The good, the bad, the ugly; our journey home so far...

For those that know me and know me well, know that when I've gone 'off-the-grid' it can mean one of two things; 

A/ I've won the EuroMillions and have acquired a brand new life and brand new friends

B/ I've gotten the sulks and don't feel like talking to anyone about anything (also known as 'the sh*!s')

For the last 10 days I've had the 'semi-sh*!s', semi because to completely withdraw into myself and not talk to anyone about anything, would be considered completely rude and somewhat improper. But I won't lie, the last 10 days have been hard.

So the good; seeing family and friends again. This is always good, great even. And seeing  Oscar being held and cuddled by his loving immediate and extended family has been an absolute blessing. He's met his Great Granny Rhoda, who defended his honour when told he looked like a little girl. We knew Oscar was/is an amazing little child but for others to bare witness to this too has been magical. Oscar is exactly 4 months old today...who would've thought that we'd be back here. Just goes to show that a lot can happen in 4 short months. 

Another good thing was the flight over as well as the flight down to PE yesterday. I'd been secretly dreading this as I thought that our child might decide to use this moment to turn into his alter ego and be a complete nightmare! So many friends wanted to know how Oscar managed and I'm happy to report he was a star, a rock star. He slept, ate and behaved as he normally does. He even flirted with the Virgin Atlantic cabin crew! We, on the other hand, were over prepared for the flight over. Why I thought we needed 5 bottles, 10 nappies and 3 outfit changes for a 10hr flight, goodness only knows! We were better prepared yesterday for the flight down; 1 bottle, 2 nappies and 1 warm zip-up top were just fine. More baby-wipes were needed though when Oscar decided to urinate up-against the side panel of the insanely small airplane toilet, as he lay (almost doubled over) on the insanely small changing table with a badly designed and dangerous gap between the table and the metal toilet bowl below (future domestic travelling parents - you've been warned!). 

The bad; the weather. It rained for 6 days solid in Johannesburg. And it's rained all day again today. Enough said. Karma's payback for me bragging about the awesome weather we were heading into! This has possibly turned out to be a good thing I suppose as it's given Oscar the opportunity to acclimatise to his new surroundings. For the last 4 months I'm pretty sure he's thought his legs were made out of cotton as he's never really caught more than a 5 second glimpse between changes. 

Living out of a suitcase isn't exactly a picnic either, especially with a baby. Tripping over bags while trying to navigate the early morning feed has been challenging. We no-longer take turns with this, as we would've done in London, as we're all within really close proximity to one another. I don't think Oscar has noticed much change to his normal surroundings, he has Dudley and SleepSheep by his side so all is good in the world. But you can see he is trying to figure out why we look a little fuzzy as he gazes up at us from his cot...mosquito nets take some getting used to. 

The ugly; the stark realisation that we are, in fact, in Africa after all. I miss the internet. No, let me rephrase that, I miss Wi-Fi. Fast Wi-Fi. 

But as my big sister would say; it's time for me to put my big girl knickers, build a bridge and get over it. We're here. And we better make the most of it...when it stops raining of course. 

7 Years and 3 Months

When you're in your early twenties you make questionable choices. I made a few myself, like cutting my hair really short...on a whim...by a barber. And bribing an airport official because I didn't want to pay the overweight charge (for the bag, not for me). 

But at 24yrs I made the most questionable choice of all. I said "for better or worse" knowing full well it would never be until "death do us part". What parted us was total insecurity (me) and a complete libertine (him). While my insecurities were not misplaced, the idea of being a divorcee before my thirtieth was something I was, and never will be, proud of.  

But it led me here, to where I am now. 

Seven years ago, on a sunny winters day, I met the love of my life. Some days stay etched in your memory forever and 09/02/07 is one of those days for me. The bar (Chopper Lump) that we agreed to meet at no longer exists. We went back there a few years later, before we got married and before it closed down, to daydream about going back there in our 50's with our brood. I still remember what I wore on our first date (jeans and a three quarter sleeved red pullover from Warehouse) I still have the necklace I wore as it's been my good-luck charm ever since (an oversized heart locket). 

