Category Archives: Parenting

Six Weeks Too Short

I have been spending a lot of time with my dad lately. I mean, it’s kind of hard not to, what with him being the financial advisor for our company, and our moving house to right around the corner from him last year.

Aside from that, he had a knee replacement operation almost six weeks ago and part of his recovery is to get out for short walks. Guess what the distance is from his house to mine? That’s right, a short walk. So we’ve been having a lot of lunches and chats.

Yesterday, we were talking about his upcoming six-week check up this coming Friday and how he mistakenly assumed he’d be miles more along in his recovery by now. In the lead up to the operation, all of the medical staff he was dealing with kept mentioning this magical ‘six weeks recovery’ that he took on board very literally. He thought he’d be dancing around with his brand new knee by now, back driving, cycling etc. But the truth is, that notion could be quite another few weeks away. In fact, he got himself online and read a few forums where other people said it took them six months to a year before experiencing complete recovery and that seemed more realistic to him (I told him he should start a blog for his peers – ‘Tommy’s Knees Up’ anyone?!).

I think this realisation is probably the same for anyone who has just had a new baby. Everyone talks about this ‘six weeks’ mark after giving birth, that you’re suddenly supposed to feel ‘right’ by then, you’re physically recovered, you can get back to exercise, you have bonded with your baby and incorporated them into your daily lives at this point.

And I think that’s bollox. Eva is now a year old, and I am just getting back to normal. I am only this week back down to pre-baby weight (not necessarily pre-baby body, am signed up to some pilates classes for that!), I am just getting to put the baby car seat away and the formula away and moving on a bit to the next phase of her life where she progresses to a little wobbler. I feel like I am starting to open my eyes a bit and take stock of the craziness of the past year so that I can figure out where we are at. The house is upside down, my wardrobe and car and bags and office and computer and photo files are upside down, I haven’t seen enough of the girls or had much of a social life and I certainly haven’t had much time to myself to exercise or recharge. So I’m looking forward to getting on top of all of that, while enjoying the next stages that the kids are at. I’m looking forward to getting a little bit back to being me.

So if you’ve just had a baby and you’re busy wondering when you’re supposed to feel ‘normal’ again, don’t rush it. Give yourself a year, please do, a full year. Take more time if you want. Take all the time you please. But six weeks after giving birth? No way, it’s not nearly long enough x

Prosecc-Oh No You Didn’t!

If you’re a parent and you’ve never seen the movie The Slipper And The Rose, I suggest you find a way to schedule it into your telly watching this week. Based on the story of Cinderella, it is a fabulous UK musical version starring our very own Gemma Craven and the ridiculously handsome Richard Chamberlain. Although I haven’t watched it for years, I am constantly reminded of it these days, in particular the really very funny Fairy God Mother, who was played by Annette Crosbie.

You see, Fairy Godmother could make all of Cinderalla’s dreams come true; she could magic her from slave labourer to a credible princess in a few clicks of the finger. When Cinderella was too exhausted to go on, she could whip up a cooked dinner for fifty of the Wicked Step Mother’s closest friends with a blink of an eye. But try to boil the kettle for a cup of tea for herself when everyone had left for the ball? Disaster. Magic a new frock that she might wear herself? You must be joking.

I think being a mammy is like that sometimes. We can get everyone up, dressed and fed, lunches made, schedule doctors visits, organize play dates, family holidays and get-togethers, and more or less succeed in serving everyone else’s needs. But try and make it on time for a nail appointment? Fail. Try to look unlike a harried mother with Rusk chunks embedded on her sleeves when bumping into an ex-boyfriend? Fail. Try to do absolutely anything that could be construed as ‘Private’, ‘free’ or ‘Me’ Time? Fail, fail, fail.

Ass Monkey and I had a bottle of Prosecco in the fridge for about two months. Actually, that’s not entirely true. It did leave the fridge on occasion, under the promise that we might open and drink it. And as we were interrupted by children/visitors/falling asleep into our dinner, it has always ended up back on the shelf. I have audibly apologized to the bottle on more than one occasion. ‘I promise I will drink you’, I’d say, sadly, as I slowly closed the refrigerator door.

