Well allow me to divulge.

She came and brought along a buddy, ST#2 who was to watch and learn how to use the camcorder.

Yes, how to use the camcorder.

ST#1 was to film each of us interacting with Noah for 5 mins to see where we were going wrong.

Yes, where WE were going wrong.

I never felt such immediate hostility in all my days and wanted to stab her immediately, all the while saying "It's not you, it's your attitude".

In those 5 minutes, we were to behave completely normally as we do with Noah, not play up to the camera, completely ignore her and pretend she wasn't there. Yeah, of course, because Noah was REALLY up for ignoring ST#2 sitting on the sofa and a camera shoved in his face.

So I went first, D took Isaac out the room, she filmed. Now, if I were to REALLY do what comes naturally, I'd have left Noah to his own devices, picked up my MacBook or phone, and gone on twitter.

Then we swapped over; I took Isaac out and D played with him.

She then brought us back together to sit and watch what we had done. Nothing like being scrutinized within 15 minutes of her being in the house.

As I said, I should obviously have picked up my phone or MacBook. No. Instead I asked him what he wanted to play with, suggesting things to do.

EHHH - WRONG.

This is leading him and results in him not being able to express himself.

He pointed to a tiger on a piece of paper. I asked him what it was, he said (in his own way) "tiger". I asked him what it says, he said "ROARRR".

EHHH - WRONG.

This is asking him empty questions; if I know he knows the answer then I don't need to ask him any questions.

During D's turn, they played a bit of rough and tumble. D asked him if he wanted a dinosaur to play with as he seemed to be getting tired.

EHHH - WRONG.

This is directing his free play. There was no need to introduce a new toy and Noah should be completely in charge of what he wants to do. Even though Noah was happy to have the dinosaur.

D asked him if he wanted to introduce another dinosaur as we know he likes to make the two roar together.

EHHH - WRONG.

Directed play, deviating from his current interest. There was no need to introduce a second toy.

While we were watching ourselves be really uncomfortable, Noah asked for something and I gave it to him, prompting him to say "thank you".

EHHH - WRONG.

This is focus on a non-important part of his language and development. We don't need to concentrate on his manners; please and thank yous are not important at this stage and will most likely lead to bad habits.

After we finished watching the video, which was like being sent to hell on a razor blade, we had to fill in forms about how we could do better to help Noah speak, and what areas we need to work on until she comes back. Which I think is in two days. This all happened about 2 weeks ago.

Neither D nor I have picked up the sheets; at the moment I don't even know where they are. Down the back of the sofa, possibly. She then went on to (repeatedly) instigate that Noah wasn't speaking because we were forcing him too hard, and that he would speak when he was ready. Also, that at this stage it isn't the quality of his speech to worry about, it's the quantity.

ST#2 made a point of saying "well he's been interacting with me and I understand him fine!"

Seriously. Stabby McStabberson in the hizzouse.

Interestingly, I thought maybe it was just me being hypersensitive. But when I looked over at D, I realised he'd been quiet for some time, and the look on his face spoke everything I needed to hear. He was NOT impressed. And everyone else we've spoken to about the appointment have also said they reckon it was a load of bollocks.

The bright side? I spoke to Noah's nursery about it. They were horrified and told me they have a SENCo who can advise us on mouth muscle exercises and help him form his words correctly. They're impressed by his intelligence to communicate, and once they understand the various words, can't get over how good his vocabulary is. But like us, they agree that his formation of words, his pronunciations are way behind. And so they're willing to help and do what works best for Noah.

I didn't think it would be this hard. But at least we still have our own fun.

Not that I WAS pimping myself, of course, I would uh, NEVER do such a thing...

ANYWAY!

There's been shit loads going, left right and centre, and my head is buzzing in both good ways and bad ways trying to deal with it all.

First and foremost, Noah's potty training is going BRILLIANTLY. In the space of a week, he now only has an accident if he's completely distracted or if I'm being rubbish and forget to ask in over a few hours. And even then, he'll still hold on to it until he's on the potty. I'm incredibly impressed he's pretty much done all this himself, from telling us when he wants to pee, through to holding onto it and getting himself on to the potty when he's ready. Yesterday we had no accidents.

Poop of course, is a different story, but come on! The kid's only 2 and it's early days.