The first thing I noticed were his eyes (sharp blue) and the way he spoke to the barman (respectfully). He told jokes that were actually funny and he was genuinely interested in what I had to say. I liked him right away. And told him so the next day. 

The guise of I just "wanted us to be good friends" lasted exactly one week when we started making out like a couple of teenagers under the London Eye. And again at Waterloo Station. Good friends don't do things like that!

By our fourth date, with him sitting across from me in his blue Aca Joe polo shirt at The Real Greek, I knew we'd have children together. Obviously I didn't share this revelation with him as that would've killed the mood and/or made him choke on a stuffed vine leaf.  But I knew. He was it. Him telling me he didn't enjoying watching sport sealed the deal. Although he did admit if he were to watch anything sports related it would be a female hockey tournament, a joke that I didn't get until he explained it to me ("twenty two  woman in short skirts running around, what's not to like?"). 

Someone wise once told me that your partner in life should be your best accessory. You should never be embarrassed to be seen out in public with him or her. Your partner in life is the person who brings out the very best in you. Who loves you for you and doesn't try to alter or change you in any way. Your partner in life should remain timeless. They're not  put on this earth to make you happy, but you're happy, nonetheless, just being in their company. And most importantly, you're able to be 100% yourself. If you have a partner in life like this...hold onto them and count yourself blessed. 

Seven years ago today, I had no idea I was about to meet the man who would become my partner in life, but I knew, pretty darn quickly, that he was (still is) infinitely special and unique. It took me a move abroad, a divorce and twenty seven years to find him, but as they say "better late than never". 

As we sat in our London flat this past Friday night, holding our baby boy who is exactly three months old today, surveying the carnage of moving boxes stacked ceiling height, we congratulated ourselves on having made it this far and it honestly feels like this is just the beginning. 

When you become a parent (unfortunately only a parent will understand what I mean by this) you will change the course of your life, turn it upside down and give it a good shake, all for the sake of someone else. A tiny-human who doesn't even measure a foot tall yet and has no-idea what is going on! The only change he may have  noticed is that the 47' TV has gone and left behind a baby 27'. 

You will leave all the friends you have made, a job that you love, the home you have built and start all over again, just so that your child can have a childhood that slightly resembled your own. You will leave your best friend behind, knowing it's okay because she happens to be your sister. And we're bound together forever; oceans and miles are no matter when it comes to the bond between sisters. But it's still painfully hard and heartbreaking. It will always be so. 

When you're a parent you become a lot less shellfish and a lot more selfless. And you never appreciate the sacrifices your parents made for you until you start making them yourself, for the sake of your own child. Who in turn won't appreciate it and will one day hate us both because we ruined his chances of becoming a professional premier league footballer or some other arbitrary reason!  

So here we are; seven years later with a three month old baby boy, with 50 boxes on a boat back to our motherland and two foreigners eagerly awaiting our departure in two and bit weeks so that they can make our old home their new one. 

I wonder what the next seven years will bring...besides a 7yr old boy who wants to pursue his dream of becoming a whatya-ma-call-it. 

The first selfie of us...taken in April 2007

Who would've thought hey...

Post baby hook-up...

I know hook-up means something completely different to people in their twenties, but when you reach your thirties, it just means that you've managed to spend some time in the company of other adults. That aren't related to you.  Or that you're married to. 

The last two days has seen me do a lot of hooking-up! And Oscar makes a terrific little wing-man (again, I know, totally different connotation). 

It started yesterday, hooking-up with all the other Mamma's and their tiny-humans from our Antenatal classes that we attended back in October. I must point out that during our second class the Midwife leading our session asked "Before we get started, could someone volunteer to arrange a get together once these sessions come to an end? It's really nice to stay in contact with one another".

The silence was deafening. Somewhere in the background I'm sure I heard a lonely cricket. 

Not one person raised their hand. For an agonizing 6 seconds. 

