My little girl is two years old. In most circles, that fact is normally followed by ghostly ‘oooh’ sounds.

That bothers me.

It bothers me that there’s an assumed reaction to becoming two years old. It bothers me that an avalanche of bad behaviour is prophetically cast over wary mothers and unsuspecting toddlers. It bothers me that it seems an inexplicable and inescapable fact: The next year of your life is going to suck. Good luck! 

Let me tie a couple of thoughts together for you, and see whether you can see where I’m coming from by the end of it:

Firstly, I believe strongly in the power of words. Call a child stupid, and he’ll act stupid. Call her a brat and she’ll act like one. They’ll believe it’s what you expect of them and do their best to live up to that expectation. I remember the story of Nicky Cruz. His mother called him the Son of Satan while in a trance when he was three years old. He describes that as the moment his heart turned to stone. As a teen he became the leader of the  most notorious and feared gang in New York City, before a street preacher finally changed his life. It’s a phenomenal story and one I’ve treasured since my teen years myself, but the point here is about the impact of his mother’s words on his young and impressionable mind and how they set his future in motion.

Secondly, our minds often control our outcomes. If I think I’m going to have a terrible day, I usually do. If I anticipate a really miserable time, it normally is. What we think transfers into our realities, and often times, what we expect actually happens. (Hence cursing or not cursing our two year olds, and ourselves, by our expectations and words.)

Thirdly, developmentally speaking, around two years old is a massive learning curve for a child. Yes, it may be frustrating (okay, scratch that. IS frustrating) for us as parents. Yes, it can feel like beating your head against a brick wall. Yes, there are times you want to run screaming into the fields. But wow. What an incredible time.

I found a lovely description of what happens to a two year old:

Just about all two-year-olds like to explore, examine, test, and try to figure out what is happening in the world around them. Day by day, you can watch your child make connections and discover relationships. He will start to demonstrate new abilities — to communicate, to perform, and to exert his independence — all on his own. It is unfortunate (although understandable) that this age is typically referred to as the terrible twos. The reality of being two means standing up for oneself as an individual in no uncertain terms, and is an entirely normal part of development. True, it can be frustrating at times, but try not to let your child’s temporary phase of defiance and tantrums overshadow his new achievements and abilities.

That resonated so well with me, I almost didn’t want to put it in here, because I feel like the author of that has said in the last 18 words what it’s taken me an essay to say.

This paragraph thrilled me, actually, when I first read it. It’s so true. My husband and I often look at each other and shake our heads in sheer wonder. Sometimes we don’t even know where Ameli picked up the words she’s using. We don’t know where she learned to do xyz. She’ll pick up her baby doll and start singing a song to it, making up a tune to go with the words of a nursery rhyme I played out on the palm of her hand once.  It blows my mind. It is quite literally development day by day.

We can all agree that that’s great, I know.

The difficulty comes in the next part – exerting independence. “The reality of being two means standing up for oneself as an individual in no uncertain terms.” Oh boy. If I had a penny for every ‘No’ we’ve heard in the last few months… I’d be on a cruise right now. It’s frustrating. It’s  infuriating. Why? Not because she’s exerting her independence – that bit makes me proud – no, it’s because she’s not bending to my will. (Who’s the two year old now?) I get angry, because she’s not doing things my way. Because she’s not doing what I want. (For good reason too, I mean, I’m the adult. I can see that the time’s run out on the parking meter, or that the food’s going to burn if I don’t get back into the kitchen immediately, or that I’m going to have to pick up the toys if she doesn’t. Or that she needs to brush her teeth. I’m the adult, I can see the greater picture – she can’t. And it’s impossible to explain ‘closing time’ and similar concepts to an actual two year old.) But the reality is that my frustration is born from the exact same place as her perceived disobedience – having a will and wishing to exert it.

