Why the ‘terrible’ twos really have not been that bad!

Sonny Jim, Katy Pearson, #whatkatydidUK

My not-so-little-boy: Soon to be a threenager

Next week my baby is going to be three.

As he keeps telling me, “I not a baby, I a big boy mummy.”

In theory I should be happy to say goodbye to the “terrible” twos, but I’m not. They really haven’t been that terrible at all.

Yes, the potty training has been trying. Yes, the end-of-the-world tears at the most random of things is tiring. Yes, the fact I can recite almost word-for-word entire episodes of Thomas the Tank Engine and Fireman Sam is probably not exactly ideal. But before we enter the threenager stage (I’m so not ready!) here are some

reasons I love the “terrible twos”.

All the feels: Only last week for the very first time Sonny Jim said to me utterly unprompted and out of nowhere, “my love you SO much mummy.” (Heart melting much?) He also tells me that “my happy now,” shows genuine concern for the feelings of others (including the trains on Thomas, “Gordon saaad mummy, he needs a rub now”) and hugs you, just because he wants to.

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‘Bye-bye wee’ & other potty things I now have to say

Sonny Jim, potty training, #whatkatydidUK

Going potty: Weee-ly fun this toilet training malarkey

So, as I chattered on about last week, potty training is go with Sonny Jim.

Day time nappies are no more.

Done.

Nadda.

Pants all the way.

And it has taken over my LIFE.

Seriously, at the supermarket yesterday I almost asked the cashier if she needed a wee.

I’ve got so used saying the phrase “Have you got a wee coming?” to Sonny Jim, that when I opened my mouth to ask if she had a pen it actually went something like this, “have you got a we-PEN, pen. A PEN. You know, just so I can…” [mimes scribbling in the air]

She looked at me as though I had actually lost the plot.

As did my child sat in the trolley. Continue reading

Toilet training my lad nearly drove me potty!

Sonny Jim, #whatkatydidUK

Worth all the crap – literally!

Last week was half-term.

Sonny Jim had no pre-school and I decided now was the time for my almost-three-year-old to finally figure out the whole toilet training thing.

Having spoken about this a fair bit (honestly, as soon as you become a parent I swear suddenly 50 per cent of all conversation starts to revolve around poo) I’d not been rushing the issue.

The general consensus among my mummy friends was that you’re best to wait until your child is ready – rather than when you think they should be – else it will become a battle. And you won’t win.

Until very recently, Sonny Jim had shown absolutely no sign he was in any way ready to give up his pull-ups. But in the past month or so, me, his daddy and his preschool “aunties” had a feeling potty training might be soon on the agenda. He would tell us when he’d done a poo. He was no longer unbothered by a wet nappy. He was talking more.

So, last Monday, we went for it. Daytime nappies were no more. And chocolate buttons were the bribe of choice. He spent two days naked from the waist down and the soundtrack to our days was me asking “wee coming yet?” accompanied by the theme tune to endless episodes of Thomas the Tank Engine and Fireman Sam. Continue reading

Mummy guilt hit when he fell ill and I was working

Sonny Jim, Katy Pearson, #whatkatydidUK

Poorly pickle: My Sonny Jim

This week I got my first phone call from Sonny Jim’s preschool.

I was working, as ever trying to squeeze eight hours work into four, and as I hung up the phone it rang almost immediately.

I answered without even looking, to hear the voice of Sonny Jim’s key worker telling me that he was “fine, well not fine, but okay.”

It transpired that my little lad was rather out of sorts. When we’d got up that morning he had seemed slightly off colour, but I assumed it was the very last of his teeth cutting (honestly, it sometimes seems like he’ll be riding a bike before those very back ones come through!) I gave him a bit of Calpol, jollied him along and he went off to preschool in his usual fashion, “bye mummy, be back soon!”

But he’d gone rather downhill since I’d left.

And in that moment as they told me he was really not himself, that he was sad and saying “my tummy hurt, my bum hurt, my mouth hurt” that he wasn’t eating his snack and he was very hot, I got all the pangs of mummy guilt.

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Mummying and sickness is a tough combination

Katy Pearson, Sonny Jim

Cuddling it better: Better than any medicine

One of Sonny Jim’s newest phrases is “mummy, lay DOWN. Poor tummy. Poor mummy.”

He’s started doing this ever since I was rushed to Southend hospital just before Christmas with suspected gallstones.

Though I managed to get him tucked up in bed before the ambulance came (and he had no idea his auntie Bear – my sister – spent most of the night on the sofa while I lay was prodded and poked and tested for hours by doctors) he has witnessed me spending a fair bit of time feeling utterly pathetic on the sofa.

And though I’m still not right (we’ve got no proper diagnosis despite the brilliant consultants and the dozens of tests) it has made me realise a few things.

Firstly, that it is possible to be sick and smile at the same time so as you don’t frighten your little one.

Secondly, that even when you feel awful (honestly, the pain at one point was worse than child birth) once you’re a mummy you are ALAWYS a mummy. Your needs still come second to making sure your child is okay. You don’t get to switch off the worry, even when people say you should.

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I’m with Beckham when it comes to kissing…

Kissing, children, Katy Pearson, Sonny Jim

Peck them like Beckham: Me and my boy

Parenting, it seems, is a pursuit that everyone has an opinion on – and no one is shy about sharing those opinions.

From breast-feeding or bottle feeding, crying it out or cuddling to sleep, cots or co-sleeping, smacking or naughty stepping, nursery or nanny, every stage of parenthood, so it feels, brings with it another should or shouldn’t.

And it turns out that even one of the world’s most famous men – David Beckham – isn’t immune to the circling vultures of criticism.

What’s surprising though, is the part of his parenting that he’s been hugely trolled for online.

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Armistice Day is different now I have a little boy

Katy Pearson, Sonny Jim, Canvey Island

Lest we forget: My boy and me

Sometimes the ways in which motherhood changes you as a person are big.

You give up sleeping. You don’t get to go to the loo on you own. Your jeans never fit in quite the same way again.

And sometimes the changes are slight, subtle, barely discernible, even to yourself.
I had one of those moments on Remembrance Sunday.

I took Sonny Jim over to the service at the Paddocks, Canvey. His grandma is one of the island’s reverends, it’s where I grew up and I sometimes feel the pull of home when certain occasions come around (Christingle is one. Mothering Sunday another.)

And as I sat (thank you to the lovely lady who saw me standing with my almost-3st-slightly-scared-of-crowds-tot in my arms!) I felt a chill that had absolutely nothing to do with the bright, sunny morning.

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