I have a strict 6 second policy, it works with food that lands on the floor, to getting back to my car before the parking expires. It also applies to volunteering for stuff. 

So I raised my hand. I should mention that Ryan was parking the car at the time and oblivious to the fact that we'd been self-nominated to become President and First Lady of the Antenatal Social Committee. I should also mention that the last good party I arranged was in fact our wedding, two years previously and that took me almost a year to plan. So the odds that I'd get this group of 20 people back in a room before our kids turned one, were slim to none. I did try arranging something, but I didn't try very hard. In my defense I managed to keep us all connected via email. 

So yesterday saw us all head down to a little pub on the river in Kingston. Great location and with (cheap) parking nearby which was super handy (it meant I could escape a lot faster two hours later). I have very few really good friends that I can be completely myself with. I prefer it this way. Because I don't do small talk. Or chit-chat. Or falsity. I'm honest. I'm blunt. So when I was quizzed on how I got Oscar to take to a dummy, I was honest. My reply of "I just stuck it in his mouth and he sucked it?" was met with disbelieving smiles and one audible gasp. 

When asked how many hours he sleeps at night? Again, I was honest "between 4 or 5 and that's usually in the early or late evening".

While others were exchanging their horrific (and I mean HORRIFIC) childbirth stories, I went to the bar and ordered myself a tea because I didn't want to be asked. Because I know I'd be lynch-mobbed if I told the truth. That I actually got through it very well indeed, it far exceeded my expectations and it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Even peeing for the first time was like something out of a fairytale book.  

It was at this point that I felt this was becoming a little bit of a competition. And I'm not the competitive type. My little wing-man felt the same. It was at this point that he checked out and wanted to be put back in his stroller.

If one person had shared that being a new parent had made them go a little mad from the hormonal changes and that they'd been running on adrenaline for the first two weeks. That becoming a new parent can kick your rock solid relationship in the nuts because you're sleep deprived and still getting to grips with your new normality. That sometimes you stare at your little newborn baby and wonder what on earth you did right to create such a perfect little version that's one part you and one part the love of your life. Who at times you want to strangle because the first year of parenting is the toughest. If one person had shared that, I might've stayed for another cup of tea. 

And perhaps, maybe they did or maybe they would've, but one thing I have learned in the 5 minutes I've been doing this gig as a new parent is that time is precious. And to take a page from the book of a very close friend, "you've got to keep your shit real". There isn't a lot of time in the day and I want to make sure it's filled with being honest and blunt and keeping my shit real. 

And I'm working on being nicer as the love of my life says I should as I'm a bit of a bitch when I'm sleep deprived and hormonal. 

Then today saw us head back into the city and into the office one last time, for one final hook-up,  because I won't be returning to work after my 9 months of maternity leave. I will work. Obviously. We need to eat. And dress. But I won't be going back to my office. The decision wasn't made lightly. I cried for joy when I was offered my job 2yrs and 5months ago (thanks LinkedIn) because it had been the company that I'd longed to work for, for years. I'd tried, and failed, to secure a role when I first arrived in the UK. My sister works there, as does my cousin and numerous friends. I'd made some amazing new friends, some of whom will be in my life forever. I loved my job, the challenges and the changes I saw in some of the people I was responsible for, gave me a sense of purpose. It fulfilled me. 

And now there is Oscar. 

My sense of purpose is different. I'm fulfilled in a very different way. And the only changes I long to see are the ones happening on a daily basis with our son, who I swear, grows overnight. 

So with a heavy heart, I said goodbye to some really good, talented, spirited people today. But in my heart I know it's the right thing. I'm finally at peace with the decision Ryan and I made for the sake of our little family of three. 

It's time to move on. 

PS - talking about hook-ups; turns out our baby boy already has a type! Oscar could not take his eyes off of a certain attractive, bubbly Ozzy, with mile long legs and blonde hair to match. He was passing sideway glances and acting all coy (just like his father) ...someone is going to need a wing-man of his own...in about 21yrs!