This is, of course, where a lot of parents believe it’s our job to bend that will, to break it and shape it. This isn’t really something I believe, but that’s a topic for a whole other discussion. In short, however, I do not believe that parenting is about dominating, forcing and ‘being the boss‘. Rather, I see it as being about guiding a child with love, patience, and understanding and being permissive without letting your child run rings around you. I do believe in discipline but not in domination.)

The concept of  ’terrible two’s', in my view, sets us all up for a horrible time. It deflates me before we start. It gets my back up and I feel like I have to grit my teeth and close my eyes and just-get-through-it (and yes, some days it’s how I feel too, especially being pregnant and tired at the same time!)

I’d rather give us a fighting chance though. I’d rather view the days ahead with excitement and gratitude and hope. How about the ‘Incredible Two’s'? I know it doesn’t alliterate, but it still kind of rolls off the tongue. And it makes me feel like we’re about to embark on an incredible journey, where I get to act as guide, as companion and as mentor, rather than dragging a kicking and screaming toddler through.

—

*The next question is ‘That’s all fine and well, but how do we cope with the Incredible Two’s when they’re feeling rather more terrible?’ Well… I’m working on that, and I’ll get back to you, but I think the Positive Discipline website is a good place to start.

**We are no where near expert on this. In fact, as pregnancy has progressed, patience has become almost visibly non-existent in me. Being imperfect doesn’t mean I can’t strive for ideal though, so when we fall down, we apologise and start fresh again tomorrow. Remember that wonderfully freeing 80/20 rule.

Dear Ameli

I’ve started this letter to you so many times already, and keep deleting what I’ve written because what I’m writing just doesn’t quite match up to the intensity I’m feeling. This has been a full-on month in our story.

You are two years old. We had a birthday party for you at home. It was a Winnie the Pooh themed party and despite being really tired, weak and still somewhat ill, I put on my best face for the day, and tried to make it a good day for you, whether you’ll remember it or not.

But it was just one day, and while we had fun, and you and Daddy and I spent a day at Legoland afterwards to celebrate and we then went to Granny and Grandpa on your actual birthday, you won’t remember it. That’s not important. I will.

Legoland was great – we went about a year ago and you were just too small to go on any of the rides, but this time not only could you go on the rides but you loved them too – especially the fairy tale ride, which was really sweet.

While you and Daddy were at Granny and Grandpa, I was on a course to become a baby massage teacher, because, well, I love teaching, I like being around mothers and babies, and I miss working, but I don’t want to work full time and I don’t want to work for someone else, so I’m excited about this. Also, because it shows  you that working doesn’t always have to involve sitting behind a computer!

Speaking of which… you had an altercation with my laptop this month, dropping it off the sofa and causing it to refuse to ever switch on again. This is impressive, as the day after I bought it, it had ants crawling out of the keyboard, and in South Africa I put it on the roof of the car and forgot to put it in the car, so as we turned onto the highway (motorway) it went flying off the car, bounced on the road and settled nicely on the side of the road – and survived.  If it makes you feel any better, I hated that laptop. The keys always stuck.

Since then though, your standard response to most things has been ‘You must buy a new one’, pretty much regardless of what it is we’re talking about! I’m going to have to get you out of that habit.

It’s not all been fun and games, if I’m honest. You’ve entered almost on cue into a time of exploring your boundaries, stretching our patience and testing limits. Your favourite word is no, and you suddenly hate having your nappy changed. You’ve also developed this utterly charming trick of screaming at the top of your voice when Daddy and I try to talk to each other. Then when we look at you, you say ‘talk to me’. Because, you know… we neglect you the rest of the time. Or not.

Anyway, Princess. It’s an adventure with you. I’m pretty sure I’ve learned as much in the last two years as I have in the 30 before.

Love you, baby.

Mama.

Well, from the back of the room somewhere, I can just about hear a voice going, “So what’s the big deal? It’s not like you’ve never done this before!” And that would be rather the point. We have never done this before. We did try to set up a nursery. I painted Peter Pan pictures, and we put up a hanging nappy bag and a travel cot. Mr Husband even put shelves up in an enclave in the wall. But it was hard to spot the baby stuff among the bookshelves, printer, desk and general office stuff.

