Hug

Just about the cutest thing Ethan learned to say over the last few weeks: Hug.  We borrowed a book from the library about a little panda looking for the perfect hug.  Like a lot of the things Ethan soaks in, he didn't seem all that into the hug book at first.  But one morning about a week later, he wandered after me into the kitchen.  Sleepy eyed and still in pj's.  He held up his arms and said, 'Hug.'

Not only is it heartbreakingly cute, but it was also a welcome replacement to the frustrated whinge he had been using to get picked up.  As he's got bigger, he wraps his little arms around, no longer a passive recipient, but an active component of the hug.

But as with all things in Ethan-world, leave it a week and he'll have evolved, learned, progressed.  He soon dialled that 'hug' got him off the floor and closer to the things he finds interesting in a much more predictable way than his wordless whine.  Light switches, computers, shiny knives, hot pans on the stove could all be within reach with a simple 'hug'. 

So we had to be a bit heartless sometimes.  When I'm cooking and Ethan comes along , arms up, chanting 'hug, hug!' I have to say, 'In a minute...'  He doesn't like that and resorts to the wordless whine.  It feels mean, but hug requests while I'm cooking have almost invariably led to him using me as a scaffold to reach out and see how hot the stuff in the frying pan is.  I'm left thinking, Hey, where's that hug?!

So he's employed another word for use when the hug isn't getting him closer to the action - Walk.  Which means 'let me down so I can go to where you won't let me'.  The other day in the grocery store, he wanted to touch everything, throw eggs on the ground and dig into old ladies' handbags.  Proper naughty.  He wanted to grab at something high up and demanded, 'Hug!'  I picked him up, pushing the trolley along with my free hand.  He was not pleased that this 'hug' wasn't actually getting him any closer to the object of his desire.  

'Walk! Walk!' He cried.  I carried on, the shop was almost done and this little man was about to turn monster.  He got more and more upset, struggling against me to get away, until in sheer desperation he turned towards total strangers to help him get to what he wanted.  'Hug!' he yelled at an old woman walking past us in the aisle.  I giggled nervously, hopping the woman wouldn't think he's being kidnapped.  Clever little guy, it was almost enough to get me to give in and let him run riot amongst the old ladies and canned goods.  I can tell I'm going to have keep on my toes with this hug monster!

Wriggly-man's adventures in Cake

My little wriggly-man loves a bit of cake.  I baked him a carrot cake for his first birthday.  He was unsure how to tackle it, even though the sweet taste had him interested.   Now, almost a year on, 'cake' is a favourite word and a catalyst for either happy giggles or violent tantrums.  Emotions run high in terms of cake.  

This morning, he woke early, settling into a snuggle with me and a drink of milk as he woke up.  Suddenly rejuvenated, he sprung up and clomped off towards the kitchen.  He cast a look back at me over his shoulder and said, 'Cake.'  He nodded his head in agreement with his own brilliant suggestion.  Unfortunately, there was no cake to be had and I decided that the day might be off to a better start with some eggs.  He didn't agree and cried, but we compromised with a hug.

He loves cake so much that it turns him from a lovely sweet boy into a monster.  When he goes to nursery, we are always told how good he is, except when cake is at stake.  We were informed that he threw a massive, inconsolable fit the other day when he spotted a trolley with cake but had to finish lunch first.  I would have hidden it from sight, and have even taken to spelling out the letters of the word rather than saying it and risk a tantrum.   I guess learning to see cake and hear about cake without eating cake is a valuable life lesson.  

So I am attempting to balance the tendencies of my mini cake fiend with some good nutrition and restraint.  But I do love his little glee-ful face when he's munching into a piece of cake.  Crumbs tumbling down his drool-drenched chin, exclaiming, 'Nice!' as he crams it in.  So I've come in from work and knocked up a carrot cake at quarter to ten tonight.   I guess its because I love him as much as he loves cake.  Probably more.  

