Precious moments

You smell of softness,
I inhale the sweet milkiness of your head.
Your tiny breaths warm my neck
while my arms do their best to encompass your growing body.
I taste the roundness of your cheeks
for the hundredth time (today)
And I count my blessings on your gorgeous fingers and those adorable extra toes.
Your eyes make mine smile,
Even your possets on my shoulder feel like a precious gift.
Your laugh stills my heart, just for a moment,
As I think of the moments gone too soon
When I held you in one arm, when I held you in my womb.
I'm trying to keep those moments in my mind and in my heart,
As I will the many moments to come.
First steps, first spills, freezing cold sidelines and bleary-eyed Christmas mornings will all be ours to share.
But not today.
Today I'll just hold you close, wearing you next to my heart. Because the best moment is this one, right now.

Muddling through

Today, we needed goats' milk. No big deal, we'd just do school collection in car and pop to Tesco from there.

Only when we arrived at school, Little Lady was in floods of tears for no real reason. Not to worry, probably just overtired from sports day. She'd surely just doze off in the car and awake refreshed.

As we traipsed around the aisles, me pretending I remembered what we needed, Little One was doing serious coughing from his seat in the trolley. I put aside my calculations of how much time we had before Littlest needed a feed and tried to work out the odds of making it through the evening without a visit to the out of hours doctor.

I vaguely noticed that Little Lady was coughing too.

Tin foil! We definitely needed tin foil!

Gosh that cough was bad. Recalculate doctor visit odds.

What the -? Little Lady had coughed so hard she threw up. On the floor. Mid-aisle.

Tears. Cuddles.

Crap. Littlest was stirring in the sling.

Mad dash to checkout.

Rush back for tin foil.

Actually checkout.

Success! Now just to get the four kids and the shopping into the car. A 7-seater.

A 7-seater with precious little space left after you add four kids, two school bags, one buggy and a package from the post office.

By this stage Littlest was tired and hungry. And not shy about letting me know.

All previous calculations abandoned in order to work out how long I could spend feeding him in the front seat, before our frozen purchases thawed in 20 degree heat.

Forfeited our €1 in the trolley to save precious moments.

Paused at the car door.

Paused to listen to the lady who had come over just to tell me she thought I was amazing. That it's tough enough for her to shop with two kids and there I was, doing a great job with four.

Kind lady, I am not amazing. I promise you that I'm not even close. Like you, like everyone, I am simply muddling through one day at a time, and hoping the day contains more kiddie cuddles than kiddie tears.
But to take the time to walk up to a stranger, one who might be just about to succumb to stress, and to say 'Well done, you're doing great. Keep it up', well that's pretty amazing in my book.

Thank you.

39 + 2

39 weeks (and two days) pregnant

I have a confession to make.
I have never understood many other pregnant women. Or previously pregnant women.

The ones who come up in the street just to tell me that I'm amazing for 'still' walking everywhere, for 'glowing', for beaming with pride as a waddle-strut with my giant bump in front of me.

The people who say they feel sorry for me in the final weeks. That they'll pray I can 'get it over with' soon. 'You must be miserable'
'I feel so sorry for you'
'Still pregnant? God love you!'

I am a woman who adores pregnancy. It's a fecking miracle. I am growing a whole other human being. We don't know it yet, but they'll already have Daddy's big feet, or my unfortunate ears. They might be stubborn or adventurous, a whizz with numbers or a great listener. That whole person is inside me, right now, getting ready to make their debut.

I am a refuge, a source of life. I get kicked and cuddled from the inside. I  get scolded for choosing an uncomfortable seat with kicks to my ribs. I am so bloody fortunate, and so bloody happy.

People wishing it were over for me already? Weirdos!

Although, I may possibly have been overdoing it a little. Today my body would like me to take a break. And it has pulled out a secret weapon in order to ensure I do so...

Hormones...

Reasons I have cried today:

- My husband hugged me

- Little One peed on my last pair of comfy jeans

- I can't fit my left foot in my flip-flops

- Little Man was walking out the door to go to a birthday party

- I forgot to bring the spade to the playground

- Little Lady remembered to bring the spade to the playground

- I'd really like to go for a run

- I'd really like to go to bed

- When I told Little Lady that I had a headache she whispered that she hopes Baby doesn't have a 'headick' too

- I was trying to tell my husband about all the weird crying

- I lost my temper

- My husband hugged me loads more

- My husband was right and having a shower made me feel better


So, I'm currently lying down. Waiting for the storm to pass.

Ladies of the world, I understand. This isn't a plea for your sympathy, more a request for your forgiveness. I honestly had no idea. You deserve a damn medal. And while I hope that tomorrow I will be back to my sickeningly joyful self, I will remember today, and I will not think you weird for having been through it too.