We DID have fun with Mme HV this week however. Remember me hankering on about Noah's speech? And they're all "He's fine, stop your whining, it's too early blah blah mother fricking BLAH"? And everyone else is all "Yeah he'll speak, Einstein learnt to speak eventually didn't he?" And I pretty much told everyone to "shut the hell up?"

Yeah.

Turns out he's speech delayed.

In fact, the HV's words were "Good heavens, his speech really IS behind isn't it? I do hope you've got him under referral! In fact I definitely would refer him RIGHT now if he isn't. Have you sorted out a hearing test? Has he seen a therapist yet? This needs to be dealt with immediately."

I wanted to take one of Isaac's dirty nappies, mix it with one of my snot rags plastered with FOF and make her snort it until she could sing Yankee Doodle Dandy in the style of Gordon Brown.

He's approximately 6 - 12 months behind, which I can deal with I already knew this. Sadly, I feel kind of justified in my worrying. I didn't want this, OBVIOUSLY, but I feel a little more confident in knowing I wasn't talking out my arse. On the plus side, the barrage of tests showed that all his other skills are at the level of a three year old, with his visual and social interaction skills being equivalent to that of a 4 year old.

Still? Of course I know he'll be ok. I don't doubt (and never ever did doubt) that his speech will improve; the whole point of me being a pushy pain in the arse was so that I could HELP him improve. I knew something was not quite right, so I wanted to HELP him.

Plus? When he says something to me over and over again and I have NO CLUE what he's saying? And he's trying his bloody hardest to tell me something and is getting more and more worked up because I can't understand him and I'm getting more and more upset because he's getting worked up and because I'm failing to understand him? I NEEDED to push this.

However, D and I were rewarded for our bloody big efforts in getting Noah to eat more foods. Suddenly, out of nowhere, someone opened a door and a shit load of light shone through it. Right onto Noah eating food in a restaurant, for the first time ever.

Because you know, I worked so hard to get here. Heh.

He's been asking to use the potty or the loo for some time now, and quite happily goes without fuss. Of course, I'm talking pee here. Poop is another story. We've caught one or two, and he's happy to do it in the potty or on the loo, but it's only day one without nappies, so let's just take one step at a time, eh??

D and I bought approximately 28 pairs of briefs for him yesterday. And by approximately, I mean EXACTLY. That way he has 7 pairs for nursery, 21 pairs at home, meaning roughly 3 pairs a day.

Oh how stupid am I.

He's doing pretty well I have to say, first accident wasn't until 11:30am when he walked over to me with a "cowboy" walk (legs apart, swaggering slightly) and a slight whimper. But he was ok, we whipped them off, sat him on the potty and he finished off.

We've had a further 2 accidents, and it occurred to me to put together a number of Potty Training Tips, which personally, I'm finding IMMENSELY useful. I suspect I may use these when Isaac potty trains.

Um, some of these may be from personal experience with Noah. Possibly.

2: Buy plenty of soap powder. You'll be washing a lot of pants.

3: Buy a shit load of pants.

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 sure knows his stuff when it comes to singing along with the Wall-E soundtrack.

Physically. Emotionally.

I'm trying hard to understand mine, especially when it comes to parenting.

I figure out how to deal with things by tapping in to my mechanics. I find there are automatic strategies that kick in when I'm running out of the ability to just cope.

But some strategies scare me, and it's usually when I'm not coping.

There's a chain of reactions, it seems. And I don't like any of them. And it's always related to Noah.

First, I fly off the handle. I come down on him. Hard. But then he starts whining, and I lose patience. I know I never, EVER want to see what comes after yelling at him, so my auto mechanism kicks in.

I shut down.

It's not even "just ignoring him", it's complete shut down. My brain turns off, my body goes on auto-pilot, my emotions die. I'm cold.

"Is this what he'll remember?" I ask myself. "Am I failing him in not being able to deal with him? Am I being lazy? Am I being irresponsible?" are the questions that go through my mind.

How long will this go on for? I don't like doing it, but I never seem to spot the "acceptable alternative". I struggle to bond with him as it is, and I always feel like the one who needs to keep him under control. Everyone says he's "Oh but he's so amazing! He's so lovely! He's so well behaved!!" And they're right. Of course he is.

But that's come from two years of mechanical maintenance. His maintenance.