Oscar with his Aunty Carol

It was a stunning day in London today...took a walk from Blackfriers to Fenchurch Street one last time

Project Night Owl...

Adams Mansbach wrote a classic book and in my opinion every parent should read. I won't tell you the title as that'll give the game away but trust me, get yourself a copy. My sister gave this to me long before I even fell pregnant. I think she had some weird premonition or something. 

Because when you're sleep deprived, considering having a glass of wine for breakfast and wondering why a 2 month old can't tell the difference between day (that's when the sun shines) and night (that's when it doesn't) you'll try ANYTHING. I even considered, very seriously, taking mine back to the hospital and asking if I could exchange my little night owl for one that knew that darkness = bedtime. 

Our little boy is actually pretty predictable. We're able to decode his little signs that he's wavering to sleep; he has a different cry, he throws his arms 'n legs around like a bad '80's pop break-dancer, he becomes deadly serious refusing to crack a smile and the dead giveaway - he'll rub his eyes. 

We're still very new at this parenting gig but for the last three nights we've worked to the same structure and so far so good. A couple of you have asked how we've done this and I thought it best to share it here; 

1. We worked backwards with time; i.e. how much sleep do WE need in order to function the next day and we agreed between 5-6 hours would be good. Which means that Oscar should have his last feed between 23:00 - 24:00 and because we want him to be full we'd give him a max of 180ml formula for his age (I should mention that I'm not breast feeding entirely). 

2. We block his feeds in hours; during a normal 24hr day we worked at between 3-4 hour intervals and gave us an hour block to do these in so that we're not rigidly clock watching, so 23:00 - 24:00, 19:00 - 20:00, 16:00 - 17:00, 13:00 - 14:00, 09:00 - 10:00, 05:00 - 06:00. 

3. We alternate the size of his feeds; the main feeds (breakfast, lunch and dinner) are bigger at 180ml and the feeds in between are smaller at 150ml. 

4. We set the scene; his last two feeds are done in his room, which is dimly light and with no distractions or noise (TV off, mobile phone and iPad out the room). 

5. We have a structure/routine; we started doing this in the very early days. Oscar will eat, then rest for around 10min giving his milk a chance to settle, then he has a nappy change. He also has a bath every second day (it's freezing here!) so that's done during the same block of time (16:00 - 17:00) when it's bath day. And his top 'n tail done daily in the 09:00 - 10:00 block. He also sleeps in his crib for his long morning naps and at nighttime.  

So the trick to starting this new routine and getting it to work was to start with the last feed of the day. This meant that with Oscar, who usually had his last big feed at 22:30, he'd need to wait until 24:00. That's like trying to tell a starving squirrel you're out of nuts. I waited until this designated time slot and then gave him enough milk to keep him quiet and then tricked him into thinking he was full - this involved keeping him awake or as awake as possible until 24:00 or there about without him squawking like a de-feathered chicken. I read to him, danced with him, sang to him and eventually after his 60ml feed he fell asleep for about 40min and woke just before midnight. 

Getting Oscar to actually fall asleep is a task in itself. I think I'd have more success mastering the art of fencing in a shorter time frame! Once every single need has been met and there is nothing more to be done, he's cuddled for a bit and then put in his crib. He has a little white noise maker called a Sleep Sheep that goes on and I use different settings for different times of the day (ocean for night and birds/forest for day). He also has a bouncer which he loves that vibrates and it's only ever on vibrate when we want him to sleep. I'm able to rock this gently until he fades away. He's a sociable baby, he likes being around people and will fall asleep just about anywhere, the trick is not to be too rigid about this.  

I knew, long before Oscar was born, having watched friends and learning from others, that I'd not rock my child to sleep or let anyone else do the same. Because kids are little buggers. They will want you to do this till the end of time once they get used to it. There is nothing wrong with rocking them until they've calmed down and are just about to nod off but not until they're in a deep sleep even an earthquake wouldn't wake them! 

