Over at The Gallery this week, Tara Cain's theme is "Men". Since (apparently) I'm all bolshy and stuff, I'm going to change it to "(Boys to) Men". Because that's what they are.

The testosterone in my house is RIFE. D is in the Civil Engineering construction something or other industry, the boys will scream for anything with wheels, and so needless to say, there are (noisy) diggers, trucks, scoops, dump trucks, cars, buses, transporters and all manner of god-knows-what in the kiddos toy box.

This is my lovely hubs, Mocha Beanie Daddy, known to you as "D". I blame him. But he's bloody lovely, as some of you already know.

He started off in a little photoshoot of his own with me, which he really seemed to enjoy...

Thanks to Gammar for the cake.

I should say "cakes", big and small.

Which, unsurprisingly were incredibly well recieved!

I could go crazy adding a billion more photos of my gorgeous little boy over the last year, but this post would reach epic proportions.

So I put them into a video instead.

Happy first birthday, my beautiful boy, Isaac Jay.

Pffft.

He's pretty much gaining no weight. Actually, to be fair, he's gained 4oz. In 2 months. He still hasn't actually doubled his birth weight yet. Noah, on the other hand, had more than doubled his birthweight by the time he was approaching a year old.

I know they aren't all meant to be the same. But I'm quietly worrying more and more now. His clothes bought for him over 5 months ago still fit him exactly the same. EXACTLY. The. Same.

He's otherwise perfectly healthy, he eats a TON of food, he's cruising really well, has (unknowingly) stood up unaided a few times now...

He's just not growing. I'm trying desperately hard to NOT let my worries get ahead of me. But much like I did with Noah and his speech, I have that same niggling feeling something isn't as it should be. It doesn't make any kind of sense. Something doesn't feel right.

So do I be all proactive and hassle professionals to take a look at him and force the issue to find out there's actually nothing wrong?

Or do I sit back and listen to everyone saying "It's ok, stop worrying, he'll be fine, he'll just suddenly start growing"?

Do you know that for sure?

That, plus in forcing myself to try to post every day, has made me start posting for every one else, rather than myself.

I try to please way to many people with this blog, I swear...

Ok, today I'm going to vent about Isaac. Or at least, Isaac and his slow growth thing. Plenty of people have seen how much food he puts away. He currently eats twice as much as Noah, though is not as active (he's obviously not walking yet, just coasting and crawling, plus he has way more down time than Noah). Yet he is pretty much putting on no weight, not gaining any length, but still looks cuter than any other human baby known to, uh, me.

He's dropped from above 99th centile down to 25th, and everyone's all "Oh it's ok! He's just levelling out! He's an active kid! Why can't you just accept the fact you have a dwarf baby?"

(I have nothing against dwarf babies. Honestly. But if he decides he IS gonna be a dwarf baby? I'd at least like to make sure he has permission from a doctor/professional/google to do so.)

He's otherwise healthy (as far as I can tell) and happy...but that good old doubt and maternal instinct likes to quietly chew away at my left ass cheek, meaning I can't just sit around and hope for the best.

Who the hell in their right mind made me a Mother???

Ok, since I'm clearly just writing about a load of shit, I think this is a great time to re-plug the fact that I made it to Position #79 of the tots 100 UK Parent Blogs:

And also, whilst this obviously isn't first place, it's still in the top 100, which totally means you should go vote for me over at the MADs (Mums And Dads? Bloggers? Should it be MAD Bs? Perhaps not, because with a mind like mine, that just makes me think of "Mad Bastards" or something, and seeing as that's much less effective, I'll just let that one go...)

Er -

YEAH!! Go vote for me over at the MADs.

You just know that if you do, I'll totally send you chocolate biscuits and some pictures of beautiful babies. And, um, you can borrow my private jet which is invincible to all volcanic ash.

And I understood even more when my doubts about Isaac were also realised.

I had questioned Isaac's growth rates since he was about 4 months old. He's been dropping through his centiles and pretty much flat-lining; his growth and gain has been minimal. And I mentioned this to the HV, almost regularly. Pretty much every time I took him to clinic. And it was the same response as with Noah's speech. "No no, he's fine, it's just because of *insert excuse here*, there's nothing wrong."

How many times did I continue to push my thoughts on the professionals because I was convinced something was wrong? How many times did I say that I wasn't convinced everything was ok, that a gut feeling, an "instinct", if you will, was telling me something wasn't right? And yet, repeatedly they told me to stop worrying about it? There's nothing to worry about, it's all fine?