But I hate mine. He's so lovely. I am not. My mechanics are ugly. Every time I feel them kick in, I hate who I become; I always hope the repercussions do not last long. But surely...they chip away? They break spirit? Mine and his?

My parenting mechanics feel set in stone. So how do I change them? Can I change them?

Do I need to break...to create a new mechanical structure?

(How do you say that word? Is it, "meem"? Or maybe "mehm"? Or possibly even "meh-meh"? Or perhaps "mee-mee"? Help me out here.)

I immediately crapped myself when I saw my name over at Lifeslightlyused's Blog when I saw what I was tagged for, given the billions of photos on my macbook! But as she's so lovely (and people have tagged me before for this one and I've been too crap to get on it) I thought I should chance it.

1 . Open the first/oldest photo folder in your computer library
2. Scroll to the 10th photo
3. Post the photo and the story behind it
4. Tag 5 or more people to continue the thread.

So I opened and scrolled. Here's the pic:

This is Baby Mocha, and in this pic, Baby was about 28 weeks old in utero. D and I had gone for our first ever 4D scan. Here is Baby Mocha, looking almost directly at the camera, and that going up behind the head is an arm. I love this picture, and couldn't believe what we were seeing, given that we'd had a bit of a horrible time with my very first pregnancy.

This pic wasn't from my first pregnancy...but who is it?

It's this gorgeous big little guy. :)

Yeah in all fairness, at only 2 hours old, it's not an easy one...

Still not sure?

...

It's Mr Noah. ;o)

And now I have to tag five more!! So I choose the following:

Bumbling Along - cos she's lovely

Clinically Fed Up - cos her pics blow me away

Muddy No Sugar - cos she's awesome

3 Bedroom Bungalow - cos I wanna see more pics

Single Mummy - cos she's damn good at memes

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.

Which is, of course, nearly impossible for me.

Noah had his Speech Referral appointment today. He was brilliant, playing with the toys, feeding air tea to the bear, getting wound up when he couldn't balance the tea pot on Lofty, and driving a little toy bus over Speech Therapist's printer. He made his usual noises, said Mummy and Daddy clear as day, gave toys to Isaac to play with, and signed when he'd had enough and wanted to go home to eat. She was pleased to see him signing, and was very impressed by the number of signs he knew.

Ok, even as I'm typing I need to get one thing straight with everyone, because I just need to get it off my chest (mainly because I don't want to shout at those who are just trying to support me). I am not worried about him speaking. I know he will speak. I don't doubt at all that he will speak. I know he will not stay "unable to speak forever". I don't doubt my boy at all, in that sense. In fact, I'm incredibly confident he will speak.

You should also know, I'm not just saying this to fob you off, to shake you off my back. I'm saying it because I believe it more than any of you could ever know. So many people tell me not to worry, he will speak. I'm not worried. I know he will speak.

So what am I worried about? I'm worried, like any other mom who cares, about what it's doing to him until he DOES learn to speak. About what it's doing to US. He is so frustrated. If he doesn't know the sign, he points and points, repeating the same noise over and over again, usually until we're both yelling, shouting and/or in tears. This is a regular occurrence. And that's what worries me.

And I'm pushing this whole issue, because my boy cannot carry on like that. Life in this house cannot carry on like that.

So what happened today? Well I'm not entirely sure. I've come away with the most mixed bag of emotions ever. In short, she believes there is something not right with him. And she suspects one of three things (which I can't entirely remember because OMG how much stuff to take on board).

1) It's a hearing issue, though she highly doubts it.

2) It's a physical development issue (potentially related to his funny eating), which she thinks is most likely.

3) It's a form of Speech Dyspraxia, which if this is the case, will come to light more as he gets older, and she thinks this may be possible.

I feel strangely sad after this appointment. Everyone keeps saying "this progress is good!" which I understand. Everyone says "look! You're getting help now!" which I understand.

I really, really do.

But it's such a horrible position to be in, where you want to hear that your kid is ok but you want someone to believe you when you think something is wrong. And then when someone tells you something IS wrong, you really just wanted to hear "actually he's ok". And knowing that if someone had said "Actually, he's ok", you would REALLY want to have it confirmed that something is wrong.

I know that made no sense.

But I realised today that because of these emotions I'm actually in a no-win situation. Even though...well...we've won.

This is still making no sense.