On Friday night last, we thought we had it sussed. Both kids were unusually knackered by 6pm, so we bathed them and got them into bed by 7.30pm – about an hour earlier than normal. Marvelous! Abandoning all notions of ironing (me) or cleaning up after dinner (him), we grabbed the essentials: a movie, popcorn, cheese and crackers, a selection box (yes, we still have one or two and they’re not going to eat themselves) and the abandoned bottle of Prosecco. ‘It’s your lucky day!’ I exclaimed, reefing it by the next from the fridge. (It’s cool, Prosecco likes it rough).

We were having a great ole time, and of course I was feeling giddy after one glass because I hardly ever get to drink and I’m exhausted all the time (= light weight). Ass Monkey had just refilled our glasses with the last of the bottle when we heard a thud from upstairs. And then major wailing from Jacob, the kind where you think something really bad has happened. You know, like that there might be blood.

I jumped up with such a fright from the couch that I knocked the two glasses of Prosecco off the coffee table and over onto the rug below. Traumatised, I kept going upstairs and found Jacob bawling uncontrollably in our bed, hands in his mouth, and that continued for an hour. He was also kind enough to wake his baby sister, who was then also awake for an hour. Also bawling.

About half an hour into the carnage, I could hear Ass Monkey pottering around, switching off lights and locking up doors. I mean, who did we think we were, enjoying ourselves?

Kids: 1 Fairy Godmother: 0

This originally appeared on the HerFamily website. See other articles I have written for HerFamily.ie HERE!

Surviving The Night Terrors

Jacob had night terrors pretty consistently for about a year and a half – it started when he was maybe one-and-a-half to when he’d just turned three. If your kid has never experienced one, first of all, I hate your luck (!), but here’s what it means: You hear your kid crying 1-3 hours after they go to sleep, you go into their room to see if they need a drink or a wee, they start screaming in a possessed-like state and that carries on for anything from ten minutes to two hours. Screaming. Non-stop. Hitting you, lashing out, non-stop, while you wonder if everyone in your area has contemplated calling child services.

I read a lot about night terrors when we realised what we were dealing with and most articles said to sit somewhere nearby to make sure he wasn’t hurting himself, don’t wake him up and ride it out; that he’d grow out of it. So we did that, for a year and a half. We were absolutely shattered but without any real practical advice from anyone, we just sort of accepted it as our reality.

When Eva came along, the terrors got worse. I would just get Eva to sleep, and, hoping to catch some Z’s myself, Jacob would almost immediately kick off. He wouldn’t let Ass Monkey in the room with him at all when he was having an episode, I was the only one who he would scream the LEAST amount around. He was still screaming of course, just not as badly. Then his screams would wake Eva, she’d start crying agin, then I’d have to feed her, then because I hadn’t slept for fucking ages my breastfeeding was suffering and my brain was suffering and…we were all suffering.

Jacob’s night terrors stopped on account of one, all or none of these things happening (who can really say, they just stopped all of a sudden):

We contacted a €300 sleep therapist.
I started crushing half a tablet of camomile into his milk before bed.
My friend said a prayer to her deceased mammy for me.
We cut out his day time nap.
We re-instated his day time nap, but only for half an hour.
We started giving him milk and cookies before bedtime (he used to only want juice, a big dirty habit we’d gotten him into).
I moved Eva and her moses basket into our room with Daddy, because being awake for five hours on the trot with my two kids while he snored was not part of my life plan.
Did I mention the sleep therapist? Don’t worry, we didn’t pay the money in the end. But just like bringing a car with a ‘funny noise’ to the garage that disappears as soon as you get there, Jacob stopped having terrors THE DAY AFTER I sent my enquiry email.

Anyway, I came across THIS ARTICLE ON NIGHT TERRORS today from Lucie’s List, and I wish I’d seen it last year when we were in the thick of it. I haven’t tried the product, I haven’t a clue how it works, or if it works, but if you are dealing with a toddler who turns in to the Exorcist at 10pm every night like ours did, then I’m sure you’ll try anything too. Good luck!

‘I’ll Threeeam and Threeam Until I Get Thick…’

Jacob has a lisp. A tiny one. It’s cute. And his pronunciation is a bit off on certain words. He replaces the letter ‘C’ with ‘T’, and so we send him into each other asking if we’d like a ‘Tup Of Toffee’ on occasion, just for our own personal amusement. I know, we’re assholes ;o)

We don’t make a big deal of it to him, try to correct him or make fun of it. We’ve just decided to let him get on with it, knowing that he’s only three-and-a-half and that it will most likely straighten itself out. And in the interim, I have him on the speech therapy list, you know, just to be sure, to be sure.

