Nap times… what to do?!

Usually at nap times my options are fairly limited as to what to do with myself. I sit playing on my phone, writing the occasional blog or poem, as my baby boy slumbers soundly across my lap restricting movement, until eventually my bladder becomes too full and I risk putting him down, only for him to immediately wake and commence screaming. However, for the past two days my little man has slept for over an hour in his cot for his first nap ( I KNOW). The curse of the nap trap has been lifted (I hope!)

This has left me feeling rather lost. The first day I just sat in his room playing on my phone because, well, I was sure he was going to wake up any second. The second day I opted for a bath and to get dressed without having to entertain him in between putting on my pants and bra. But I did it super quickly in case he woke up after twenty minutes and then I was left thinking… so what now? I’d already had breakfast so didn’t need that; I was tempted by round two but I’m trying (and failing) to lose the mummy pouch, so best to avoid that option. I was too worried that putting the telly on downstairs would wake him (plus I watch more than enough shit TV of an evening) so that was out of the window. I could have read a book but nothing was jumping out at me and I was already halfway through one from pre-baby days but couldn’t for the life of me remember which one, or what had happened previously. Perhaps I should have a nap myself? Except I’ve only just got dressed and I’m not that tired. Plus I will feel like utter shit if I do eventually fall asleep only to be woken after five minutes by Baba O’Screechy. What to do… what to do? Getting him to go to sleep (and stay asleep) it seems has become almost like a project or hobby for me. I need something to fill this void. It is for this reason that I want to weigh my options carefully for tomorrow…

Baking – Now I do LOVE a cake, and so does my other half, but previous forays into baking have been somewhat disappointing. I always end up with a cake that is too dry, too dense or simple burnt. Also the mess. Every bowl in the house gets used and it’s a pain in the arse to clear up. Plus the diet thing. And my fella also noted at the weekend that he’s got man tits (his words, not mine) so probably better for both of us if I do not impersonate Delia (my boobs are too small for Nigella and while I do have the odd grey I’m far too young for Mary Berry) at this particular point in time.

Exercise – You would think, given said attempt to lose mummy pouch, that this would be a sensible option. Think again. I simply cannot be arsed. I don’t mind going for a walk or the occasional swim (let’s get real, I only swim when I go on holiday so that is already a lie told purely to make myself look less lazy), but real exercise is something that I have left in the past. The past being that one year when I joined a gym and went to a ‘legs, bums and tums’ class (aka dancing around like a twat) for about three months. Or that time I decided to do the ’30 day shred’ YouTube video with cans of beans for weights and lasted about five days before beans became cider cans, became me sitting drinking cider and smoking rollies on the sofa as per (circa 2010, ancient history). So exercise, unless it is couched as something else, like a group activity that involves competition, is not really my bag. Certainly not at 9am in the morning when I’ve been up half the night tending to a small person.

Crafts – I love this idea of this. Maybe I could repurpose some old egg boxes and turn them into works of art? I could paint glass jars and create bespoke candles that I will sell to my mummy friends and take along to exclusive farmers markets. I’ll make a fortune. I’ll be the new Kirstie Allsop; everyone will be begging for my handmade goodies and asking my opinion on interior design and fabric choices for the conservatory cushion covers. Except I’m about as creative as a fucking common slug. So that’s not going to work.

Gardening – So I love a house plant (who doesn’t?!) and I am generally able to keep them alive for the most part. Orchids are my nemesis but other than that I do ok. I go for non-flowering varieties as they seem to be harder to kill and I just about manage to remember to water them all at least once every couple of weeks. Outdoor gardening is a whole new ball game though. Generally I like a low maintenance garden that the elements can take care of. Bit of sun, bit of rain, job done. Since moving to our new house though I have discovered that weeds are complete fuckwits and they relish in all that the elements provide. I have attempted to ‘de-weed’ on numerous ocassions, only to poke my head out of the back door a week later to find the bloody things even bigger than before, taunting me with their quickly creeping roots. Add spiders and other creepy crawlies into the mix along with muddy fingernails that you can NEVER get clean and you have numerous reasons why gardening is not for me. However, what I do enjoy is a bit of demolition… and I wouldn’t mind taking an electric hedge trimmer to all of the bushes in my garden and then pulling them out of the ground completely. Then I could cover the ground with weed killer and shingle and bask in the barren landscape of my no-fuss garden. Now that sounds like a plan that I can get behind. I wonder if a hedge trimmer would wake a sleeping baby? I’ll have to let you know on that one.

