So what are you here for?

Last week I was particularly down - why? Because I'd been on the NHS side! Whilst I agree that our NHS is a wonderful thing anyone who has spent anytime in hospital knows that they operate to different rules and time zones to those of us who have things to do, people to see, kids to get to and from school, etc., etc.



I'd had a standard letter from the hospital to turn up for a consultant's appointment at 9am. Along with the letter was a sheet with several notes saying that I would be seeing the consultant until my 'condition' was resolved. I'm not ill - I'm pregnant. As I usually do I got worried - I'd not had to see a consultant with my son, I'd been told all my tests so far were fine - what was wrong. A chat with my midwife didn't put me at ease - she pointed to a colposcopy I'd had in 2002 and streptococcal infections I'd had in 1997 and 2007 - but these were conditions I'd had before my son's birth in 2004 and hadn't rung alarm bells then.



In order to get a parking space we arrived at the hospital at 8.30am - unfortunately not early enough for a parking space near the maternity entrance (in fact I saw a woman, clearly in labour, making the 10 min walk from the 'overspill' car park). We stood in a corridor until the receptionist finally deigned to open her blind (after chatting loudly with a colleague, ordering tea, ringing her mum, etc.) at 8.55am. It then took her 10 mins to boot her computer up and get us booked in. Ten minutes later I was called in to see a nurse who told me what was going to happen at the appointment with the consultant and told me that because of my BMI they were going to have to keep a close eye on my weight gain and my bump size - not done with my son, granted I am a couple of stone heavier than I was before I had him and I am overweight but I did feel like great sirens had gone off when I walked through the door.



Back to the waiting room and I was eventually called in to see the consultant at 9.45am who sat down and asked me why I was there! 'erm I got a letter telling me to come to an appointment'. He then SAT AND READ MY NOTES, disappeared out of the door - a nurse came in and spoke to the student doctor who was observing (I wasn't asked if that was ok) and I discovered he'd gone to speak to another doctor, then came back with a purpose - to put the FEAR OF GOD into me.



As a result I now have to have a glucose tolerance test as I may be diabetic (if I had £10 for every diabetes test I've had done over the last 10 years ...). This involves no food from 10pm and only being able to drink water, a blood test at 8.30am followed by a horrible glucose drink - and still no food - and a 2 hour wait before another blood test to check how well I tolerated it.

I also have to have extra scans at 32 and 36 weeks to check the size of the baby as I'm at risk of having a bigger baby - especially IF I'm diabetic (I must point out that after all those tests I've had in the past I'm not even borderline, or close to borderline, diabetic). I know because of the streptococcus I will have to have a hospital birth rather than a home birth but I was saddened by how medicalized it will probably be - after being induced and unable to get out of bed with my first I wanted it to be different.



The most frustrating bit was that he asked me to book a scan for 32 weeks (New Years eve as it happens) and then book another appointment to see him immediately afterwards. This should have been straightforward except that the appointments clerk on the ultrasound unit had other ideas 'Oh you don't need this - they keep sending people up here to book 32 week scans but you've got one at 20 weeks and you wont need another'. It was only after both my OH and I had explained slowly that the consultant had told us that we did, and another at 36 weeks, and that we had to go back down to make another appointment with him which we couldn't do without the date and time of the ultrasound - she realised that we weren't leaving her office without one that she grudgingly printed off an appointment - still adamant that we'd have to cancel as we 'wouldn't need it'. I made a complaint with the consultant's receptionist - who also said 'oh we keep getting people saying that - I don't know what's up with her'.



I also went to the local MSLC (Maternity Services Liaison Committee) meeting that afternoon and told them all about it too. Felt slightly better but still more anxious about this pregnancy than I was a few weeks ago.

There may be trouble ahead

Well Summer is well and truly over and Christmas is fast approaching.

My son has now just about settled back into school - year one is so much more tiring than Foundation apparently. But he's worried ...

At first he was really excited by the news that he will be getting a baby brother or sister in February - 'yay! All my friends have got one' - but now he's getting a bit worried.

Initially he asked if he could name the baby - we've sidestepped that by suggesting that everyone picks a name and we'll decided which suits the baby best when it is here (and my husband has secretly told him that mummy has the final say!).