But I’ve had to ask several other people to stop going on about it – adults, who also think it’s cute and mean well, and who imitate the very mistakes or mispronunciations he’s making – right in front of him. ‘Oh, he was so cute!’ they’ll exclaim, as he and I look on, shrugging at each other. ‘He asked me if I got a new TAR! He meant CAR, of course, but I had no idea what he was talking about! Tee hee!’

When I ask them to maybe not make fun of him while he’s listening in, in case he thinks there’s something wrong with him, they protest that they wouldn’t dream of making fun of him and honestly just thought it was cute. And I believe them, because if I thought they were genuinely making fun of him, there wouldn’t just be a calm conversation about it, if you know what I mean…

I wondered this week if I was being particularly over-sensitive about the issue, but then I realized that nobody in their right mind would slag off an adult’s lisp or speech impediment, as it would be the height of social rudeness. Like, you’d never roar at your mate down the pub, ‘What did you say you wanted? A Bacardi BREEEETHER??! Oh my god, you’re so cute!’. You’d get decked, right?!

So why is it ok when it’s a kid, because they’re little? Well, what if it does affect them just the same way as it would an adult and hurts their little feelings? And sorry (not sorry), but with my cute kid? Not on my Mammy Watch.

Here are a few other things that we say to kids willy-nilly (love that expression!), but would never in a million years say to adults (a few of them are from you troopers on the Facebook page so thanks!). If you can think of any more, send them on and join us on Our Facebook Page for more!! ;o)

Look at that big belly on you. Where did you get that big tub?!
Have you done your poo-poos?
What do they have you wearing today? Have you no decent clothes?
You have to get that hair cut.
Did you wipe your bum? Properly, though?
You are not listening to me and you have to do what I say…just ‘coz.
Did you put clean pants on this morning? Show them to me.
Have you brushed your teeth? Let me smell your breath. Oh you did, well done. Right then, bed.
I can see your buuuuuum!
You smell bad, your hair is like a bag of chips. Go shower.

Don’t Put My Kid In A Box ;o)

***This Post Originally Appeared On HerFamily.ie. Catch ‘A Model Vagina’ HERE!**

A Model Vagina

We moved house last year and haven’t had great luck with finding a new family GP. The first one we tried out was a bit silly – the doctor for my antenatal care, plus those first couple of new baby visits was located up not one, but two very narrow flights of stairs. Whatever about dragging my heavily pregnant and dementedly overdue ass up there, expecting a new mum to haul her broken lady bits AND the baby in the wretched car seat (what is the situation with them being made of lead?) is criminal.

Then, of course, there was the time they charged me €90 for a fifteen-minute visit with Eva because I also asked them to sneak a peek at a rash on the back of Jacob’s knee. The reluctant toddler probably let them take a look at it for all of a second – ok, maybe two seconds, but did it warrant charging this new mother an extra €45? It did in its hoop.

So we moved to GP Number Two and I had it on good advice that this one was very family-friendly, had an open door, no-appointment-necessary policy and that they used their discretionary fee-charging powers with caution. I said ‘Brava! Sign us up’.

Our first visit was for one of Eva’s vaccinations. It went fine; I asked the nice lady doctor if she would check Eva’s chest while we were there as she’d had a constant cough, and she obliged. We left reassured that nothing sinister was at work.

Our second visit was for Eva’s next vaccination. Again, all fine, and when I brought up the cough (which was still lingering months later), I had a prescription for a baby-adapted inhaler somewhat flung at me. Mmmm…sure I let it go. Maybe she was stressed, maybe someone puked directly onto her shoes that morning just as she was leaving the house, you know?

I had one final question for Lady Doctor, since I was there and all, so I chucked it in.

‘And one last thing’ I ventured.

‘Did you want to have a consultation?’ Lady Doctor snapped.

‘I, er…what?’

‘I mean, I am happy to do Eva’s vaccinations and everything, but if you need a consultation, I will book you in.’