There is no right or wrong way. No quick-fix or one-size-fits all solution. And I know just as soon as we think we've got this nailed down, he's going to pull the ol' switch-a-roo and blindside us. I'm not naive. But as long as your child sees the back of his/her eyelids for an extended period of time during the day. He/she is happy. Content. Eats and poops.  Then consider that a success!

I can also highly recommend a book called Baby Sense (thanks Penny!) and Baby Talk by Dr. Sally Ward both have proved invaluable to us. But first get yourself a copy of Adam Mansbach's book because when all is said and done you need to make sure you maintain your sense of humour.  Or else your tiny-human will break you. They smell milk AND fear in equal measures. 

Good Luck.

Multi-tasking as I blog

The calm before the storm 

Two months and a day...

Dear Oscar, 

As I fell into bed at 23:45 last night I realised I'd not cemented your two month milestone onto our blog! Daddy and I congratulated each other, of course, we've managed to get through these past two months unscathed. 

You've grown so much in two months both in body and spirit. You're starting to develop a little personality of your very own. We've become accustom to your cries and can translate, almost fluently, what each one means. 

You love being around people. You choose to study faces rather than the selection of weird 'n whacky Lamaze toys that I find totally fascinating. 

Much to our joy you are fond of Dudley, your stuffed rabbit. And Daddy loves telling the story about how you gave Dudley a big gummy grin when he put you to bed a few nights ago. We're fascinated that you recognized him! 

You had a bath last night, the first time that not one tear was shed. Not one. You seem to love being in the water and floating on your back (with Mama's support of course) and give little approving kicks. I can't wait until you learn how to splash and blow bubbles. 

You're what people call "an easy baby" and we know were blessed. You sleep like a dream; 3hr stretches during the day and between 4/5hrs at night. You prefer to fall asleep on your own but with company in the room (I'm typing this as you drift off for your morning nap). And I'm not entirely sure how you do it but you manage to sleep right through Daddy's snoring (you'll have to share your secret with me as to how you do that one day). 

We've decided to take you back to South Africa so that you can grow in the sunshine and play with your cousins. We're not sure if this move will be permanent. For the time being it's until November and then we'll cross that bridge and see where it takes us. The sun is pouring through the windows of our bedroom and I'm sad that in 48 days we'll be saying goodbye to the only home you've known. For me it's the place that I've stayed in the longest since I was 19 so the thought of leaving all the fond memories behind leaves a big lump in my throat. But we're a family now and it doesn't matter where we end up as long as it's together.  

You're exactly 62 days old or 1,488 hrs or 89,285 min. Roughly translated; it's been the best time of our lives. 

We love you. Always. And greatly, Mama xoxo

I'm 62 days old today - taken this morning 

Growing everyday

With Dudley watching over Oscar

As one door closes...

I've never been a big fan of New Years Eve. Or big into New Years Resolutions. The combination of drinking and goal setting into the wee hours just seems like a really bad idea. Mastering Tae Kwon Do, learning Mandarin and navigating the Cape to Cairo route...on a bike all seem like fabulous ideas when your liver is digesting a vat of red wine.
 

I do have very fond memories of various New Years Eve parties growing up (Barney's at Gold Reef City, Greensleeves and Bazley Beach) and I'll never forget my first with Ryan. And his cousin Wayne. I think there comes a point in your life when the end of years start bluring into one another and this usually ties in when it's no longer a mystery who you'll be kissing as the clock strikes twelve.  

But I think New Years Eve celebrations from here on in are going to be a little bit different.

The year twenty thirteen has been a magical year for me. It brought with it some incredible changes. Obviously the highlight of this year was the birth of our little boy. No doubt about it. I remember saying to someone in early 2012, before Ryan and I decided to start family, that I didn't want to have a baby in the year 2013 because it has 13 in it (I'm not superstitious, I just like round numbers) not only was our little one born this year but he has the most unique birthday imaginable! I healed a lot this year too, after carrying enough excess baggage that would've made a Kardashian look as if they were traveling light. This was a really important to me, to leave some things behind before I embarked on my journey as a parent. Although if the baggage had been matching Louis Vuitton I may have held onto it a little while longer. 