Every day, at some point, three words slip from my mind to my mouth, but I never say them aloud because I don't actually want to say them.

Told. You. So.

I hate that I was right. Yes I wanted to find out what was wrong, I still wanted to be proved wrong so as not to be plunged into this eternal nightmare. Because now, all my other unspoken fears play at the forefront of my mind. Again.

And given that I had done everything within my power to not come across as a neurotic mother, labelling her kids with every god forsaken condition under the sun, I now start to wonder if my fears will be confirmed later on.

That's not to say I want to label my children. I don't want anything to be wrong with them. Of course I damn well don't! I'd like two healthy, happy boys, who I can love and care for, and do everything and anything I can within my power to see to there wellbeing.

But I doubt myself now. All the time. I question my every damn thought. And it's starting to destroy me and my relationship with them. I find myself switching off to various things they do, because I feel like if I can't suggest something might be wrong, then I need to be impervious to it all.

I hate myself for that. I hate not knowing how to deal with it all. I hate my current methods for dealing with it. I seem to have no happy medium; I have to go full force or else bury my head in the sand. Hide away and try everything I can to not just ignore a problem but ignore him entirely until I feel ready to fight again.

I swear to god. I hope, so badly, that in trying to give my kids the very best I can, I don't end up taking it all away from them. Because they only deserve the best.

I don't know what to think. The whole deal and issues with Isaac and Noah - it's just too much right now. The implications (and believe me, I haven't even BEGUN to explore the implications just yet) behind the path to Noah's corrected speech, and Isaac's potential growth "problems"...fuck, I don't even know where to begin.

It turns out my brain has chosen not to absorb anything that is going on this week.

Including the fact that we had accepted an offer on our house (admittedly with the agent who is an arrogant fucker), and now we are a back on the market and down an agent. Because he chose to call me on the phone, accuse me of with-holding information (WTF? Dude I just wanna SELL MY DAMN HOUSE) and then hurl a barrage of abuse at me. Needless to say, we had just had enough. This wasn't the first time he had been obnoxious and rude down the phone; this time he chose to cross the line (so much so, the line became a dot to him). So buh-bye dude; take your offer, and your agreement, and shove it up your ass (if you can find room up there nest to your own head).

His office called me back trying to make amends, in the hope that we would still go through with their offer (which incidentally, was still less than our asking price *sigh*). Clearly he's bullied enough people to know he can get his way. Our dilemma is do we cut off a nose to spite the face, or accept that we may have to deal with him some more. I know, most of you are thinking just accept the offer and get the house sold already.

But we work on principle. And that is, we would sooner spend another 6 months in this house with our AWESOME agent and sell through them, than have anything more to do with tosser agents.

It seems silly, but trust me. I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of how unpleasant they've been (threatening to burn down our board? Wtf?), and we have well and truly reached limit with them.

Hmm.

I mentioned that my website is now up and running. This very idea is scaring the becheebus out of me; after the nightmare that became my music career, I feel like I'm about to launch myself into the same thing again. Here is my life, on the line. Here is me. Jay. Raw, for you to take a punch at. Here is my shit laid bare, and anyone and everyone may take a stab as they please.

I am 31 years old, and since the age of 5, music is pretty much all I've ever known. I feel like I'm venturing out on someone else's turf, and somehow question whether I belong here. I don't know what gives me the right to think I could have a go at this, and actually make something of it.

What I do know, is that I'm taking some fucking huge steps here. With my children, with my life, with me. And it's damn scary. Because it's all ventures in to the unknown. I'm fumbling in the dark. Is that why I'm not as phased as I should be?

Is it because, in the dark, I'm somehow dodging some major bullets out there?

I sure hope so.

*I wasn't going to call this post "Catch Up", but it turns out I already have posts in March 2008 and March 2009 by the same title. Maybe I'll start a new trend.

And that's one reason I've barely posted this week.

Another reason, is because teh interwebz is bein cack. I spent 2 and a half hours on the phone to Virgin Media on Tuesday, ending up speaking to 4 different people. And still have the same problem. Fuckers.

