Because what the internet needs is more wittering about rubbish parenting

Thursday, 16 June 2011

And Then There Were Four.

So. Yeah. I've got two kids. It's still sinking in. The New'un is now 9 days old. She is very small.

My brain is a bit battered, can you tell?

The New'un's birth story will follow (I promise it will be MUCH shorter than the last one), but for now, here's a quick, if slightly incoherent, update on how we've been doing. Apologies if it's not very good, I am pretty tired, and also typing with one hand, as The New'un is sleeping on me, as she's in some kind of mood.

Having a newborn is nice this time around. I get lots of cuddles, and I can leave the room safe in the knowledge that when I return, she will still be where I put her, and she won't be drawing pretty patterns in the carpet with milk. You don't get to enjoy that the first time round, your head is too busy going "Aaaargh!!! I'm a PARENT! I've got a BABY!! What do I DO with it??!!"

Breastfeeding is easier too. The New'un has taken to it like a champ. I don't know if it's easier because I know what I'm doing now, so it's not like the blind leading the blind, more like the sleepy leading the blind and ravenous. I've got emergency savoy cabbage leaves in the fridge in case of sore boobs (Why? Why does that work?!!) but have not, touch wood, needed them so far.

Sleeping is not too bad either. The New'un tends to sleep for about 3 hours at a time, sometimes so deeply that I start getting worried about her and get her up and start shoving my boob in her face. God, if you'd told 22-year-old me that one day I'd be pretty pleased at getting three hours sleep in a row, I would have laughed long and hard. Or just stared at you in blank incomprehension.

And as for The Toddler, she's been just brilliant. She came to the hospital the day after The New'un was born, bearing a gift of Winnie The Pooh, saying "Hiya Baby!". She loves her little sister, and likes to help me out during nappy changes by soaking a cotton wool ball in water and dripping it on The New'un's head. When The New'un cries, The Toddler tells me what she thinks is wrong - "Baby nappy!" or "Baby 'ungry. Woobies!". "Woobies" is what The Toddler took away from my explanation that, though it was very kind of her, The New'un did not need a drink from The Toddler's beaker, as she just has milk from Mammy's boobies. I think this is funny and cute when she does it, but really need to stop using it myself. I am nearly 30 years old. I do not have woobies.

So, all in all, things are going well. Although what I would do without my wonderful, fabulous husband, I have no idea (and no, he's not making me type this, and he hasn't just stolen the laptop off me). He has been running around after me, and more exhaustingly, The Toddler, since.. well, I was going to write "since The New'un was born", but actually he's been doing it since I was about 8 months pregnant. One of these days I will be able to get off the sofa and look after him a bit. But certainly not today, if The New'un has anything to say about it. Growth spurts. Ugh. Had almost forgotten about these......


  1. I too own a pair of "woobies" as so named by my toddler, even a year later we still call them that!
    Really pleased she's being "helpful"!
    And glad it's all going well