Bend, don't break: essential flexibility for mamas

'Nothing in the world
Is as soft and yielding as water.
Yet for dissolving the hard and inflexible,
nothing can surpass it.

The soft overcomes the hard;
the gentle overcomes the rigid.
Everyone knows this is true,
but few can put it into practice.'

-Tao Te Ching (translation by Stephen Mitchell)

I read this an eternity ago in Philosophy 101, first year at university.  I didn't really get it.  Now, it seems every aspect of my life attests to this truth - motherhood included.  

Whether I am trying to balance work and quality Ethan-time.  Or balance being a mother and being myself.  Or getting fitter and stronger versus resting.  I find that the more flexible I can become, the better it all is.  When I get demanding of myself and my circumstances - what I think I 'should' be - I break.  When I can be flexible, rolling with the punches and staying supple, good things come more easily.

Week on week, I ask myself  'Am I getting enough time with Ethan?'  and 'Am I working enough?'. Often the answer to both is 'no', so I have to find ways around.  Ways to meet the demands of the day without being so self-critical or disappointed that there is just really not enough time to everything I need or want to do.

Same principle goes for my body and fitness.  If I constantly drive myself and don't balance with rest and mobility, I will eventually break.  Strength only takes you so far without flexibility.

I am learning to constantly re-adjust, allowing myself to return to the drawing board as much as needed to find the right balance.  Like water, I have to flow with the terrain rather than butt heads with it.  

Fresh eyes

Since Ethan started picking up words, we are busy figuring out if he is asking for that something or just chatting about it.  At first, we were too quick to assume that he was just babbling away, but we've realised that often he's seen something we haven't.  A few weeks ago at tesco, I was loading him into a trolley.  He's chatting away, 'Bird. Bird. Bird.'  I shot a glance around the parking lot, looking for a pigeon or magpie loitering.  But he's pointing upwards.  Does he see one in the trees?  But then I see, in the direction of his tiny pointed finger, a small picture of a pigeon on the trolley shed.  Eagle eyes.  

And so, we've started to question him less and less when he gets out the pointy finger and starts declaring 'Puppy!' 'Star!' 'Bubble!' Or whatever catches his eye.  He notices the smallest details on shirts and pictures.  Things that we've never noticed before or would have missed.  

It's very sweet, his fascination with the things he's learning about.  For instance, this evening, I rushed in after a late running train delayed me, for a quick baby handover as Thom shot off to the tattoo studio.  Ethan was showing me his keys, when he stopped cold and stared at my ears.  He spotted some earrings he'd not seen before.  He gently reached out and touched them, saying, 'Oh, wow!' And then carried on playing. 

It's a great thing to see.  Humbling as we realise how profound an effect the small things have on his world.  And also to see how much we miss in the things around us.  Our perspective is limited.  Age and experience teach us that we can ignore much of what goes on around us and we miss lots of wonderful stuff.  The kinds of stuff that has Ethan exclaiming, 'oh wow!'.

I want to be able to reclaim a bit of that fresh perceptive.  Where everyday things like keys and wooden spoons are appreciated as the musical instruments they can be.  Where nothing is quite so wonderful as a juicy blueberry, a singing bird or a vacant slide at the park.  

I also think about how dismissive people can be of the child's perspective, confusing a lack of knowledge with stupidity.  As though a child's perspective doesn't count because they don't get it.  I'm becoming convinced that sometimes children get it, and we hardened, blinkered adults are the ones missing the point.  Ethan doesn't know about the practicalities of life, like rent and pensions and petrol prices.  But he does understand the important stuff, like hugs and imagination and beauty in little things.  I want a bit more of that myself.

Brainy Baby

So you've endured 9 months of pregnancy, trying to do it all perfectly for baby to be born healthy.  But once that is done and history, the next big concern is are they smart enough.  As Ethan gets older, we become convinced that he's way smarter than any child should be at his age.  We are blatantly dealing with a child genius here.