Added to that, Isaac had is 8 month development check (yes, at 10 months), and Mme HV wants to refer him to a specialist. Because he's not growing. He's gaining pretty much no weight, is not getting longer and, well, yeah. She flagged it, wants him back to do more tests in 2 months at one year old, and wants us to go see the Dr in the meantime. Cos you know, I'm really enjoying being turned into the neurotic mother. Even though (and forgive me on this because I'm WAY too fucking overwhelmed this week), I'm almost...well...not bothered. Well, I AM bothered, obviously, but it hasn't hit me. I seem to have put up a considerable shield this week, and am now deflecting a good deal of shit.

And this. THIS is a big reason why I haven't posted.

Finally...

Presenting...

I don't know where all of the above is going. And as a result, all of the above is scaring the cock out of me.

Today, it all kicked off in the Blogosphere. Apparently, to have a good blog, we're supposed to write what we like, but make sure it complies with what people like; we're meant to be ourselves, but aspire to be someone else; we should be interesting, but real; we should include lots of links to others, but write about ourselves.

And if you want to be a "Top Blogger", you have to do all of the above and much, MUCH more.

Which is why, this post will be utterly shit, because I? Will not conform to any Rules of Blogging. Which makes me a good blogger. Nyer.

What I WILL do, is blog the following.

Today, my arse appeared in #assmail on Boob Emancipation. Given that I have now discovered I can take a pic of my own arse in the shower, I am proud as FUCK.

I have a fixation for boobs. I am not lesbian. But I DO think boobs should be celebrated. As should many asses.

Today, Noah barfed up his breakfast at the table, then started listening to said table. Like, head down, ear pressed, smiling at the table. And dancing slightly.

Whilst Noah was doing the above, Isaac was laughing hysterically at his thumb, whilst eating his breakfast.

Shortly after, Noah ralphed all down his front and on the floor. Whilst cleaning this up, Isaac crawled over and puked on my feet. Whilst cleaning all this up, he went to go bang his head on the corner of the table.

I often do not care what people think. About my blog, or me, or whatever. Sometimes I'm sorry, but often I'm not. And that's how my shit rolls.

I love comments. Good and bad. However I do not live or blog for comments. But I ALWAYS appreciate comments. I will not fall apart if there are no comments. But I might consider kicking some ass. I might not always RESPOND to comments, because of course, I am shit, but still. Always nice to have them, even if they make you look like a fucktard. Because I can look back and say "Oh, hi Fucktard!" Or I can look back and say "Cock. You're all being nice and I dunno what to say. Um, thanks."

I love smut. Throw in a cock, and I'm happy.

I regularly like to exclaim "cock" on twitter. It makes me feel better, and smile. It makes me feel even better when people say/shout "cock" at me. That makes my day.

In keeping with February YOR, today I managed to complete Day 6 of the 30 Day Shred. I can get to circuit 3 without screaming, I no longer crawl up the stairs, a pair of my trousers are a teeny bit loose, my boobs are shrinking but so is my belly, and hotness will soon be mine.

January YOR is well under way, and holy fuck, it might even be live by the end of this month. The number of photographers on twitter is making me SHIT myself. Which reminds me, one of my fave photographers who is also a good friend, was featured in Photo Pro Magazine this month. And by featured, I mean OMFG 5 PAGE SPREAD WTF AWESOMENESS. Added bonus? Well. You had all better recognise that baby and squooshy mouth, or I shall hunt you down and yell at you a lot.

That is all.

And now? Please to look at pictures, in the hope of making distracting you from my crap blog with AHWW!!!! LOOK AT TEH CUUUUUUTE!

Yes I know. You totally forgot what you were going to say, right?

Allow me to distract you some more.

IN. DEED.

This is how we roll.

I've been pounding my website trying to get it to look like something that might be slightly worthwhile, in aid of YOR. I'm hoping to God that I haven't taken on too much, because now I'm at the point where the title of this post is disturbingly true. See, I should be working on the site now, but instead whenever I open Wordpress, I feel remaining brain matter seeping out of my Facial Orifices.

(Awesome segue)

And speaking of Facial Orifices, we're full on FOF here at Mocha Towers. So much frigging snot and phlegm everywhere it's actually quite disturbing. I wake up wondering if I'm really alive, and have not, in fact, drowned in it in my sleep. And even more lovely is that Noah likes to play with baby wipes, and also wipe his nose on them. So of course, I can't tell which ones he's used and which ones he's, uh, "used".

(Another awesome segue)

Which reminds me, Noah having ventured into the world of two year olds, seems to be fully indulging himself in discovering his rights (and wrongs) as a growing toddler. Unfortunately he appears to have turned into me; having become very strong willed (like, more than before) and taking any opportunity to yell the words "Gaga - OH!!" (Isaac - NO!), regardless of what Isaac is doing.