One of the most significant changes in my life this year was the fact that Ryan had the most significant change in his; leaving the company he'd been with for a decade and which also spanned our entire relationship. Talk about a white knuckle moment for a hormonal pregnant woman! 

The year twenty fourteen now beckons. I knew, before Oscar made his appearance, that it's going to be THE year of change. I didn't realise that I'd have an epiphany hours after giving birth though. It might've been the combination of pain medication, adrenaline and pure euphoria but as I looked at my first born shortly after 15:30 on the 09/11/13 I knew that I wanted to change my life entirely so it revolved around the little bundle wrapped in my arms. And the only way to do that is to pursue the things that bring out the best in me. So next year will see me do just that, that's what maternity leave is intended for anyway.

I don't know exactly what next year will bring. I do know that it will be one of significant change. We have two very important ingredients to make it so; time, we have the time to pursue the things we are passionate about. Ryan and I are also very fortunate that we have the time, most importantly, to spend with Oscar, something we're already so grateful for. The other is each other; I know that there is no other person on the planet that I'd rather have by my side next year and the year after that...and the year after that...and, well, you get the idea. Next year sees us celebrate seven years together and if I think about what we've achieved as a couple and as individuals in that time, I'm genuinely proud. And incredibly excited to see what will happen next. 

Next year sees my Granny celebrate her 90th birthday. A decade shy of a century. Our only living grandparent, who this year made it her mission to keep up to date with my blog. My Granny, Rhoda,  raised three boys, so it will be her that I turn to next year for advice on how to raise my little man...or how not to when I hear some of the horror stories of what the three of them got up to growing up! One thing my Granny taught me, silently, is not to hold onto regret, to say what you feel because you might not get a chance to say it at all. 

If I think about my life and hopefully I have inherited some of my Grannies genes that will allow me to see my 90th birthday too, then I'm only just over 1/3 of the way done. There is still a lot of life to live. And now we have a little person to get started on his own journey into the big wide world. How exciting is that?

So if you're reading this and it's still New Years Eve (or even if it's not) don't think about what your goals are for next year or who you'll kiss at midnight (if you have a significant other it better be that person rather than some random stranger) or how the next 365 days will unfold. 

Live each day as if it's January 1st and you're only 1/3 done; with new promise, rejuvenation and very little excess baggage. 

So far, so good...

So we're exactly a month into our new roles as Oscars parents and what a month it has been! If he were old enough to critique our parental skills it would be around this time that we'd have a review. Or get him to complete a little survey and score our capabilities! Some of the questions could be "how would you rate your parents nappy changing skills?" or "on a scale of 1 to 5 would you say your baby needs are being met?" or "which milk source do you prefer, mommy-cow or formula-cow?".

Here are a few things that I've learnt so far;

It can take hours (sometimes an entire day) to get ready

One thing Ryan and I agreed on was making sure each other was able to have a shower and get dressed in the morning. I consider it an achievement if I'm able to have a shower before noon. I consider it a complete and utter miracle if I'm able to have a shower, wash my hair, get dressed and have breakfast. And it takes divine intervention for me to have a shower, wash my hair, straighten my hair, put on make-up, get dressed and have breakfast in under an hour. I know this because it has only happened once (yes, just once) in the last 30 days.

Babies don't come with a manual

You get more instructions with flat pack furniture from Ikea than you do with a tiny-human. In the early days (pre-hospital departure) I kept on asking the midwives how much should my tiny-human poop or eat or wee in a 24hr period. I know they told me the answer but even now I can't remember what it was. I just know that our tiny-human is alive and poops, eats and wees just fine. All the other stuff, Google seems able to solve just fine.

Having a child is the same as having a dog (according to my sister!)

Just yesterday, having lunch we overheard the couple next to us call their little boy Oscar...and obviously we had to engage in conversation. This happens ALL the time. Having a baby has made me a little more sociable with child-rearing strangers. This is apparently what dog owners do while walking them, which is where Kerry has drawn the comparison. I'm not convinced. But someone needs to create a website called www.compareachild.com. Oh wait they have...it's called Mumsnet.