And so we ended up co-sleeping, which was the biggest accident I’ll never regret.

Now, 18 months later, we’ll be moving into a new house soon, and I think it’s time for us to have a room for Ameli. While I have no illusions that she’ll walk in, flop down and not emerge again till the next morning, I think it’s time to develop the notion of her own space.

But, like with everything we’ve discovered so far in parenting, there’s just doing it, and then there’s the conscious way of doing it, and that’s what I’m sitting here trying to discover. So I’ve been thinking about what I find important in a toddler room?

I’d like it to be a space of peace, creativity, calm and inspiration. I’d like Ameli’s bedroom to be her place of sanctuary (I’ve never been a fan of using ‘go to your room’ as punishment , nor do I think you should conduct a fight in either your kitchen or your bedroom.)

From an attachment parenting point of view I’ve been thinking of things that encourage natural childhood too.
So, what have I decided?

• To start with, I’d love a rocking chair – I know that would have been ideal for nursing a newborn when not co-sleeping, but I can still imagine sitting in the rocking chair cradling a sick little one. The rocking chair, I’ll admit, is purely my own fantasy for my own enjoyment.

• While a lot of attachment parenting is about closeness between parent and child, I read somewhere that a large photo of smiling parents over the crib (which we won’t have) establishes their dominance over the child – I can’t imagine a more horrible use for photos, so I’m more interested in having smiling family pictures of both us, and the people who love Ameli, as well as pictures of her, in the room.

• Speaking of beds, we’ve totally bypassed the crib or cot stage now, and while I always loved the idea of a beautiful sleigh crib, I don’t regret that we cosleep instead. So, we will be moving straight on to a bed, and I’ve yet to decide whether we’re going for a Montessori bed, which users swear by, or to a toddler bed. We have a futon, which I think might suffice in the short term.

• As a place of peace and calm, I do not want to introduce a television into my child’s room. I know parents sometimes do for a variety of reasons, but apart from an MPR3 player and speakers to play her music – Ameli just loves music and dancing – I think we’ll keep the room an electronics free zone for as long as possible. We’ve spent the last 7 months with no TV in our home, and it’s been great, so not introducing it won’t be hard at all.

• I read a Feng Sui book once that said you should keep fish tanks and water features out of children’s rooms, and make sure their beds don’t have a view of the toilet or bathroom. I’m not sure why, but according to this book, it could increase respiratory problems. Now, I’m not sure I buy that, and I would have thought a fish tank would make a lovely night light and be very calming, but alas, maybe not.While academics may be important in the future, I don’t like the idea of children starting homework and formal learning at age 4 (and in fact, studies show that children who start school later do better later on too.) So, while I’d like a Ameli sized table and chair in the kitchen or family room for Ameli to sit at, draw at and, again, have ‘her’ space, I would like a seasonal table in her own room. On this we’d collect bits and pieces from nature while we’re out and about. Feathers, seeds and egg shells in spring, brown leaves, gnarled twigs in autumn, and so on, bringing environmental learning and consciousness of nature, or seasons and of the world around her into her domain.
• Most of all, I’d like a play area. I’ve always liked the thought of a mosquito net draped down from the ceiling. It looks a little like to turret of a castle, but rather than teaching my little girl that she’s a princess in need of rescuing, I’ll tell her that it’s her own palace, her place to be in charge of – I’m not much a feminist, but I’m not a huge fan of the gender stereotyping of children either.

I am not one to lecture about neat and tidy either (hmm… is that my mother guffawing in the background?), but will strive to keep the room clutter free, so that it is easy for peace to reside there.

What else do you think is important in a child’s room? What is just my fanciful dream that is very unlikely to happen in reality?What have I left out or forgotten? Any hints and tips?

*thanks to the ladies at NPN’s Facebook page who shared what they felt was important in a child’s room!

** Thank you Tesco’s bunk bed range for being sponsors of Diary of a First Child

Okay, I know… To Ameli, this was just another day, but for us, it was lovely.