(Yes another segue. I'm on FIRE)

On the subject of Isaac, he seems to um, have learnt way too much for his own good. He's mastered the art of Crumple Faced Crying (forced tears and everything), and thoroughly enjoys ripping the lounge apart. I'd say it's good fun, but it's old now. Am bored. Isaac - NO!

Anyway, back to the original subject (no amazing segue, I'm spent); I'm enjoying the (few) pictures I'm taking, and still looking for more subjects. It's been so frustrating as I feel like I've got NOTHING. DONE. Like, nothing. I've barely taken anywhere near as many pictures as I'd like, instead deleting maybe a billion duplicates off the macbook (thus clearing up nearly 30gb of space. I suspect that says a lot about my life.) in order to add more, well, crap.

Anyhoo.

I'm still working on YOR, that much is true. I'm refusing to pay anyone to do the website for me (apart from initial startup help, like wtf is Wordpress, and also, wtf is Wordpress again) and I'll keep working at it until I get something I find reasonably presentable.

So maybe around the summer, when I've completely lost interest and am busy working on February, March and April's resolutions.

Now, as someone who's taken, like, a cajillion pictures over the last year alone, this felt near impossible. But on reflection, there's one picture that stands out for me an awful lot (at this point it's one picture, I suspect by the time I get to the end there may be more).

A fantastic company by the name of Olli and Lime do some GORGEOUS baby bits 'n' pieces; bedding, bibs, towels - all those accessories that you wish were matching but had a nice bit of "sass" to them, rather than traditional stuff.

I LOVE their stuff.

So when I got a changing mat and towel for Isaac, I couldn't help but snap some pics. And I have to say, this picture ALWAYS makes me smile.

Isaac very rarely laughs out loud, especially hysterically, but on this picture (and all the other ones I took at the same time) he was laughing like a crazy wild child. I also love this picture because it was one of the first to really inspire me to take a change in my direction in life, very much for the better.

It was pic snapped in less than a heartbeat, and somehow has changed an awful lot of my life in the last few months.

And if I could cheat and upload SEVERAL favourite photos, then I'd REALLY cheat and choose a COLLECTION of photos of Noah, leading up to his first birthday, every one of which is a favourite (turn your speakers on)...

Yesterday proved my point of how you just can't let your fucking guard down at any time.

D was due home from work on Christmas eve at about 2 pm. At 1:57, he's at the door, and as I open it for him, I instantly (and gut wrenchingly) see that something is wrong. His dad, my father in law, the first real father figure in my life, has been taken in to hospital, with suspected angina or a heart attack. D doesn't even get to come in the house to see the boys; I turn him around and tell him to go to the hospital to be with his dad.

I had my mom here to help me and spend time with the boys. Noah started acting up throughout the afternoon; he knew something was wrong. D made it back about 2 hours later, and was home for 30 seconds when his sister in law called and said she was very worried about how his mum was coping.

D pretty much didn't see his boys yesterday. He missed their bedtime routine, and missed taking Noah round the houses to see their crazy Christmas lights.

FYI:

I'm really not lying when I say crazy.

Seriously. No kidding.

However, I digress.

D didn't get back until 8:30pm last night, and because he'd been working since 5 am, he was so exhausted, he pretty much ate a bit of food and then fell asleep right on the sofa.

I felt so bad for him, because I didn't know what to do; there was nothing I could do expect be there. I'm really crap at "being there" for people. I never really know what to say, and when I do offer up advice/info, it's quite often ignored.

Today, has been lovely. Pa in law is stable, but they might operate on Monday. We're not sure yet.

Noah has been FANTASTIC. He's opened half of his presents, wasn't interested in any more because of one particular gift. He also ignored the santa stocking loaded with toys at the bottom of his bed, favouring instead, the Christmas lights we left on in his room so he could see what he was doing.

So we had to kind of compensate by bringing him to our room to pick out his stocking fillers.

Which he seemed to enjoy.

Isaac has chowed his way through all manner of crap this morning and we don't care; it keeps him happy, and especially as he seems a bit under the weather at the mo (teething? ear infection? puberty?) But he's enjoying the fruits of Noah's stash; they're being really lovely and actually playing together. It's fucking awesome.

