Update, as promised.

This photo was taken at Fort Lauderdale beach on 23rd January 2011. Only a week has passed since then, but it seems that Isaac is quite different now. It serves to remind me that some things are inevitable and it's nice to remember them, even if they do all happen within a very short space of time.

Isaac has totally weaned himself from my breast milk. I always thought I'd be more upset about this than it turns out I am. I know that if he still needed it then he wouldn't have weaned himself, and he did wean himself. I continued to offer and he just didn't want it anymore. When they're done, they're done and that's the end of that. It's as though my body knew too. My breasts haven't swelled up to epic proportions, but I guess the amount he was taking gradually diminished and so my supply steadily decreased until it stopped production. As Vinnie Jones once said "it's been emotional", but I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

Our young man now wants to walk everywhere that he can. He LOVES walking. I think he'd prefer to never be carried again actually and seemingly never tires. It's been lovely while Simon's been here because we've held a hand each while Isaac confidently and carefully places one foot in-front of the the other between us. He really is very good and I'm sure, with a little more practice, that he'll be off on his own and, as everyone we meet delights in telling us, then the fun will really start.

He's had a growth spurt while he's been here and so now wears size 12-18 months. Finally he's the same age as his clothing size! Not that that is important at all, rather it feels strange not calculating sizes and weather! He's also outgrown his shoes and now measures a size 4 in the US which equates to bigger than 3 1/2, but not quite a 4 proper in the UK. Confused much? The only problem now is I can't bring myself to get rid of his old shoes. I've kept his first pair, but he was in and out of those so quickly that his second pair seem more like his first. Aah...silly old sentimental bugger.

Before he came away Isaac had a terrible time with teething, so much so that we resorted for the first time to the dreaded Calpol. It wasn't a decision we took lightly, but he was in so much pain that he couldn't nap and subsequently couldn't sleep. We've managed his teething well using Chamomilla and Gumomile until this point. He only had Calpol a couple of times, but it did the trick and he was able to sleep. Soon after arrived two bottom molars and two upper incisors...four teeth simultaneously!

So those are some changes we've experienced recently, but there's so much more that happens daily to make me realise how much of a little person he is now: his vehement dislike for vegetables (we keep trying in new and ingenious ways to no avail), his waving and saying goodbye to people and more recently saying "hiya" and waving hello, reactions to different things I whisper in his ear, the habitual fight at nappy changing time, his continued comical use of objects as telephones, his preferred use of a fork and spoon to fingers when eating, giving us proper kisses on the cheek at bedtime, how he looks at me to see what my reaction will be...this list is by no means exhaustive.

When I was younger I never understood why people wanted to have children, I found the idea (along with marriage) bewildering and somewhat ridiculous. Now, as I sit here pondering the life Simon and I created, there isn't a flicker of doubt that remains in my mind as to why we did. Isaac is the greatest joy, heartache, frustration and love I have ever experienced. I don't expect everyone to understand and I'n not saying children are for everyone, but I make no apologies for how I feel.

First trim

Isaac and I are in Florida at the moment with Nanna and Auntie Denny (who goes home today *sob*). Isaac's hair has been getting in his eyes quite a lot recently so I took the plunge, after discussion with Daddy, and trimmed his hair. 

I was massively relieved that the trim didn't make him look even more like a girl, something I was very worried about. People are ALWAYS saying "oh look at her isn't she pretty" or asking us "how old is she". So I smile sweetly and move on or say "he is blah months old". However, when we went out for lunch yesterday, the waitress said "hey there big guy!"...GET IN!

So now he can see and apparently also looks like a boy...finally! Here's to many more "boy" comments because, let's face it, he is gorge ;-D

Grandpa

Dear Isaac

You both in London at 10 weeks, London 2009

It has been three months since your Grandpa passed away, almost exactly give or take a few hours. I'm sitting here listening to the song we chose to play as we walked into his funeral service - The Wonder Of You by Elvis Presley. Listening to it makes me happy and sad at the same time; happy because it reminds me of him and I can see him singing along in his funny way and punching the air during the chorus and sad because I know I'll never see him do it again. I'm writing this so you will know a little about him and also so that I have a reminder of my step-Dad.

