets plonked on the boob, for a feed whereby he sees just how far my nipple can travel with it still in his mouth; he got it to a 45 degree angle at one point, he was doing quite well. Then the doorbell rings while I'm feeding and you'd think by now I wouldn't be so dumb as to interrupt a feed to get it.

But noooooooo. Isaac is very nearly dropped on the floor (my nipple still in his mouth), I deal with the delivery man at the door, to turn around and hear Noah crying (45 minutes before he's due to get up) and to find Isaac covered in sick on the floor.

I believe Isaac's face after his bath was rudely interrupted last night, pretty much sums it all up.

Inspired by this, and this, and also this, I had a laugh and came up with this:

A super turbo faster-than-light-but-not-really car (you know I still haven't pushed that button?)

Some, uh, houses. With squiggly, uh, prettiness.

I couldn't make up my mind, but have now decided it's a cat, not a mouse. Or anything else.

Just in case you didn't know who I am.

When I tried to replicate this one, I, for reasons which will forever remain beyond me, tried to do it, indoors, in the lounge. Which resulted in me sending one torch flying. And then cracking the other torch on my elbow. And then on my head.

So I won't post that one just yet.