D's just handed me my Christmas card; inside is $80 US, ready to put towards Blogher10 next year. That and a new camera lens, some jewellery and a photo mag subscription among other things, and I'm fucking chuffed with my haul.

D is thrilled to bits with his speciality cognac glasses, bottle of Remy Martin XO, fancy chocs and Mr Tickle t-shirt (Noah's favourite character, and very happy as he had just opened his Mr Tickle pyjamas).

Thankfully, we ALL seem to be having a good day so far.

Merry Christmas...

Yesterday, he napped for a total approximately 40 minutes. The whole day. The. WHOLE. DAY.

Yesterday, Noah did not nap. At all. AT. ALL. NOT. NAP.

N.O.T. N.A.P.

And you know what? Add that to feeling like utter fucking shit because you woke at some obscene hour of the morning because of other people fussing and snoring and the fact that your stomach is EMPTY because eating is somehow ILLEGAL within 2 weeks of having had food poisoning and omffgggfggfgggggggggggg.

Isaac struggles to nap now because he's popping 2 teeth. Yes two, because if you remember, my children don't do shit by halves. And whilst that might sound like a proud mother statement, it's actually a "Oh fuck and woe is me what the hell am I supposed to do with this shit" statement.

And also? The climbing. Oh my god, the climbing people. As I just typed that last, he's just stood up in his travel cot, fell over and is now wailing. Again. And I? Am ignoring. It's padded. He's ok.

Honestly.

So. Here's an interesting question, how the fuck do you discipline a 6 month old to fucking stop being some crazy super hero child and go to fucking sleep already?

And, really, you're going to make me go through the whole "Hey mom, I just crawled out my cot with the sides still up and I'm only a fetus, now you need to go trawl the internets looking for some crazy contraption to keep me contained which you know will totally not work and by the time you do find something I'll be some kind of fully grown adult anyway oh wait you blinked now I am a fully grown adult and by the way you are so totally fucked."

Hmm.

He seems to have gone to sleep.

Gonna stop typing now.

*shhh*

Isaac has this fantastic stringy, gloopy, sticky snot that seems to be never ending, and causes him to barf up ANYTHING that enters is gut. Carrot and banana mixed with snot. *barf* Lamb and sweet potato mixed with snot. *barf* Momma's Ultimate Finest First-Thing-In-The-Morning Boob Juice. *barf*

Nothing is working. Ok Noah's nose was a little less runny today, but the coughing, oh my GOD the coughing is ARRRGGGHHHH.

Of course, it's not that I'm pissed off with hearing it (although obviously I am) it's just that I'm so sick of them being sick. I miss my chirpy little guys who DON'T have a constant stream down their faces.

And I swear, if Isaac goes the same way with the coughing, I may have to become a scientist. Overnight. And find the ultimate cure for the common cold.

Which could totally happen.

Some kid, who incidentally had previously been on Wife Swap, managed to steal two fucking hours of my life by making the world think he was stuck in a helium balloon, which his storm chasing parents had MADE and tethered to the garden (already, wtf?), which was then seen to be flying some 60 miles away from his home in Colorado. And apparently, it was his brother who saw him climb in.

The balloon came down nearly two fucking hours later, and there was no sign of the kid. Where was he?

Hiding in the attic of his family garage at his home.

TWO. FUCKING. HOURS people. No one thought to look at home. Hell, people didn't think to start looking at the ground until they realised the balloon was empty. And they only thought he was in the balloon based on his brother's word.

Sweet shit on pepper stick. I may not believe in spanking, but if I found him? It's quite possible he may have been spanked into next year or yelled at until his ass exploded.

And even more annoying? Isaac barfed on the DVD remote a few days ago and it hasn't worked since. Noah did the same thing with D's phone last year; it stopped working.

Cost to replace phone? £Free.

Cost to replace remote? £30+.

I swear, we need to get Isaac a phone.

And sometimes (and by sometimes I mean quite often) he'll make, uh, this noise.

He'll do it for hours, and then when his voice gives up, he'll slap the crap out of anything nearby, or grab it and eat it.

The cat has spent an awful lot of time hiding.

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.

Yesterday, Isaac tried his first solids. He had two tiny spoons of baby food. Not even baby rice, or you know, water, milky crap runny stuff that tastes of fuck all, no no. Proper. Baby. Food. SOme sort of chicken and peach and another random vegetable. And he liked it. The boy who has had nothing other than boob juice in it's various hint-of-whatever-mom-just-ate forms.

And then today? This happened.