There's so much I want to tell you about him because you won't remember knowing him. He loved his family immensely. He loved you so very much and loved that you were his grandson. There are so many things that made him who he was. Peter Edward Russell, Per. His great love was sailing. When I first knew him he had a yacht called Miss Tickle, which I thought was hilarious. If you say it quickly it sounds like Mystical, which I also thought was rather splendid. I liked sailing with Peter; we used to go to Cowes on the Isle of Wight. When he retired he did a lot of fundraising for the R.N.L.I. which he believed to be a very worthy charity, as do I.

At my 26th birthday meal, June 2007

He loved country music. I have memories of him driving me back to school on a Sunday evening listening to Crystal Chandeliers or Rose Garden. Elvis, Buddy Holly, Johnny Cash and Dolly Parton (or Dolly Partits as he'd call her) always remind me of him. Whenever we went anywhere on holiday in the car he would insist on playing On The Road Again by Willie Nelson. This was the song we played to walk out to at his funeral and I didn't cry during the service until I heard that. 

He liked brown sauce, big American style hamburgers and lasagne. He was partial to the odd Kit Kat and Mars Bar. He loved to drink black coffee and I sometimes used to think that, if cut, he'd bleed black coffee instead of blood. He wasn't short, but not particularly tall either. He always made a joke about his hair and how I had to be careful with him because he only had two strands left. This wasn't true at all, but he had a lot more of it when he was younger and was known as the Golden Gnome as a consquence! A recent revelation for me! He was a fan of Aston Villa FC. I wasn't sure why until a few weeks ago. He loved rugby and played it during his time at Welbeck College as well being a boxer there. He loved going back to visit and always used to joke about how "awful" it was that they let girls attend these days. He had a very dry sense of humour, which I didn't really understand until I was a little older than when we met. He loved the The Goon Show and Monty Python. He would regularly tell me (in a comedic fashion) "SFG!" (shut your festering gob you tit, your type really makes me puke! from the Monty Python Argument sketch) or would burst into song, usually the one sung by the Knights Who Say Ni.

At mine and Daddy's wedding, March 2008

He was a hugely intelligent and articulate man and very politically minded. He thought Margaret Thatcher was a great lady; there are many who disagree, but your Grandpa was adamant. I bought him a Maggie Thatcher nut cracker one Christmas. He thought it hilarious, heehee! He instilled in me an abhorrence of improper use of grammar and punctuation; if I tell you that "it's bored with, not of" or "it's should have, not of", you've got your Grandpa to thank for that! Thank him I do. There's no excuse! I remember watching University Challenge on television with him. He loved when Jeremy Paxman was rude to the contestants. I thought it was mean, but looking back it was pretty funny. I will never forget when he phoned me up to ask me the meaning of "chav" and "bling". You will grow up with these terms, but to your Grandpa they were whole new concepts.

It was a confusing time for me when my Mum (your Nanna) & Peter got married. I was 11 then. Dad had left and I didn't see him very much and then there was this strange man that came to live with us. I don't have many memories of that time if I'm honest. I do remember being a bloody awful teenager, but Peter took it all in his stride and I respect him immensely for that. It can't have been easy dealing with an emotional & hormonal teenage girl that wasn't his actual daughter. I apologised for my behaviour a few years ago, which I know he appreciated.

I learned a lot about him at his funeral from people I've never met. He had a whole life I knew nothing about before I met him. I knew that he was a salesman for much of his life. I knew he worked for Rothman's (a tobacco company) and that he was also a Freeman of the City Of London. The thing that struck me most about the funeral was how much people respected your Grandpa. There was no denying his headstrong nature, but this fierce determination was seen in a positive light and as an admirable quality. I learned that he was a good man to work for and an even better person to have on your side. People valued his opinion a great deal and he was widely well though of. The sheer number of people who came to pay their respects to him is testament to all these things.

He loved this picture because he could claim my hair as his!

Having lived in a residential home, age and illness are things I suppose I'm used to. Finding out that your Grandpa was so poorly was strange for me. What was stranger was, as his condition progressed, seeing him progress with it. The residents at the home were all quite old and in need of care when they arrived, but Peter? No. Peter was not the kind of person with whom requiring care sat easily. Of course he accepted it with good grace. I helped him into his pyjamas so he could go to bed one afternoon and he was so incredibly grateful. His gratitude extended to all of his carers: his nurses, Nanna and Eva and even on occasion Auntie Denny, even if he didn't show it all of the time.

