My Family, by Tara

"This is me. That is daddy. They boys have spikey hair, don't they. Leo is teeny-weeny, like when he just came out of the hospital. You had long hair then, Mummy. I miss your long hair."

Signed, in her best attempt at writing her name in cursive script. The up-and-back-down of the 'a' doesn't quite flow right yet, so the 'r' gets lost... a proper signature is what that is!

I'm glad that Tara still sees us as a smiley bunch, mostly - if truth be told, I think of the two grown-ups, she's captured the mood right for daddy, not for her tense nervous tired and shouty mother. This house is doing us in and all we can do is remind ourselves that it's only for another just-under-four-weeks running from one errand to another, not eating right cause nobody has the time to cook, and not even reading Tara's little books with her each night (homework!). But hey - I'm glad to say that our bathroom (FUTURE bathroom) no longer looks like this:


It feels like sorting a house out takes a lot longer than growing long hair back! We're moving in on December 12. By then it will look just lovely. Of course. Everybody will be smiling, and Tara won't even notice that she didn't get a pink carpet, nor pink wallpaper. Hopefully.

Has it really been THIS long?

Who, gorgeous? Me? Thanks, Mummy!

Once upon a time, exactly one year ago, little Leo hopped onto my bed naked and voila, there he was: The most gorgeous baby boy I ever laid eyes on!
Well. Not quite. And in the same vein, one year down, still the most gorgeous baby boy I ever laid eyes on, he is still a bundle of joy and (a teeny weeny bit* of) trouble. Today, after a nappy changing struggle that, in its level of difficulty, resembles labour, the naked babe takes off with a giggle and pees straight onto my cushion. There it is: The liquid damage to the bed, anticipated one year ago - but, luckily, all absorbed by the shredded content of one box of tissues. We've come full circle, once. Thanks, Leo; and thanks, Leo! And, happy birthday, darling!

(and that pink thing on his head is not really ON his head...)

It's a regular day. I'm back at work, first week, day five, and already utterly exhausted by it. a school day for Tara, another day at nursery for Leo, and Jose got up before six and left before my alarm even rang. Cuddles and pee on the bed - plus a bit of Barbie for breakfast - got us a bit late, so - because I'm rushed and generally bad at judging where my car starts and ends, I scrape and scratch the neighbour's car (panic and tears), which is followed ten minutes later by a massive meltdown on Tara's part, thanks to the discovery of a packet of pink biscuits that were not for her but for Leo's friends at nursery. It's all a bit like homebirth gone wrong all over.
Maybe I should be a bit more grateful it's not all on the same day the bathstore delivery guy called me cheerily to let me know he was on the way to our current address with 3000 Pounds worth of new bathroom stuff and wouldn't take an address correction from me?
But wait, I'm losing direction - I was writing about Leo's birthday!

We have a tiny party for our tiny boy at home, after we've all made it back. Mummy has slipped into pyjamas (boobs-in-boobs-out at baby's convenience), Leo is in his dirty nursery outfit (he "ate well," as they call it ;-), Jose in reflective cycle wear and tight cycling pants and Tara in a very dis-sheveled school uniform. We're a bit of a mess really. To this we add cake (but only after Tara has finished watching Barbie. Priorities!), popcorn, cause Leo adores the stuff and scoffs it like a pro, a few balloons and one present. Yes, one. It's a mix of (1) 'we finally accept that less is more', (2) 'we're swamped and seriously depressed by the mess around us' and (3) 'didn't actually have time to even think of another present, much less go and buy one.' Jeez. Baby boy, I'd be sorry for you if I didn't know that our love for you knows no limits.

Leo loves balloons. Leo loves popcorn. Leo loves it when daddy comes home. Leo loves it when Tara hops and jumps. Leo loves Mummy. Leo loves his present cause it's balls and a hammer. And Leo loves walking up and down holding Mummy's hands. Up and down, up and down, up and down. Leo, I think, had a good day.




And at the end of a long day, he's out so quick after dinner I don't even manage to get a new nappy on him, nor a pyjama, and haven't taken his mismatched socks off him either. That is fine though - a nappy and clothing battle with a tired Leo is tenfold worse, and I'm way. too. tired.


Tara says: "Mummy, I don't understand it: How come Leo has a birthday, but he's not a different number now?" - "But he is a different number now. He's a number one now." - "WOW! That means that now he can walk!"
Well, he's nearly there. Just like we're nearly back to normal, I hope. The last months have been a stressful and tiring mess and I can't wait for that renovating business to be over. I do wish, however, Leo's first year had lasted longer.

Happy birthday, Little Man, and many many happy returns. You've been my number one all along.** I'd love to keep you small like this forever but it's time you work on turning into my "number two"!

* Just the nappy changing wars, and a spot of bother with a sleep association problem. Good as gold otherwise.
** Not fair but true. That's a whole other story which won't be written due to lack of time and energy, and because short changing one child for a whole long year is not something I should really want to admit to. (<-- The smalles possible small print.)

Nearly There!

Little Man is nearly one! What a journey it has been.

Tiny thing in the background...

...catching up...

Give us a cuddle!

But really, this baby can't be stopped