I've had to consciously stop myself from saying '... because of the baby' but it hasn't helped that I had morning sickness and then a scare which led to him staying at grandma's for a weekend whilst I rested. So understandably he is worried about me.

Then there's the question of the cuddles - 'will the baby get more cuddles than me?' - I've told him that he needs to loudly remind his grandma's that he needs cuddles too - I hope that doesn't come back to bite me ...

Let them eat cake ...

I'm not quite sure why but I decided that cake baking would be an after school activity today. I was already shattered from helping out at our local parent and toddler music group this morning (as I was unencumbered by a child I got there early, set up, panicked that half the stuff was missing, located the stuff, prepared the snack, served the snack and tea and coffee and then cleared it all up again) as I've had a cold for a month now.

I think it was because we have lots of eggs - which were purchased with a promise of a baking frenzy which didn't happen as any spare moment I've had has been wrapped up in bed cuddling a paracetamol based hot cold remedy.

The topic of some baking was discussed in the car on the way home from school - mainly because of the sulk that had ensued from having to walk an extra 500 yards to the car as I couldn't get a space closer. In theory we could - and should - walk to and from school within about 35 minutes, however this involves walking past a parade of shops which would cost me a fortune in bribes to get him there/home.

Don't get me wrong I have baked with my son before - but it usually ends in disaster with us both losing our temper. However, I've mellowed of late. At half term I even suggested some alfresco painting in the sunshine and watched calmly whilst he spread paint everywhere! My OH's rant of 'what's THAT all over the drive' was met with a smile rather than my usual explanation of everything our son had done wrong that day. (It was later deduced that I had a fever.)

He does sometimes bake with his dad and quite often bakes with his grandma - without incident.

We just annoy each other.

As soon as I laid out the ingredients there was trouble.

S: Can I squish it like crumble?

Me: no, it's a cake.

S: (wails) but I want to squish it and then lick my fingers WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

Me: okay how about you try breaking the eggs?

S: WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH ... can I lick the bowl?

Me: not while we're mixing the cake.

S: can I lick the spoon?

Me: no we need that to mix the cake.

S: but when can I eat it? I want to eat it.

Me: just be patient.

S takes a sneaky lick whilst I'm hunting for a cake tin AND bun cases - as whichever one I don't get out he will want to do. I can only find the 'new' loose bottomed cake tin (remember that - we'll return to it later).

S opted for BIG cake and was very happy to finally be able to lick the spoon.

For the next 40 minutes I had to cope with 'Can I eat the cake yet?' every 30 seconds. It wears you down, believe me.

When the cake was finally ready I whipped it out of the oven aiming to get it on the cooling rack out of reach. I held it on the bottom - which came loose, the side ring sliding down my arm. You can imagine the expletive as I threw the cake down and rushed to the cold tap.

Eventually cake was cool (though my arm was still on fire!) - I did the icing as I couldn't cope with the bowl licking again - and iced. Later we all had a share.

S: Muuuuuuum - Dad's got a purple sweet and I wanted the purple one WAHWAHWAHWAHWAH ...

Two's Company?

It's the Easter hols!

We're currently half way through the two week Easter holidays. I wasn't looking forward to it but at the 11th hour I ended up spending the last week looking after my 9 year old goddaughter as well as my 4 year old.

My friends with 3 children couldn't help but laugh as I turned up at our preorganized activities late, dishevelled, and in need of a coffee. I was barely audible as I squeaked 'It's hard work getting two ready' whilst they exchanged knowing looks.

My son loved it - someone to boss around and who wanted to play. The 9 year old got fed up of being bossed around and was starting to wane by the end of the week.

But we survived. I've often said to my friends with 3 'You're amazing, I don't know how you do it!' - now I'll be saying to those with 2 too.

The Knock Knock Joke

I'm about to embark on a 3 hour car journey en famille. To be followed tomorrow with an 8 hour car journey with the addition of my god daughter and her parents (ok she's not my 'god daughter' as it was a civil ceremony and I'm a 'significant adult' rather than god mother - but you get the picture).