I can remember now as clearly as if it were yesterday the afternoon of 3rd November 2010 when your Nanna phoned me to say she had the paramedics come to take him to hospital because he had yet another infection. She was so mad with his doctor for thinking she was fussing. She knew then that he was going. I guess, because my Nanna lived to 98 and liked to keep us on our toes shall I say, that I thought she was overreacting and he'd pull through. I remember later on that evening she phoned me to tell me he didn't have long. I spoke to him on the phone and told him how much I loved him and how grateful I was for everything he had done for me. He didn't say anything because he couldn't. I rushed to get ready and drive to the hospital so I could say goodbye properly. I remember stepping out of the shower and your Daddy coming in with the phone in his hand. I was too late. He'd just had enough. Enough of hospitals and doctors and medication, of not being able to breathe easily, of being poked, prodded and injected. Can you blame him?

Learning of the death of a parent is something that cannot be described, so I'm not even going to try. I know death is a part of life and not to be feared, but that doesn't stop the pain when you lose someone so utterly significant.

In France with Nanna, 2010

What to say now? I've said all I can; a few things that make me smile when I remember them and some things that will hopefully help you know a little about your Grandpa's character. I shall close with the words of a family friend, received in a card of condolence, because it is far more eloquent than anything I could write.

"His was a life with much to celebrate, not least his passion for living every moment to the full. Very much a man of his generation, kind, considerate and a true gentleman, but eventually undone by the shadows of his working life. He will be greatly missed."

Love and so much more

Mummy
xxx

2 months later...

...and Isaac shows signs of becoming a roadie? That or he'll be a wire hoarder (just like his Daddy :-p).

I'm long overdue an update...stay tuned!

Slightly adrift

Forgive my lack of posts; I haven't really felt like writing anything much of late. I have lots of ideas & photos are piling up on my phone, but the impetus to extract from my brain onto paper (as it were) is lacking. 

I haven't spent much time at home lately - approximately 6 days in-fact during the month of November. This sucks. I like being at home...with my boys. However, I've been needed elsewhere. But right now, this very moment, I'm sad because I've realised how little time I've spent at home...with both of my boys. 

After an horrific journey, some tears and a bath I'm now sitting alone in a hotel room listening to the fuzz on the monitor, feeling melancholy. To kill some time I've been sorting through my phone images (those aforementioned). I was more than  pleased to find a picture I took last month before all the weirdness, when we were just trundling along with our lives. It made me really very happy to see it again so I've decided to post it on here. 

I'll file it under "happy" & whenever I'm feeling sad I'll sneak a peek and it'll make me grin :-)

A distraction

I've been quiet lately. I think it's partly because winter is all but breaking down the door and I'm going into hibernating mode, but more recently it's largely because my step-father passed away. While I try to figure out how on earth I'm going to put into words the many things he meant to me, here are some pictures to distract me and make me smile.

There are times when...

...I feel frazzled. Today is one of those days. I debated for a while whether or not to post this. But then I figured - parenting isn't a piece of cake for anyone. Who am I to wear rose-tinted-blog spectacles?

So, then. There are times when...

...I simply don't know what he wants & he doesn't want the things I think he does. He cries and holds his arms up to me so I pick him up; then he cries and wiggles about, kicking my stomach and pinching my skin between his foot and my trouser/skirt waistband, so I put him down again...and he cries. He disdainfully turns away from anything I offer him and progresses further into frustration. Both of us completely exasperated. But then I don't think he knows what he wants either and he certainly couldn't tell me if he did.

...I think we should have shares in a tissue company, when I'm sick to the back teeth with having his snot all over me and if I see him wipe it all over his face one more time I...I don't know what I'll do. But it can't be fun for him either. It's not his fault he's teething or poorly. He must feel wretched, poor thing.