It's possible to forget your child's name

I shouldn't really tell this story, but I will. On the bus recently, I struck up a conversation with a child-rearing stranger who told me his little girl was called Isla, "what's your little boys name?" he asked me. I looked at him blankly for a split second longer than I should've before saying "oh his name is Har...Oscar". Hopefully this won't happen often and should serve as a warning to parents-to-be; have a short list, not a long short list of potential names for your tiny-human. (Harry was on our long short list)

Mothers know best...even mine!

My second night in hospital left Oscar and I completely exhausted. I broke the first rule and cuddled him in bed with me and the two of us fell fast asleep. My alarm went off at the designated time for his feed and rather than wake my sleeping baby I thought it was best for him to carry on sleeping. Mother knows best. The next morning I was greeted by a midwife who didn't take to lightly that there was a tiny-human sleeping in my bed and even less so that it had been four hours since his last feed "tiny-humans need feeding every three to four hours as they'll get jaundice if they don't" came her stern warning. When my Mom arrived two days later she rubbished the advice given by the midwife and told me "Oscar will cry when he's hungry, that's when you need to feed him and ALL babies get jaundice.". So we stopped watching the clock and just make sure Oscar doesn't sleep for longer than five hours at a time.

Being on maternity leave has sparked my inner inventor

They say that your brain switches gear when you're away from your normal day-to-day role. Woman on maternity leave are more creative, inventive etc. And this is true! So far I have had an idea for a best-selling book, a new type of maternity bra and thought of very creative meals to create from left overs. It's the ideas I have during the 4am feed  that are a little worrying though. It's usually around this time that my ideas take on a life of their own. Like the idea I had for keeping Oscars pacifier firmly in his mouth - surely duct-tape would do the trick? Placed directly under his nose obviously.

We actually have a son

I know this shouldn't really come as a surprise. I did carry him for nine months after all. But it wasn't until a short time ago when I walked into our GP's surgery to register Oscar that the words passed my lips; I have a son. I have a son who needs to be registered with the GP. I climbed back into the car, with my son in the back seat and turned to his father, "We have a son. Not just a baby boy, an actual son.".

Wow.

The small stuff remains just that...small

There is that age old saying about not sweating the small stuff. My friend Carol practically beat this into me during my pregnancy as I would get so annoyed, irritated and just fed-up about really small things. It all seemed really big to me at the time. But Carol is a Mom and her baby Kyle is 25yrs old so she knows what's she talking about. And in the moments that I have been on my own with Oscar I have drowned myself in just taking him all in. There is no mountain too high, or river too long or dragon too scary that I wouldn't climb, swim or slay for our little boy. Everything else is small in comparison.

I'm one of THOSE mothers

The mothers that used to annoy the crap out of me with the constant noise about how amazing/brilliant/life-changing it all is.  The ones who overshare everything about their offspring. Who post thousands of pictures and updates. Who think they're the only one on the planet that has created a tiny-human. One thing I will never be is one of THOSE mothers who refers to my child as DS (translation = darling son). A DS are two letters that usually come after the word Nintendo. And I hopefully won't be using that word for a very long time.

Groundhog Day

Remember that movie where the guy wakes up to the same radio tune, in the same bed, wearing the same clothes and has exactly the same day that he had the day before? Well welcome to the life as a new mother! The only thing that changes is Oscar. He gets a little heavier. He gets a little more illuminated. He starts to come into his own. Life is predictable. And I like it. The day absolutely flies by. It's a whirlwind of feeds, extractions, changes, steaming, crying, winding and napping. As we approach midnight and pumpkin-hour; we hit reboot and get to do it all again the next day. But hopefully I'm wearing different clothes!

I've learnt a lot. More than I thought I would in this amount of time. I've also learnt about unconditional love. The love I have for our little baby boy is a love I've not known before. It's an unselfish, drop-what-you're-doing type of love.

But let's face it...Oscar is an easy child to love unselfishly.