I'm not looking forward to the journey. The main reason being that my son has discovered the knock knock joke.

It started at Christmas - who bought those blasted crackers? and has been resurrected recently with the comic relief joke book at school.

I leave you with one of his best:

Why did the chicken cross the road? Because it wanted to see his friends.
Knock Knock Who's there? ME!!!!

The case of the missing pants ...

Today was always going to be rather hectic. I'm currently without a car - we noticed on Tuesday that the back door of my car was open and it wouldn't shut. It seems that I broke the catch on our return from swimming this week (a successful trip this week as we decided to move him to a less advanced class - he's happy when he's one of the most skilled in the group) we drove to a nearby garage (with the door tied with a shoelace) where it has sat for the last few days waiting for a part.

So my OH has been juggling his hours so that we can organise school runs and my parents have been helping out too. Today were were going to walk to school but I overslept and my son refused to dress or eat and my dad had to come to the rescue.

Now I have been quite determined recently that my son will dress himself - which can take hours. His peers with younger siblings have been doing it for a long time now and he is capable - it's just sometimes it is quicker to help him. I am usually in the same room with him as he dresses - dressing myself or sorting washing or putting toys away or checking emails, etc., etc. and can sort out any attempts to put on items of clothing inside out, upside down or back to front. Today was no different.

On arrival at school my son dashed ahead of me and dived down the slide outside his classroom - which was soaking wet! He was soaked to the skin all down the back of his trousers (his friends mother rather helpfully announced loudly that my son had 'wet himself' - she's also doled out advice that he should bribe people to be his friends by giving them sweets and that if anyone upsets him he should 'give 'em a whack' - I am hoping he makes new friends now he has widened his social circle). Not to worry - the school PE kit he keeps on his peg is just for this purpose. So we dashed to the front of the queue to get in, grabbed his bag and retreated to the far corner of the room where the easels stand. I quickly whipped off his shoes and his trousers only to discover HE WAS WEARING NO PANTS!

Now I am absolutely certain that he was wearing them as some point this morning as we went through the usual ritual of putting them on his head, putting them on back to front and then putting both legs in one side. The teachers, though amused, said there was nothing to worry about as it happens often (and they keep spares) but I was horrified.

Happy Blogaversary

Wow it's been a year since i started posting here about my trials and tribulations as a mum. And well, I haven't got any better at it. In fact this week I REALLY LOST my cool.

Readers of this blog will see this as a recurring theme - the swimming lesson. For 3 lesson's straight my son has refused to get into the pool for his lesson. All week he talks rationally about it. Yes he likes the teacher, yes he likes swimming, yes he wants the next badge, etc. But when we get there he just wants to play in the other side of the pool and not do the lesson.

the teacher suggested that this week I brought my stuff but didn't get changed - then as a reward for a good and attentive lesson I would change and play with him in the other side. We talked about this plan all week and yes he would 'try'.

On the drive to the pool he decided that it was 'not a good deal'. Then in the changing rooms when he realised I wasn't going to change the tears started. As a result we finally made it poolside when he lesson was just starting.

initially it looked good. He jumped in - then screamed and jumped out. I tried to put his goggles on - more screams.

He then petulantly pointed at the other side of the pool and said 'ay'.
I calmly repeated my mantra: when you've done your lesson, mummy will get changed and we'll play on the other side'.
NO!
Well we'll go home then, is that what you want to do.
(screams)
this repeated in various formats over 20 minutes until I eventually carried him out to the changing rooms.
He then ran back into the pool side and we repeated the process. Eventually I gave up and told the teacher I would call her and left.

Once he realised that he was being put back into his clothes and he wasn't going to get to play he then started screaming again - except this time 'wimmin'.

There was absolutely no way he could be persuaded to change his mind and he wasn't backing down and I had to be so strong not to back down and stick to my guns. The other members who were in the pool and spa probably wish I'd enforced the rule a little earlier but I really couldn't believe he wasn't going to get in and do his lesson.

I still have to ring the teacher ...

The affected baby speech is one of the things he knows annoys me as he's always been a good speaker.

So a year on the naughty step and we haven't cracked it yet. So you may still see me on one of those awful 'nanny' programmes ;-)