...I wonder if one of those playpen things would be useful; I could just sit him in it and not worry about the CDs, books, DVDs, board games etc being pulled from the shelves and onto the floor again. But I know he would be miserable as hell in one and, at the end of the day, it's only stuff. Stuff we don't really need to be happy. So what're a few sticky finger prints on discs between family members? Books, however require respect. We're working on that one and I'm pleased to report that he hasn't ripped any yet.

...I nearly cave in and give Isaac Calpol or Neurofen for children. But I know too much, thus don't take the adult versions myself. Simon and I have agreed that it's really only a last resort when we're at our wits' end. I know there are alternatives to pharmaceuticals that work, their effects just take a little longer to kick in. His liver will thank me in the long run.

...I dream of the day that Roisin will just bloody listen. If she could absorb and understand information as quickly as an adult then I wouldn't have to say the same god damn thing six times in less than three minutes, each time rearranging the words and usually increasing the volume until I'm heard and comprehension is reached. It's impossible to get her attention and I really do wonder what goes on in her brain sometimes. But then I know she is only four and the most important thing in her world right now is: "will I get sparkly party shoes with heels for Christmas?"

...I'd like Isaac to be able to sleep in the push chair. It'd be lovely to spend a whole day out and not have to worry about him having a nap. But then I think: he won't nap forever. You wanted to carry him in a sling and even if you hadn't I don't think he'd be happy in a push chair; he's just not that kind of child. And we're not that sort of family. 

...I want to be deaf to his wailing. Seriously. WHAT DO YOU WANT? or LET ME SLEEP? But then I know it's his only real means of communication right now and I know how utterly pissed off I'd be if I couldn't communicate other than cry when upset. 

...Aoife really needs to understand that if she doesn't want some toy or other to be trashed then she A) should stop teasing her little sister with it and B) needs to put it away so that the other two can't get at it. But then I remember she's only six, despite increasingly acting like a twenty six year old.

...for one flippant nano-second, I want Simon to be the stay at home parent and I go out to work. But then I snap out of it and realise that I would actually be miserable and miss my little munchkin to death.

...I'd like force feeding to be acceptable. But then I think - he's developing his own tastes and of course he isn't going to like everything immediately. Plus if he was really hungry then he'd eat it.

...I wish the dog would just bugger off for once. Isaac is starting to pet her nicely and give her kisses now, but it terrifies her and she pants and shakes to excess. She's so bloody nervous! She uses me as her safe point which is also where Isaac usually wants to be. But then I think - I taught her to come to me when she's afraid of new things when she was a puppy. Of course she's going to be how she is, he's a constantly changing little person - how weird it must be from doggy eyes! And she really is very good with him. 

...I can't wait for Aoife to grow up and see that, as an adult: you don't always get to do whatever you want, you don't tell children to do things for a laugh, you do actually have a reason for most things and it's usually experience, money really doesn't grow on trees! But then I remember exactly how I was when I was a child and I'm sure I had much the same viewpoint as her.

...I seriously think Isaac would be better off in nursery school with people who are qualified to look after him. He's not the baby I couldn't imagine handing over to anyone else anymore. Interaction with other children would be good for him and the time apart would probably be good for me too, I think. But then I see his little face when all he wants is his Mummy and I know I'm the only one that can stop him hurting, even if it is only temporary and I think to myself "he's my son, I chose to bring him into the world and so I choose to care for him myself". 

...I am selfish and wish it was just me, Simon and the dog. But then I wonder how happy I'd really be without my little Wiggler and the girls? They've each brought a new dimension to my life and taught me things about myself I never thought existed. I'd most likely be working the same hours for the same employer doing the same old things. Now, even if I go back to that, I know I have three amazing little people waiting to show me something new they've learned about or learned to do. Awesome!

...I hate myself for thinking all of these things and for even writing this post about them. But then I know it doesn't make me a bad person because I'm only human and not to acknowledge how I feel would be of far greater detriment to our little family than doing so now. I feel these awful things infrequently, particularly when I'm poorly and fed up with my own snot too, and it's usually in these moments that they're all there...in my brain...sniping away at me and it's in then that I feel my worst and go a little crazy. 

So I'm not sorry for putting this out there or if any of it upsets your sensibilities. I defy any parent to look me in the eye and tell me they don't have moments such as these.

And now it's written down, it's not in my brain anymore and I can properly get on with being a Mum.