At the end of the day, though it feels horrible to say this, I'm glad ST said there's something wrong (or in her words, "something not quite right") with his speech development, mainly because I feel justified in pushing as much as I did. Ok I'll say it even though I don't want to, "I told you so". But I didn't want to be right.

So at this point what happens next? Well he has more referrals for other appointments. He will have hearing tests, he has a food specialist appointment (he often gags while he eats) and will have another speech appointment shortly after those appointments. Which will probably be in about 6 months. She believes until those appointments, we need to carry on working just that little bit harder in encouraging him to speak, as we already are, and as I had already long since confirmed in my own mind, he will speak eventually, it will just take a little longer to get there.

The latter I was already prepared for; so many people saying it to me already, as I expect many more will do. I understand. I really do. But sometimes it gets frustrating, I guess, when it feels like people don't really believe me, and suspecting I'm fretting like crazy under the surface. The only thing I'm fretting about like crazy is whether the frustration will consume us all, and how much worse it will get before he starts to give himself a break of some sort.

I'm glad he's getting help now, even if it is a long haul. I can deal with that, because I already know what the outcome will be. I'm not glad that there's a problem. I didn't want my kid "labelled" or anything like that. I'm just glad that I'm finally getting the help and support we all need, which will hopefully make this journey a little easier on us all.

Which I think, at the end of the day, was all I wanted.

Everyone seems to be vlogging. It's the new thing. I'm quite proud to claim I've already vlogged in the past (but you'll have to rummage the archives to find them) and so here's my contribution. It's very um, informative.

Seriously.

Incidentally, Noah has his Speech Therapist appointment in about 2 hours. So hopefully this frustration will be over and they'll tell me to get over myself, right?

Right.

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.

This morning kind of took a really sad turn. Lately Noah is very keen to get my attention, but he does it the most obvious way for him, which is to simply ask, "Mummy?"

So what's so bad about that? What's to complain about? That's great!! He can call me!! AWESOME!!!

Whenever I hear that "Mummy?" I'm filled with dread, because I know I won't understand what is going to follow. I know that he'll say it many more times, until he gets my attention, as he almost always does because he asks for it so politely. And then when he does get my attention, it's followed by one of the following.

1. A sign that we have either learnt together, or one that he has made up himself to convey what he means. The latter is dangerous, if I haven't figured out what he is referring to.

2. A word that he knows clear as day, more often than not, "Daddy", "Gah-gag" (Isaac) or "Nenen" (Nana). There is little to no follow up to this. He will either repeat for fun, repeat until I say what he just said (corrected), or he will go off and play.

3. A word that sounds like the majority of vocabulary, "UH" or "EH". This he will usually repeat until I either guess correctly, or distract him with something else.

Now. I can not, just CAN NOT begin to describe what sort of levels of frustration we're dealing with here. Because usually, most of the above will end in tears of frustration or confusion. I don't understand what he wants. I have no clue what he is trying to tell me. And by trying, I mean pretty much driving himself batshit with determination.

All too many times, he's been doing something, and then randomly burst into tears. Not just, gentle whimpering, I mean full on wailing, omg the world is about to end WHY OH GOD WHYYYYYYYY.

I appreciate toddlers are over dramatic. I know they're not easy. I know that they live in as much confusion as most teenagers, I get that. But tell me. What the hell am I supposed to do, exactly? When he's babbling and mumbling and none of it is making the tiniest bit of sense? When he looks at me, stares at me, like why the hell can't I figure out what he's saying and Mummy? Mummy? Mummy? Mummy? Mummy?

I defy you to imagine what it's like to dread hearing that word. No, wait, let me check that. I love to hear it. I love that he can say it. And Daddy, too. With the same questioning inflection, querying, questioning; it's awesome.

But it fills me with dread. Because I don't know what's coming next. I don't know if within a few minutes, we're both going to be reduced to tears because he's trying to tell me something, wants me to do something, that I just do not understand. He hasn't got time to waste, waiting for me to guess a thousand different things, trying to work out what he's saying. He has amazing patience with me at times, I'll grant him that. I don't understand that. But at the same time, in that moment of urgency, when something is so exciting to him and he wants to share it with me, and I can't because I have no clue what's going on that world of his, it breaks me horribly so, that I cannot be there with him, but can only offer excited nodding and big smiles and saying "Yes of course Noah! Yes yes! Look!!", and all the while, not being able to genuinely share in his excitement.