He ate HALF A JAR of food. Oh wait, did I say "ate"? I meant DEVOURED.

This of course comes JUST after my boobs are pretty much fully recovered, I'm halfway to restocking the freezer (57fl.oz so far since last weekend) and I was still trying to grasp the idea that WAAHHHHH THIS IS MAH BAYYYYYBEEEEEEEEEE.

I expressed this in one sitting this morning.

He still has boob juice every 2 - 3 hours (god forbid I should try to push more than three hours). And he's had the solids in the evenings before his last feed. D and I thought "hah! Hahaha! This'll be a laugh, right? He'll barely eat any, he'll struggle with the spoon."

Nope, nope, any spillage was my own fault (missed his mouth), he easily (and forcefully) guided my spoon-wielding hand towards his mouth with minimal effort, and he ate the food off it like a pro. Or like someone who was quite prepared to eat "real food".

Think I might take him to Pizza Hut next week.

For the most part it's been fine. Apart from on Tuesday, when I put my phone in my back pocket as normal, to try to keep it away from Noah (who likes to keep handing me the phone, and gets pissed when I put it down; I'm yet to understand this). Went to change Isaac's nappy on the floor (you know, for the fun of it) and on removing the phone from my pocket, the screen was an array of spectacular blobs and colours. Broken LCD. Juussssst greeeeaaaaat.

And I confess whenever Noah starts whining, and Isaac starts screaming, I do struggle not to scream and whine right back at them. But I haven't cried yet (Yet! I said YET!) and I got them to playgroup on Tuesday...and we're hopefully going to sort out my phone this afternoon...and I might even get to the park tomorrow (weather pending).

Like I said before, I know there are moms who do this all the time and don't bat an eyelid. They have like, millions of kids, and they just take each day in their stride. Any mom who does that, just gets on with it, I totally admire.

As I said before, I have such little faith in myself, and while my hips and pelvis are starting to show marked improvement (thanks to private physio and chiropractor session at £40 for half an hour - ouch...) I'm obviously still loathe to go over board and end up making them worse again.

I think it's helped that Noah's starting to show improvement with his all night coughing; I took him to the Dr's on Monday afternoon and they've now given him an inhaler to use before he goes to bed. It's a struggle, but it seems to be helping a little. Not so great that they both like to wake up around 5:30 a.m. But at least they're both in bed by 7p.m.

I don't know. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the Nanny back; the house is a mess and there's laundry seemingly everywhere, and I could just do with 5 minutes to do some more work, and I'd like to sneak out to Subway for lunch and whatever. But for all my self doubting, I don't think I'm doing too bad a job actually.

I'm not exactly scared, as it were, but I have an awful lot of self-doubt. Now I know there are literally millions of moms out there who deal with two or more children every single day, on their own, and they get on with it and do a fab job.

I often feel pathetic and useless. I get so frustrated as soon as the shit starts to hit the fan, and sometimes it's all I can do to stop myself from putting the boys somewhere safe in the house and going to sit in the car to just cry for a while.

As ever, I just want to do the best for them. But I know things won't always run smoothly. I know more often than not, the shit will (most probably and quite literally) hit the fan. Noah has been vile for the last few days; and he's had a cough (again) for coming up just over three weeks. It's driving us all nuts, including him. He's tired, he's cranky, his eating is completely out the frigging window (and there's a whole other post) and yet you can see the frustration in the way he's being. Oddly enough, I truly believe he doesn't want to be thoroughly unpleasant. And incidentally, he's still got one more molar to come through before his mouth starts to look anything like normal again.

I knew things wouldn't be easy having two very demanding children. Isaac behaves very much like Noah did, having only very short (and few) cat naps of around 10 - 20 minutes, and his longest nap is usually just as Noah's getting up from his nap. Of course I didn't expect them to be synced together; for me that's ridiculous wishful thinking. But he's also very much the "upright" kid. He normally sleeps on his front but has taken to rolling on his back at every opportunity, and has only just figured out rolling onto his front again. And getting him to sleep is interesting, given that there is just TOO MUCH going on in the world. Too. Frigging. Much.

I'm hoping to get out the house every day if I can. I've been having tons of physio for my hip and pelvis and it's working amazingly (thank GOD) and having had an MRI scan last week, we should hopefully see some clear indications of what else can be done. So mobility-wise, I'm getting somewhere (pun intended).

Meh. I suspect I'll have died by Wednesday.