Still thinking about the children...

I've been fairly certain from the outset about how I'll vote in the upcoming Marriage Referendum.
Put simply, in the absence of a coherent reason to vote No, I had decided to vote Yes.

There is a sustained campaign from the No side to suggest that children will be the innocent victims of a successful Yes vote. Children who will be raised without a mother's love  if gay men are allowed to marry.

There are a couple of immediate issues I can see with this reasoning
- gay men are already 'allowed' to raise children, and the referendum will not change that, no matter the result
- also, are the children of lesbian couples therefore utterly blessed to have TWO of these amazing creatures, mothers, to raise them?

As a mother, I couldn't help thinking about my own children and really tried to see what the harm to them might be if I was not their mother.

I spent the weekend watching my husband with our kids. What is it about him that could make him so deficient he can only parent if I am here to mask his shortcomings?
Certainly, I have him beaten hands down when it comes to giving birth and breastfeeding. But with our soaring Caesarean section rates, and notoriously low breastfeeding rates, can we really say that either natural birth or nourishment are intrinsic to parenting in Irish society? I don't think so. Birth and provision of food do not make a mother, so they are certainly not flaws in a father.

My husband prepares meals for his kids. He reads to them, admires their paintings, puts Factor 50 on every piece of exposed skin.
When they are hurt, they find only tenderness in his muscular, tattooed arms. When they are frightened, he vows to kick the butt of any zombie he sees.
He cheers them on, and punishes them. He coaches football, removes tangles from hair without any tears and paints small fingernails in a dazzling array of colours.

It is simply not his gender that makes him a parent. His personality, his capacity for love, his sheer enjoyment in watching these quirky creatures growing up before our eyes, those are the things that make him 'Daddy'. He is a safe place to run to, a fun person to run with and he is so much more than a Y chromosome.

It is not only mothers who pace floors singing lullabies, who worry beside hospital beds and who deserve respect as parents. Apart from the lactating (and he's really quite stubborn about that) there is literally nothing that I would or could do for our children that he cannot do equally well.

There is no such thing as an ideal family. There are just people, getting on with it, trying to fit in enough cuddles around the working day and figure out where all the clean socks keep disappearing to. Children thrive on love, both observed and received.   When children are wanted, cared for and nurtured, it matters not a jot whether their parents are male or female, only that they are there.

I still have yet to hear a valid reason to vote No.

I will be voting for equal marriage rights, for equal groups of people. I hope that this will result in many happy marriages, in happy, loving families and maybe, just maybe, in a generation more open-minded and tolerant than those who have gone before.

Yes to equality - for the sake of the children

'Y-E-S. Yes!
Yes? Mammy, why does your badge say Yes?'

'Well, you know the way sometimes you have a day off school and help Mammy to vote on important questions? I want everyone to vote Yes on the next important question.'

'Why, what's the question?'

Now, what on earth do I say to that?

My children KNOW gay couples. They know that they are simply two people in love, the same way Mammy and Daddy are in love.

They KNOW that everybody is just as good as everyone else. That it's not kind to treat someone differently because of the colour of their skin, their need for a wheelchair or hearing aid, or the fact that they have a Jedward lunchbox.

How do I explain to them that some adults do not know as much as they do? That some adults are hanging desperately to a notion of superiority,  of worthiness, at the expense of other people's happiness. That joining together and celebrating marriage between any two people in love is merely a first step in allowing ALL couples to hold hands in public, without fear of actual violence.

Aged 6.5 and 5, my kids have not yet learned to fear difference. They see things as simply as many adults can't. Love is love, and that's that.

So do I tell them what the referendum is about? Honestly, I would prefer them to learn about it in their history books. I would like them to come to me in ten years' time and marvel that they were alive at a time when LGBT people were NOT allowed to marry.

WHY should I have to explain to them that some consider gay people to be incapable of marriage, or unworthy of it? Why would I expose them to such unthinking bigotry and tell them that this negativity exists in the world? By exposing them to hatred, do I run the risk of some of it staying with them?

They are too young to be faced with the harsh realities of those who attempt to control the rights of others. Those who think that LGBT people are 'equal, but...'

So please, vote Yes in the marriage referendum. Bring humanity a step forward, take a step to uniting our society. Don't try to convince another generation that society consists of 'them' and 'us'.

We listen to so many people telling us, without supporting evidence, that gay relationships are harmful to children. But can fear, intolerance, hatred be good for anyone? Won't somebody, please, think of my children?