But not every child can grow up to be smart, right?  Or else where do all the un-genius, normal adults come from.  It's just that when you've spent the last 18 months watching a helpless cuddle ball of baby turn into someone who knows his Gruffalo from his Elmo, you can't help but think, 'Amazing!'

My parents also thought they were dealing with a genius child.  But then I went to school and they were shocked to discover that I could't read or spell to save my life.  Unless the task required to save my life was spelling everything completely mirror-image backwards.  In any case, I was in a lower reading stream and they couldn't understand why.  

I didn't know of their surprise at my below averageness until much later in life.  A bit of family folklore about how amazed they were that their first child was not a genius.  To me, I was happy to be at school, didn't know or care about reading streams and had lots of fun feeling smart.  

Although, to this day, my reading and spelling stink.  I've found ways around it to do what I like with words.  Just today, glancing past Thom's Derwent drawing pencils, I always see 'DrewEnt' which makes it all the more difficult, as all I can think is 'Drew It'.  As I write, I have to check the spelling from the box, so uncertain I can spell it.  My brain works in funny ways, but I thank the 'baby genius complex' my parents suffered from for my current talents and confidence.  

Ill placed as is might have been, having them think me smart allowed me to try things out, and not feel held back by whatever inabilities school might have shown up.  And to say, actually what school says may not be all that important.  And so with Ethan, I think, I will stay entrenched in the firm belief that he is actually my amazing baby genius.

Word up, Dude: The little man speaks

Watching Scooby Do with a teething little man yesterday morning.  Just up from his nap, he was grumpy and leaning into me, with one wary eye at the TV screen.  Scooby Do scrambles into frame and Ethan exclaims, 'Oh dude!'.

tubby time is a favourite time for the word 'duck'

And so recent news from the mamatastic world is words.  We realise now how much Thom uses 'oh dude' and exclamation for exciting events.  Could be worse, and I suppose we have taken it as a warning to initiate language clean up procedures.  

Some days he seems to pick up and throw back every one syllable word he hears.  Shoe, duck, this, rock, bear.  He also seems to store some away, like a secretive sponge, to use later.  

And then there are all the actions he copies.  When I'm in the kitchen, he likes to get into the cupboards with the pots and pans.  He pretends to stir and taste, just like a proper chef.

copying mama's antics at CrossFit

The other day, he seemed really hungry.  He had double lunch portions at nursery and later ate all his dinner and some of mine.  After story time, I asked him if he wanted a biscuit.  He peeked up and said, 'Cake!' (We had been given some lovely cake the week before and he set about the house in a knee-shuffle, cake in hand, chanting 'cake, cake, cake, cake', leaving a trail of crumbs behind).  

I said, 'How about biscuit?'

'Bis-cake!' he said, beaming with anticipation.  And then, something happened that I am going to claim as a first sentence.

'Peas, bis-cake!' he pleaded, making the baby-sign for 'please'.  How could I resist?  He was given a whole shortbread, when normally I would give half, just because it was good moment.  By the time we reached cupboard where the biscuits are kept, he was using two hands to ask for the biscuit.

'Mmmm, cake!'

Dad was also excited to hear about the bis-cake.  The next day I was in London seeing clients all day, leaving Dad to see just what a big talker his little man had become.  I noticed that all but one bis-cake was gone when I returned.  

With hope, odds don't matter - one mum's amazing story of overcoming against all odds

Some time ago, I posted Heather Von St James' story of surviving mesothelioma.  Mesothelioma is an aggressive cancer related to asbestos exposure.  Heather was a new mum, with a newborn, and had to battle this disease along with all the pressures that a new mum also has to tackle.  She was given a grim diagnosis and there was little expectation that she would be able to live long enough to be a mother to your new baby.  

But Heather did what strong women do.  She took on the impossible challenge ahead of her and found strength inside that exceeded everyone's expectations.  We all could use inspiration to find our own inner strength, so have a look at this brief video about Heather's journey.