We woke around 9am, probably the last time we’ll get to sleep that late on Christmas day for some time, and dressed her in her Christmas dress.

Mrs. Claus, in the form of my sister,  had pretty much emptied Santa’s sack under our tree.I think she was happy, although she didn’t understand that these were presents for her (more about our lovely gift later!)

Totally spoilt by her lovely Aunty.We had a delicious meal with a Salmon starter.

And a semi-traditional lunch, after which we were too full for pudding.

We spent the rest of the day catching up with family on Skype.

What a blessed way to spend a day. Only 364 days to go to the next one.

Happy Christmas everyone. May God’s love fill your homes.

So there I was, hair done, make-up on, feet becoming reacquainted with heels, handbag at the ready and putting my little girl down from her final feed. Pick up my phone to check the time, and notice a message. Listen in anticipation. Girls’ night out is a bust. Something’s come up with one, the other is sick, another can’t make it till later, yet another now can’t make it at all. So that leaves just me. All dressed up, and no where to go.


Hubby, aware of my disappointment suggests we go down to our local pub, just to ‘get out the house’. It was way too busy to take a baby in, so instead the three of us drove to the supermarket and bought some mint thins and pringles. Rock ‘n Roll lifestyle. I kid you not.

I ended up falling asleep in my hubby’s arms on the sofa watching a movie. Who could complain?

Today we spent the day strolling around East Dulwich village in the freezing cold. It’s a lovely part of London, full of Deli’s, boutiques, vintage, unusual stores – with price tags to match. It was great though, cheese tasting, strolling, watching Ameli watching the world as the three of us just did ‘family stuff’ together.

We also bought a Christmas tree, something we’ve been putting off for ages due to the hours Martin’s been working. Back home I decorated the tree while Ameli sat watching in her bouncy chair. She was really excited by the tree in the house. I couldn’t help but smile at her!

So, here we are again. Saturday evening, my baby is asleep, my husband sitting on the sofa across from me, the tree lights twinkling by my side. I couldn’t have written myself happier in a fairy tale. This is contentment. This is my life.

Unendorsed Advertising

A few weeks ago, Ameli and I returned to our embassy to register her birth and request her passport. After the madness of our first trip, I was well prepared for this one. Forms completed and signed, photographs taken, passports, birth certificates, marriage certificate, a bottle of expressed milk, nappies, a book to read… what could possibly go wrong?

Well, funny you should ask.

We arrived at the embassy and joined the queue. After twenty minutes of braving the cold, gale force winds and the odd drop of rain, we made our way inside to the counter where last time we were turned away. I will admit to a smug sense of enjoyment when I was able to cut the receptionist off with a big smile and say “Yes! We sure have everything you said we should bring this time!”

Ah.  If only. Note the ‘everything you said we should bring’ in that line.

So we’re sitting in the ‘waiting area’ along with about thirty other people, waiting for our number 37 to be called. Ameli is wide awake, so I sing softly to her as Number 28 is called. “Five little ducks went swimming one day, over the hills and far away…” Number 29 “Mother duck said quack, quack, quack, quack.” Number 30. “Only 4 little ducks came back”. And Ameli is hungry.  She wolfs down the entire bottle in record time, and I’m glad we’re at number 33. This is going quickly.

Ameli burps. Number 35. I gather all our things together. Number 36.  I pick up the nappy bag, the forms, the baby. Number 37 to counter three. So yes.  We go to counter three. I happily pass the documents, the photos, two passports and a marriage certificate over to a lady. Let’s call her Doris. I wait for Doris to smile and say “Thank you. Have a nice day.”

Yeah. That didn’t happen.

To save you the blow by blow, it turns out I had to bring copies of the documents, not the documents themselves.  So I have to leave the embassy to go to the copy shop, where there’s a queue of people waiting to make copies. I head back, and the lovely lady eventually takes my copies.

