Mummy's Girl, and Daddy's Boy, or: KISS KISS

Two parents, two kids, a gadzillion of photos, and a habit of re-using even those items of clothing of slightly gendered coulour schemes, and it eventually had to happen: Deja Vue!

Male parental suction machine and LEO, nearly 5 months; 2010

Female parental suction machine and Tara, 3 months; 2006

Of course, calling Tara 'Mummy's girl' and Leo 'Daddy's boy' is complete nonsense. They are both MINE! I kiss better, and I'm not half as prickly, and Leo STILL has the charming habit of throwing himself off his dad to get to me when he just a little hungry or tired and stands half a chance. Of course, he laughs more for daddy (if most of all for Tara). Mummy's not so funny.
Man, this invites all sorts of comparisons... Jose's got longer eyelashes than me, big noses for everybody, and look! NO hair on the boys, and some hair on the girls only. Now, if anyone wants to say again that the kids look alike? Nonsense. Let us describe their difference in terms of their nicknames, designed by Jose: Bolica ("Little Ball") and Bombillico ("Little Lightbulb"). The man's a bit harsh on his delightful handsome son there, especially when he calls him Bombillico con alas... I'm not translating, I'm just glad he doesn't call him Theo any more!
Where was I... Oh yes, comparisons. Gosh, I adore them. Equally and incomparably.

New OLDER Mummy

36. Ugh. What can I say... it's not 33 any more, and when I look back on the blog I have to say that I feel the 3 extra years. Do I look them?
There is, of course, nothing like having your soon-to-be 5-month-old son hold the bunch of flowers I got myself (we're a practical lot in this family, by necessity); it does make up for the great abundance of white crinkly hair and a strangely wrinkled tummy (although it goes without saying that I miss my firm tummy and am greatly puzzled and confused in my self-image by the white hair!).
It's a rather regular day. The weather is awful. After I drop Tara off at nursery, I head over to her school-to-be - not the school of my first choice, and I've still not gotten over the disappointment and anger at being assigned a school that is twice the distance than the one I'd asked for - and on the way back Leo and I get completely soaked as the baby wouldn't peacefully sleep in his pram but cry and cry and scream until I picked him up and wrapped him into my coat, against me, in the streaming rain.
So actually, it's not a regular but really a sub-standart day. It does not help that the lovely shoes I got myself on Jose's behalf do not fit and have to be sent back.


By evening I've recovered from the rain, age and white-hair induced rotten mood, and gratefully accept all the good wishes from my family - and they are plenty if we can go by the amount of times Tara has me relight the candle and blows it out again! She even stops eating her ice cream over it.

I'm taking stock, and find myself a lucky girl on the whole. For the record, and as a snapshot of me as much as of our family:
On my 36th birthday, I got rained on, felt largely angry but resigned about out future schooling perspectives, though a lot about buying a house and was pleased that the government waived stamp duty for first time buyers for houses under 250k as a special gift to me (naturally), and issued an invite to Tara's new 'best friend' and her mum, who I had previously only exchanged a total of one sentence with.
There are a lot of new beginnings in that. As my father put it: "The best is over, but a lot of good is still to come."

Tara. When you're turning 36, I hope I'll be invited to blow out your candles and make a wish for you, and maybe even make it true.
Leo, when you turn 36, I'll have a bunch of daffodils for you. Red and yellow just like mine, and the price tag will have been removed. I'll be 72 then, you might have to remind me.

Happy birthday, you old Mamma.

New Mummy

Bye-bye fluff, your time was up!
Over the last few weeks, Little Man had turned into a little monkey, discovered his clutching power and had been hanging off mummy's fur whenever given the opportunity. And I got a little tired of disentangling little hands from messy strands (behold! a rhyme!) and - ouch! - losing perfectly not-white hair to him on a daily basis. Growing old and going grey is bad enough; going bald wasn't quite necessary.
So Leo took me to the hairdresser - or I took him - and actually most of the ladies at the salon got a hold too, as he insisted on being carried about or else... - but on the whole he was being very cooperative and only at the very blow-drying end had to sneak under the gown for a snack and a snooze ("Oh my God where's the baby!" exclaimed hairdresser/babysitter number two) - anyway, to cut a long story short (ah! whit!): snip snap, off came the stuff, and a new mum went to pick Tara up at nursery.
Tara, of course, discussed the promised ice cream treat first, then negociated a suitable replacement treat (ice cream place closed) - priorities, ey - while eyeing me from the corner of her eyes throughout before addressing the change directly: "Why don't you have your long hair any more, mummy?" Is the radical change in maternal hairstyle disturbing for a 3-year-old? If truth be told, every time she sees me in the shower with wet or shampoo'd hair she tells me I'm a "different mummy." But she knows where I'm coming from. "That's why Leo gets stuck in your hair all the time" ("why" = 'because'). Leo getting stuck in hair is something she thoroughly understands. The last brotherly entanglement had her shout out loud: "I don't want any more babies in this house! ... Only ONE more girl and THAT'S IT!"

One trip to the sweet shop and one bag full of mostly red and pink treats later, old Tara and new mum are best friends again. (A few hours later, with Tara still chatting non-stop, singing loudly and operating three plasticky musicky toys at the same time on a three-hour sugar rush, I don't feel up to the best-friends business any more and vow to stay away from the sweets shop as long as from the hairdressers.)

That would be next Friday, when I've made an appointment for Tara. She doesn't yet know she wants her hair cutting, but new mum and the sweet shop have a few days to convince her.

Not so sure of new mum yet

Leo looks like he's posing with a celebrity. Bless.

Passport Picture

One of a kind but I'd also take two - or six...

Six little portrait pictures of my little man, aged 4 months and a week, white background to please the Spanish embassy staff, please. Four pounds, thank you, and Leo is nearly ready to take on the world. But we're in no hurry, and the only thing Leo wants to do to the world at the moment is, eat it up. All of it. Slibber-slobber, litte man, a fist or some fingers are best for now, though Leo tries to fling himself into any plate of food that presents itself. He'll sit on my lap and stare it down for starters. Then he'll start swinging back and forth on my lap, his mouth wide open and drooling. Eventually he'll take aim and fall forward onto the plate, sometimes getting sauce on his nose, sometimes only plate.
He'll also reach and grab, or stare down drinks.
This baby is ready for food - but he still owes me a few extra calories, 12 kilo's worth to be precise, so we're waiting the next 7 weeks out. Also, at 7kg and 68cm he's doing good enough on milk alone.
And do not ask me what that stuff on our plates is. It was a hectic day without a moment to cook (or was it a tired day that we spent exclusively in bed doing nothing while we should have been cooking?... never mind...) and I'm trying to forget!

Stare it down - aim - fall forward with an open mouth - attack!

Kleines Daumenkino: Go Get Tara

Es regnet. Ein fetter Regentropfen hat Leo grad genau links neben die Nase getroffen. Leo ist entrüstet und entsetzt. Aber der Rest des Schwesterkindergartenabholtrips macht das wieder wett.