Now, I don’t know about you, but if I’m about to have a confrontation with someone who is in a position of ‘higher authority’ or ‘greater status’ than I, I like to try to look the part. I like to look like I can match them, that I can whip out some jargon from my legal studies diploma or my years in customer service and deliver it with force and a full face of make up. Unfortunately, on THIS day, I was wearing ‘that’ tracksuit (you know the one), hadn’t a scrap of make up on and hadn’t slept in…what is it now, oh yeah, three years.

Anyway, you get it. She was in head-to-toe professional garb and was giving me grief, and I looked like an extra from Shameless. But on this day, I dunno, I wasn’t really having it.

‘Oh I’m sorry’ I responded. ‘I actually just had a question but did you want me to pay you in advance for it?’ (I know, eek!)

Strangely enough, Doctor Lady was taken aback enough to backtrack a bit, and started mumbling and stuttering that I should go ahead and ask her that question.

No, no, I protested, getting my fleece on (it goes perfect with the tracksuit and is has the added benefit of being baby-stain-removal-friendly), I’d go back out to reception and make an appointment and schedule my question in.

No, no, no, she insisted, go on.

‘I was just going to ask your advice on the Mirena coil?’ I shrugged. ‘But it’s grand, another time’.

I was halfway out the open door, car seat on one dead arm, wailing just-vaccinated-baby in it, trying to keep my dignity whilst noticing that my tracksuit bottoms had what looked like a piece of encrusted Rusk stuck to the hem.

‘The coil!’ she trilled, ‘of course, no problem’. And, as if by magic, she whipped out a cardboard cutout vagina and started spewing out all sorts of information on how the coil is inserted etc. I couldn’t tell you a word of what she said, because I was genuinely trying to suppress my giggles.

I would nearly have changed doc a third time, but for that panicked cardboard-cutout-vagina display alone….I totally forgive her. What a comeback ;o)

***This article first appeared on the HerFamily.ie Website***

***Going on hols this year? Bringing the kids? ARE YOU SURE? Read THIS first!!***

Your Kids Are In Our Book Trailer!

Thanks so much to everyone who submitted a video of their gorgeous kids for the book trailer of ‘I Forgot To Take My Pill!‘. Here it is!! xxx

The Real (Beautiful) Face Of Gay Parents In Ireland

I lost a few Facebook friends yesterday… I asked that anyone who was voting No in the upcoming referendum remove themselves from being ‘friends’ with me, and some of them did. And it has really bothered me, in the sense that I wonder how the actual fuck my gay friends and family can LIVE here, where such ill-will towards them and their equal rights are concerned. I felt bet down, abused, teetering on the edge of giving up shouting about it, and fighting for it.

And then Sinead McCrone sent me this video today. She and I were pregnant at the same time and had the exact same due date. We regularly get the girls together for baby play dates and we adore seeing them together.

So I am back in the ring. Vote For Equality. Vote Yes on May 22nd x

When Is A Holiday Really A Holiday (When You Have Kids)?

We’ve just experienced our first ‘Easter Holidays’. As in, this year we have a kid in a pre-school that closes the doors for two full weeks so we can all stuff ourselves with chocolate or whatever.

Up until now, we worked while Jacob was in the crèche and didn’t have to think about filling midweeks with entertaining activities, play dates, dinners and excitement for a little person. We never ever thought about having to take time off work because there were no ‘school holidays’. But now he’s growing up, we have the normal school year schedule to adhere to. And not only that, this year Jacob has a baby sister to cater for as well.

‘What will I do with them though?’ I wailed to Ass Monkey, on receipt of the school calendar. ‘Two weeks is, like, forever’.

‘Sure wouldn’t they be delighted to hang out with you. You could get out for walks together every day and catch up on all those fiddly bits around the house you haven’t finished yet…’ he trailed off.

‘That I haven’t finished yet?’ says I. ‘Like the hole in the kitchen where a press door should be, the hole that’s been there for an entire year?’

He stared at me. I stared back. Nobody moved an inch.

‘Maybe we could go away?’ he offered, nervously.

Excellent comeback. Ass Monkey survived another day.

We took a long weekend in a family-friendly hotel in Kilkenny that boasted a kid’s club, a pool, a bar, a spa, my two friends and their daughter, a fancy restaurant, an outdoor hot tub, walking distance to town… and did I mention the bar?

‘I’ll bring a bottle of bubbles and then we’ll take turns babysitting each other’s kids so we can drink in the hot tub!’ I squealed.

Yeah, right.