Then she looks at the photo. She looks at the second (identical) photo. She looks back at the first. She calls her colleague to look at the first photo. Then shows her the second. Turns out Ameli’s lips aren’t together enough. We need new photos. So I leave the embassy to take more photos.  I join the queue of people taking new photos.

Back at the embassy, and it’s now two hours since my number was initially called. Ameli’s waking up.  So I hand the lady the forms, the photos, the copies, and try to ‘shush’ my now squirming baby. Doris looks over everything, and with a big sigh announces that the two identical proof of identity forms that I filled in one copy of, and Martin filled out the other, only need me to fill out one and Ameli’s information on the other. So she shreds Martin’s form.  I go away to fill out the new form with Ameli’s information. I go back to the window. Doris says “where’s the father’s form?” I look at her blankly. “You mean the one you just shredded”.  She goes a lighter shade of dark brown.

Thankfully, I had Martin’s details (the date he immigrated to South Africa, the date he returned, his NHS number, blah blah blah, saved elsewhere, and I was able to fill out the form again)

Now to pay.

Turns out they only accept cash. So I leave the embassy and go to the cash machine and return to the embassy.

By now Ameli is practically screaming from hunger, and I decide that I don’t care about the room full of people or the fact that I don’t have my feeding cover. I pop her under my shirt, and feed her.

Finally, everything is finished. The forms are signed, the photos are right, the fee is paid. I return to Doris.

She looks over everything. And then she asks “Where’s your envelope? “

Turns out I needed a self addressed envelope to go with it all. So I plan on heading out to the stationers to go and buy and envelope with a baby in rugby ball position attached to my breast, my blood boiling and exasperation and frustration threatening to wipe the smile right off my face.

Thankfully, Doris took pity on the distressed, dishevelled, now exhausted breastfeeding mother in front of her, and four hours after my number was first called, opened her drawer and attached an envelope to my paperwork.

Thank God for small acts of kindness, but are a checklist and instruction sheet just too much to ask?

Things have been really busy in our little family the last few weeks. We seem to be settled in to our new roles of father, mother and baby, and by the looks of things, we’re all adapting to these roles quite well. I can’t believe that Ameli is 8 weeks old already, and the changes are phenomenal. Every day seems to bring something new.

She’s found her voice, and has started making little sounds that make our hearts break. It’s the cutest thing. She has also started following fingers, faces and people with her eyes and has discovered that kicking the animals in her playgym makes them move.

Even my dress is too short now

I saw a newborn in town yesterday, and it was only then that I realised how much she had grown. I bought her a dress for Christmas, and found myself quite upset by the fact that although she could probably still fit in a 0-3 month dress, it would be a much wiser move to buy the 3 – 6 month so she can wear it beyond Christmas too! I glazed over and had to take a deep breath to keep my eyes from welling up. I’m not ready for her to not be a new baby anymore.

Last night when I was dressing her for sleep, I put one of her first babygrows on, and although it buttoned up fine, I knew that it was tight and that she could no longer stretch her legs out, but I fought with it. “You…will…fit…in…to…this”. I’m just not ready for her to grow up yet.

But I realised, as I watched my curled up (due to being unable to stretch her legs) baby sleep, that this is a losing battle, and it is time to let her grow. Just to let her grow. I know I have some time yet, before nurseries, school, life all take her from me, but I can’t imagine how hard it’s going to be when the time comes that I have to let her go. In the meantime I will hold on tight to these moments, and I’ll go through her closet and let go of the items that too quickly have become too small.

Ameli has really been enjoying many firsts the last couple of days!  Isn’t it sad, in its own way, that we can experience so many new things in such a short space of time, and yet we don’t remember any of the emotions we felt at these experiences? Imagine the awe involved in moving from the confines of the womb to the clear blue skies of the great outdoors, or the sensation of hot and cold after the steady temperateness of their internal world? How could that not fill you with awe? And yet we don’t remember any of it! Is it any wonder that babies sleep so much, what with everything they have to process from the moment they’re born? It would exhaust the best of us!