To Our Fourth Child

Dear Popsicle,

You are not a First Child. When I was expecting your big brother, joy abounded from the people I'd meet just going about my day. Spotting the little bump proudly stretching my tight maternity clothes, they would ask if it was my first. When I said yes, those strangers would positively twinkle at me, telling me how much my life was going to change and sharing such 'helpful' advice as "Whatever you do, don't breastfeed", "Make sure you breastfeed", "Keep that baby close, the years are short" and "Show the baby who's boss".
Beaming in return I nodded at all advice, calmly confident that we - and your brother - would work things out as we went along. And thankfully, that seemed to work for us as we became a family of three.

Nor are you a Second Baby, the baby who prompted knowing smiles from all we encountered. "That's a lovely age gap, they'll be the best of friends", "You're going for the girl, are you?" and "Proper order, a fine young man like that needs a little sister to look after". Advice was still forthcoming too, mostly on how to avoid sibling rivalry. The people we met were still on safe territory overall, feeling they could easily understand and have some input.

But, sweetheart, you're not even a Third Baby. The sight of my third big bump was accepted by most as a funny sort of indulgence. Our first kids were getting a little older and clearly I wanted one more 'go' at the teeny baby stage before retiring my ovaries. I was being a little greedy perhaps, but no harm. "Sure the older ones will be able to help now, you'll get on grand".

And now your impending presence is announced every time I walk down the street. On realising that you will be a fourth child, there have really only been two responses from the people who like to think they're in the know.
Option A is that your Daddy and I must be 'gluttons for punishment' with a laugh and a headshake to indicate that the speaker would never be so foolish.
Option B is often from the older generation, where four children was actually a small family. They reassure me that you'll 'slot right in and you'll hardly notice at all'.

What those people don't understand is that you, my love, are not an afterthought or an also-ran. Far from going unnoticed, your arrival is eagerly awaited by older siblings as well as your Daddy and me. Strangers on the street haven't heard the squeals of delight as you move my belly about beneath the hands of Little Man and Little Lady, and I often wonder what Little One thinks of the pummelling you attempt to give him each time he sits in my lap.

I am looking forward to seeing your little face every bit as much as I did with your brothers and sister, and to that particular mixture of smugness and awe on your Daddy's face when he holds you for the first time. I sing your very own 'bump song' to you, the same song I plan to sing while I nurse you to sleep in a few short months. While you kick, and squirm and grow inside me, I can hardly wait to see if you'll be another old soul, or a free spirit - or whether you'll surprise us anew.

Your arrival will be celebrated not by two, but by five people who will form your immediate family, who will each  love you and annoy you (sometimes in equal measure) as you grow.

Sweetheart, you are not our first baby, but you will likely be our last - and you will be cherished.

Love,
Mammy
xxxxx

Making my own sunshine on a rainy day

There are many benefits to cloth nappies, and one day I really must share our experience with them.

But this morning, as i listen to what can only be described as a downpour outside, it occurred to me that I've never seen anyone list 'transformation to eternal optimist' as one of the reasons parents should try cloth.

Don't believe me? Well, here's how we cloth Mammies react to Ireland's changeable weather.

Windy day - Great, that'll dry the nappies quickly!

Wet day - Great, no need to do a final nappy rinse in the washing machine! Rain is amazing for stripping nappies of detergent build-up and making them so, so soft.

Sunny day - Great, that'll bleach out any stains on my lovely nappies!

Hailstones - Great, that'll beat out any stains AND save me a final rinse!

Snow - Great, an excuse to wash the nappies tomorrow, I'm off out for a snowball fight with the kids :)

Ok, that last one works for everyone really, but you take my point I'm sure!

So while we think of some rainy day activities for the kids, I'm going to pop on a nappy wash and put that rain to good use. It's a small victory, but it's mine :)

Top tip - a good outing in a few days of rain will do wonders to soften up those crunchy towels in the back of your hot press too! Go on, give it a try...

Making time for fun

Yesterday, my kids broke my heart. They asked to go to someone's (anyone's!) house to play, as they knew I was busy cooking dinner an washing and taking care of everyone.
And so, because it was Sunday and because Little One was napping in Daddy's arms and because my time will become even more diluted in a few short months, I threw up my hands and said 'I'm not too busy! What are we playing?'

For a while we played motorbikes, but I'm a little too big for the plastic push-along motorbike that I'm pretty sure Little Man is about 4 years too big for as well! Incessant rain put the kibosh on a trampoline bounce, and for a few minutes we debated boardgames. While we chatted, Little Lady absentmindedly twisted the bedknob at the foot of her bed. That's when the fun really started.

We all piled onto the bed, and I told them a little about that wonderful movie; Bedknobs and Broomsticks. Excitedly, they practiced saying 'Treguna Mecoides Trecorum Satis Dee'* a couple of times, and then it was time to give it our best shot.

As we had decided to fly the bed to the North Pole, first we wrapped up well. Always thinking of safety, we made sure everyone had something to hang onto during the flight. Little Lady twisted the bedknob the required quarter turn to the left, Little Man tapped it firmly three times, we all chanted the magic spell and then...