This morning hit a particular low point. He was sat eating his porridge, like a dream. Given his crazy eating habits (whereby I have decided he would sooner do anything, anything than sit and eat), I was over the moon. He got to the bottom of the bowl, and where there was still a bit left. Then he started crying. Hysterically. I have no. Idea. Why.

Because his cereal was almost finished? Because he couldn't scrape the last bit up? Because it was Thomas in the bottom of the bowl and not Lightening McQueen or Peppa Pig?

And then came that stupid annoying thought, the one that wins every time in destroying me and making me feel pathetic.

So when your kid, who you want so much to just be happy, who you want to help as much as possible...and then the doubt...the self doubt...the criticism...what do you do?

Why can I not help him? Why am I not "finely attuned" to his needs? Why can he not yet string two words together? And why did I not help him towards stringing two words together even sooner? I felt something was up long before I posted anything here. And now here we are, several months later, with words that barely make sense to me, to anyone, and we're all none the wiser.

I hope to god, every day, that at this appointment? They turn to me and say that he's fine and doing ok for development.

Because right now? The kid sobbing in my face saying my name over and over again is not convincing me.

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)...

I won't talk much about it, because we'd all be here forever, but to the rescue, comes a semi-narrated photo essay of his day.

Enjoy. :o)

Wearing his damn awesome Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas (and with what I think might be porridge smeared all over his eyebrows) he began opening presents.

See the cute? Yes.

And of course, he had to make random noises down the phone to Nana.

He ripped open cards with joy...

And enjoyed new toys with ridiculous excitement.

The next day the festivities continued, and he enjoyed birthday cake. And crazy faces blowing out the candles.

And he enjoyed eating it. Even though he'd maxed out on fruit and pushed a chunk of cake away (FUCK YEAH!!! That's my fruit and breadstick eating toddler).

I made the cake.

Of course I didn't fucking make the cake. Yes HI. Nana brought it round for us.

And no, Isaac didn't get any. I don't think he minded.

And in case you're wondering, he started here.

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...

I love you. I love you so very much. And because I love you so much? I'm also sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't always do my absolute best for you. I'm sorry for the days when I broke, and even with your little concerned face, and patting and rubbing my back to try and make me feel better when you didn't even understand, it was sometimes you who somehow put me back together a bit.

I'm sorry if I ever lay too much on you. I have so much on my plate and I don't know how to let off steam. I try not to cry in front of you, but even though you're not yet 2 years old, you know, somehow, when I'm desperately sad.

You're such an amazing little boy; you blow me away with just being you, every single day. I bust my ass for you, trying to make sure you have the best upbringing and home life I could possibly give you. I try to make sure you have a bit of fun. I try to make sure you eat right. I try to make sure you don't get ill, and when you do get ill, I hope to make it go away and ensure you're strong enough to get through it as fast as possible.

You love your brother Isaac so much, and I love so much when you give him toys to play with, pick up his biscuit if he drops it, show me the sign for tears when he's crying, and look at me with great concern when he's clearly distressed. I never taught you any of that, no one did. You did that yourself. You amaze me. Every day.

I feel like I've failed you sometimes, and you're only two. I still feel like your carer, not your mother. I feel the same with Isaac too. Yet you unconditionally continue to give me hugs and kisses, and they are so, SO sweet. Somehow, yours are better than any I've ever known. And yet still I feel bad for us.

I want you to know that I did try my hardest. All the time. I try to fight for you whenever I can, for whatever reason. I've made so many mistakes, it's untrue. No one tells the mom what to do, the mom has to be the one to give out all the instructions to everyone else. So therefore, I learn by making all the mistakes. I don't want to screw you over. I don't want to make you neurotic like me, fretting ridiculously over every little thing that shouldn't plague your mind.

I hate that I might make you grow up before your time. I hate that thought so much. I don't want to turn you into something horrible; I don't want to take away your childhood. You deserve your childhood so much; I didn't have much of mine. I hope to make it up for you.

You will always be great Noah, you will never be anything less. I just always hope that I can be a part of it, to maybe hope I contributed to it, and that you'll be anywhere near as proud of me as I am of you.

I love you baby boy.

Mom x