First time on a bus

This morning,  Ameli had her first trip on a bus. She was a very unhappy, possibly hungry little girl, but I had a schedule to keep to get her to the embassy, so decided to feed her on the bus.  She whimpered in her extra special ‘sorry for myself’ voice until the big red bus pulled up. Then she stared, wide eyed for the entire 30 minute journey, totally disinterested in milk or mommy, at all the people and the beeping door!

Upon arrival at Trafalgar Square she promptly fell asleep against Mommy’s chest as we walked towards our destination and just as promptly woke up the moment we stopped to stand in line for our turn. Fortunately I had expressed some milk in to a bottle, which she devoured with her champion appetite!  Twenty minutes of queuing later, Ameli’s first time on South African soil (albeit there was no actual soil anywhere on the marble flooring) was rather short lived, as it turned out that Martin also had to sign the forms they handed me at the front desk.  So, back to the bus stop and back on the bus and Ameli again was so excited by this bus business I couldn’t even persuade her to sleep!

Back home, I quickly made a pudding I’d promised a friend for her birthday, and then, having changed my little lady out of a nappy explosion in to a very pretty dress that I myself wore as a child, piled Ameli in to the car. This is her first time wearing a dress, and I thought she

Smiling in my pretty dress

looked ever so pretty. We drove to one of the other sites of my old workplace, (where my friend still works) and she screamed all the way. I promised her that we would just drop off the pudding and go back home so she could catch up on the sleep she so obviously needed after the morning’s exertions and excitements.  I got out the car, picked her up, at which point she stopped crying and decided I wouldn’t need her nappy bag.  Well, this is one of those less pleasant firsts that as humans we all experience at some point or other, and I’m just pleased it happened on breast milk.  Ameli made a funny sound, sort of like a gulp and a gag and a squeal all at once, and then threw up in not one, not two, but three large fountain -like spurts.  All the way down her pretty dress, my blue blouse, my neck and back.  So there I was in the parking lot of my old work trying to clean myself with a muslin, and yanking out wet wipe after wet wipe to clean her up. Of course, by now she’s crying again, because really, who likes lying in the front seat of a car, covered in their own vomit?

Well, I managed to get us both to some state of respectability and took her inside where she was fawned over, fussed over and I just nodded and smiled when person after person told me how precious and cute and well behaved, quiet and dainty my squawking, screaming, vomiting little girl is!

She’s finally asleep and I am going to have a shower. I think I still have baby sick in my ear.

Baby,

I wanted to share, to record, some special moments. Things that happened while you were still growing inside me, so that I will remember them later on, perhaps when things get difficult, or other days, when I just need a reminder of all the reasons I have to smile.

Your Daddy is a very special man. I think we are lucky to have found each other.  The other day he came home from work and I was in the kitchen. He came in and gave me a kiss, which is usual, but then he bent down, lifted my shirt a little and said “Hello Baby” and gave my tummy a kiss. Then he said “Daddy loves you so much!” and I was so overwhelmed with how sweet he is that I just gave him a huge hug and kiss. It might sound silly to you, but to me it’s so amazing to know how happy he is to be a dad.  There are a lot of problems we have to face, like unpaid maternity leave, preparing your room for when you get here and stuff like that, but knowing that we’re both so happy about it makes all the worries in my heart seem a little less important.  I love him so much for setting my heart at ease, without even having to try.

There was one day this week where we both had a really bad day at work.  When I got home I saw an email from my friend Andrea who lives in Canada now.  She gave me this video to watch and it was so beautiful, I just wanted Daddy to watch it too. But then I thought, being a man he’d probably not find it as wonderful as I did. Well, Button, I was wrong.  Daddy came in to the lounge and sat with his hand on my tummy as we watched this beautiful little video and afterwards we were both just quiet and awed at the beautiful thing that your development is.

[There is a video that cannot be displayed in this feed. Visit the blog entry to see the video.]

Yesterday Daddy was saying how there are many uncertainties,  but one thing you’ll have no shortage of is love.

He was right my baby.

Mommy