Nothing happened. Not a thing.

Little Man realised the bed couldn't get out with the window closed, so we opened it. Next he suggested that the bed may not actually know that magic spell, so he came up with his own:
'Little Lady loves her bed
And so do I,
We're sitting on it now
And we want to FLY!'

Excitedly, they hung on even tighter for our second attempt.
And our third.
On the fourth try they were certain they felt the bed wiggle.
And it wiggled even more on the fifth.
On the sixth try they thought they heard jingle bells and spied a reindeer out the window.

We sat on that bed for well over an hour, using every piece of magic we could think of - from happy thoughts to pixie dust to sparkly wands. The bed failed to fly, and the laundry failed to get done, but we had a heck of a fun time.

By now, our Sunday dinner was ready and we trooped downstairs to rejuvenate ourselves. The rest of the day passed much like any other Sunday, and we all assumed that was that.

This morning though, Hubby and I were faced with two (rare) sets of the Monday blues. After passing the Doctor Mammy health check, it was clear they both needed to go to school, but I wanted them to be happy about it.

I called them both into the sitting room, and announced that they were In Big Trouble. Two pairs of wide blue eyes gazed back at me. I pointed out the window, at the light dusting of snow on the car and asked them to explain themselves.

Little Lady caught on first. She twinkled her eyes at her big brother and squealed 'We flew the bed to the North Pole while you and Daddy were ASLEEEEEP!'. Little Man shrugged and grinned 'Sorry! We must have brought a snow cloud home with us, it probably got caught on the leg of the bed!'

They assured me that they had put their coats on over their pyjamas and held onto each other tight while flying, then they told me all about their adventure and they things they had seen.

On the walk to school, we watched as the North Pole Cloud made all the other clouds freeze and we danced along in the North Pole Snow.

The laundry may never be finished, my house will never look perfect, but the perfection of those cheeky smiles is priceless.




* I am aware (and here I'm mostly addressing you. Aoife) that this is the subsitutiary locomotion spell and not actually a bed-flying spell, but I took a little poetic licence with the sequence of events in the movie :)

Ode to a Dirty Face

I love that smear of porridge in your eyebrow
From playing peekaboo at breakfast time.

That smudge of blue under your chin
Is a reminder of the beautiful picture you drew, before you walked across it and it tore.

There's glitter in your hair
And if your sister sees it she'll know you were 'reading' her Valentine's cards.

There is a morning's worth of running and climbing caught in the jam around your mouth
And one clean cheek above which your blue eye shines with the mischief that meant we were much too busy to clean the rest.

You look, as always, perfect.

Ancient Egypt, kid style

You just gotta love it when kids put their learning into action. Yep, it is endlessly gratifying to watch them employ newfound knowledge in a game, reinforcing their school- and home work.

Today, for example, Little Man's reader was about a magical trip to Egypt in the time of the pharoahs. The children in the book got to make a model pyramid from a special workbook and then travel back in time to see slaves, pharoahs and the Sphinx for themselves.

Now, time travel is beyond my remit, but I did happen to have a 'Build your own Pyramid' workbook right here for when homework was finished. We talked about what the pyramids were used for, how they were built and even took a quick look at hieroglyphics.

Imagine my pride when they started playing Ancient Egypt this evening.

'What's that you're doing guys?'

'Well, we wanted to make a pyramid, so we killed the pharaoh with a sword and now we can put him in!'

Well, quite. 

Secret second lives

There's something strange going on in our house.

For a while now, Little One has displayed all the balance, strength and co-ordination needed to walk, but still he chooses to crawl. He'll stand up to play football, but as soon as the ball moves out of reach he drops down and crawls briskly to his target. 

Until, that is, darkness falls. Then it's straight up on his feet for some intense walking practice. Three steps - bump! Undeterred, he stands again, six steps - bump! Straight up, five steps - bump! This could go on for half an hour at a time. Worn out by bedtime, he sleeps soundly, but come morning he will deny all knowledge of perambulation. 

All day long we try to encourage steps, but to no avail. Content with his ride-on car and the power of his knees and palms he passes a pleasant day, biding his time until dusk - whereupon he is free to display his true abilities once more. 

After observing this for some time, I have drawn the only natural conclusion. 

Little One is, in fact, a ninja spy. We are obviously just part of his cover story. Cute baby crawling around in Mickey Mouse dungarees? Clearly not a threat. Look how excited he gets when he sees a doggie or a brightly coloured ball - the very picture of innocence. Only under cover of darkness can he reveal his true role - Ninja Baby in training. As soon as he's got the walking perfected, we'll move forward to Wax on, Wax off and Dressing All In Black. 

Now, I just hope this blog entry hasn't blown his cover...