Like most of these little notions I have, that any situation where my kids are present might at all result in my drinking any amount of booze in any matter – sand, sea, hot bubbling water etc – I was sorely disappointed.

Jacob wasn’t confident enough to try the kids club without me so I spent one night watching Rapunzel and another watching Monsters Inc. with all the other kids while Ass Monkey and Co. drank their faces off in the bar downstairs. By the time kids club finished, it was 10pm (hot tub closed, people), and I had to spend another half hour trying to get him to sleep.

The four of us were staying in one big hotel room that had no walls or veranda or any other place I could go to watch TV or drink or have a conversation where I wasn’t in danger of waking the kids. By Day Two-and-a-half the cabin fever of the hotel room was so much that I declared I would actually rather be at home cleaning the jacks. For the bit of personal space. Ass Monkey swore that he would get the damn press door from Noyeks on the way home if we could just get out of there.

But we persevered because Jacob was actually having the time of his life. By the last day he had figured out that he could use the hotel toilets by himself and so he spent a good chunk of the early afternoon doing just that. In and out, over and over – happy out. It was the only time all weekend that he didn’t want my attention. I sat by the fireplace in the lobby and sculled a couple of glasses of wine while I ‘supervised’ him. (Hey, I wasn’t organising the holiday and driving home as well).

PS: I hear the schools are planning to close for three weeks at Easter next year. THREE WEEKS?! *head explodes*

Jacob Had The Best Holiday Everrrrrrr!!!

At least one of us had the time of our lives…. ;o)

**This article first appeared on HerFamily.ie**

Resource: Help My Kid Learn

I am ALWAYS on the lookout for tips on things to do with Jacob at home – especially on those days when it’s either pouring down outside OR you’ve got a sick child and can’t leave the house OR you’re wrecked and can’t bear to leave the house one way or the other. He totally gets cabin fever just like the rest of us so a planned activity at home can really break up the afternoon.

Then of course there are the weekends and mid terms and days off and holidays to fill with as much fun as possible (phew!), so I was delighted to come across the this online resource to help me with some cool ideas.

Help My Kid Learn is a website developed by the National Adult Literacy Agency (NALA). It promotes family literacy by giving parents, guardians and family members fun ideas to help build their child’s literacy and numeracy skills. The activities range from traditional games and activities to suggested online games and apps and are aimed at kids from age 0 to age 12. You don’t have to register, and it is totally free. On the website you can sign up for a monthly online newsletter to keep you up to date with new items on the website, or like them on Facebook

Baby Sign Language Is Coming To Rush!

SuperHands Baby
Sign Language

My good pal Miriam is the founder and owner of SuperHands Baby Sign Language (we have a cool post and video all about it here!).

She and I only met after Jacob had begun to speak but I wished we’d met before. You see, Jacob really, REALLY wanted to tell us stuff all the time, he wanted us to understand what he wanted, between the ages of 9 months and 1 and a half. But he couldn’t speak yet. So as we stared at him quizzically when he made attempts to speak, and didn’t have a clue what he wanted, he got really frustrated and really mad. And I don’t blame him. Knowing what you want to say but not having the words to say it must suck.

(Anyhow, we persevered, and now he just has tantrums about pretty much everything else).

But SuperHands Baby Sign Language could have helped with all of that frustration, had I known about it sooner and so I am determined to try it out this time with Eva. And for the first time ever, classes are available in my hometown of Rush!! Whoppee!

The course begins on March 12th in the Community Centre and here are some of the benefits to you and your baby:

1. It gets you out of the house with your baby for a structured activity.
2. It increases the bond between you and your baby by spending quality time interacting with them – giving you a better understanding of your baby’s wants, needs and personality.
3. Accelerates communication – babies start to babble more and attempt to communicate more regularly.
4. You get to meet lots of lovely, like-minded parents in a relaxed environment.
5. Baby really enjoys the class as there are lots of age-appropriate toys and musical instruments, and they love the songs and poems.
6. You get to learn lots of new nursery rhymes and poems as well as practicing those long-forgotten ones from your childhood.
7. It’s a lot of fun!

The 6-week course is €100 and includes a bright and colourful illustrated dictionary of baby sign language and a CD of songs and poems to sign to.

See you there? OH YES! The booking info is right HERE.

[SuperHands founder Miriam Devitt also wrote a piece for us on Infant Communication that you should totally check out]