So garden it is then it seems. Although I am really happy that the wee one will finally nap in his cot, especially as he seems so comfy in there, I have to admit that it has left me feeling like he needs me that little bit less. First he naps in his cot, next he can wipe his own arse, before you know it he’ll be hitting the town getting pissed up on cheap lager and chatting up girls (or guys) that take his fancy. Only kidding he’s definitely an ale man. Screw it, just one more game of CodyCrossword and then I’ll get up and do something…

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Sleeping through… about bloody time!

You finally did it,

You slept through the night.

I stayed up for you

But your eyes were shut tight.

Months we have waited

For this day to arrive,

To be honest I’m shocked

That I’m still alive.

With such little sleep,

You drove me half crazy.

I begged and I pleaded

For a day to be lazy.

Up in the night,

Feeding and rocking,

When would Uncle Yawn

Come a knocking?

Stroking your nose and

Rubbing your back,

Walking round looking like

I was on crack.

Everyone said 

We should leave you to cry.

I just couldn’t bare it,

The pitch was too high!

You needed to learn

To “self soothe”,

Then I was told 

Your sleep would improve.

Bollocks I reckon,

You still can’t “self settle”,

But you slept through the night

You deserve a medal.

Will it continue

Or was it pure luck?

I hope you keep sleeping

Or that would sure suck.

An ode to baby led weaning

6 months came around

And all of a sudden,

My wee little bubba

Became quite the glutton.

He watched from afar 

As mum and dad ate,

High time he decided

For food on his plate.

We tried with a spoon

To fill up his tummy,

But no he was stubborn

Just like his mummy.

Cheeky man wanted

To use his hands,

Not giving a toss

What mummy had planned.

Cucumber, toast,

Tomato and peas,

One mum I heard

Gave chrysanthemum tea!

Bananas and broccoli,

Get shovelled in,

A shame most of it

Ends up in the bin.

Porridge and pasta

Squelched between fingers,

With cheese I find

The smell don’t half linger.

Eggs, ham, tuna,

Even wild boar,

Go into his mouth

Then onto the floor.

Avocado, peaches,

Papaya too,

You’d never believe

What comes out in his poo.

Nappies are now

A treasure chest,

Filled with goodies like raisins,

Just look out for his vest.

The high chair being

His favourite place

To clear out his bowels

It’s such a disgrace!

At family dinners

His tummy will rumble,

A poonami is coming

Daddy will grumble.

He sits on his throne

Face red as he trumps,

The stench travels quickly

One almighty dump.

Quick mummy yells

Get him in the bath

But baby don’t care

He thinks it’s a laugh.

He wriggles with glee

As his arse is bared

Touches his bum

And gets shit in his hair!

Oh what a disaster

This has all been,

Don’t worry mama

One day he’ll be clean.

What are you thinking? A poem for my boy.

What are you thinking,

Oh baby of mine?

I wish you could tell me,

But you can’t by design.

You’re too young to open 

Your mouth and speak words,

Instead all you do

Is a fuck load of turds.

If only I knew 

What all the sounds mean,

Instead I’m left guessing

Which oraface to clean.

What are you thinking,

Oh darling of mine?

Are you judging mummy

As she slugs on her wine?

I can see in your eyes

That the cogs are turning,

I just don’t have a clue

For what you are yearning.

Is it milk that you wish for,

Or just a quick nap?

Perhaps it’s too sunny

And you desire a cap?

Do you need a bum change,

Or something to chew?

Maybe you’re bored

And want something new?

Oh how I long

To hear you speak words,

Then it’ll be easy

To act on what’s heard.

For now though my prince,

I just have to guess.

Please bare with me,

I’m doing my best!