#Boy: Long hair don’t care
It’s not unusual for my little boy to be mistaken for a girl.
Usually I correct them without a second thought – carrying on the conversation and just saying “he” instead of “she”.
Sometimes people apologise profusely and seem fearful they’ve caused deep offence. Others (especially if they’re older) seem simply unable to process the fact he is a boy. And continue to say what a “pretty girl” he is.
But you’ve got to expect it when your son has long hair like Sonny Jim.
He’ll be two next month, and we’ve never cut his hair. When he was born, he had a full head of black, straight locks.
By the time he was a few months old it had thinned and lightened, but then it grew, and grew, going a gorgeous golden colour and falling into the sweetest curls. Continue reading
Trolley tot: Sonny Jim
EARLIER this week, I think I was in the same queue in the supermarket as the midwife who delivered Sonny Jim.
She had paid and was gathering up her bags as I wheeled my trolley with toddler aboard into line, so I only caught a glimpse. But it looked like her.
And it was the strangest thing.
For a moment, I was about to rush up to her. To show her how lovely the little boy who she guided into the world was growing up to be. To tell her all about him. To get him to give her one of his high-fives and waving hands.
And then I realised that she would probably have absolutely no idea who we were.
Like a regular mom: A HapersBazaar.com’s report
Me and superstar Beyoncé don’t exactly have much in common.
I mean, she’s an international icon, has sold more than 160 million records, counts the Obamas as personal friends and has been named the most powerful female in entertainment by Forbes – twice.
I’m a WFH mum, from Canvey, who struggles to get my eyeliner flicks to match.
But motherhood unites women in sometimes the strangest of ways.
And on Sunday night, at the Grammy awards, Jay-Z’s wife showed that it actually doesn’t matter how rich and famous you are – to your kids, you’re still just mum.
I can’t explain how much I love the fact that Beyoncé smuggled six-year-old daughter Blue Ivy snacks into the Grammys, in her (very expensive designer) purse. Continue reading
WFH reality – when the only place the toddler will sleep is on top of you
Sonny Jim has been proper under the weather this week. Snuffling and spluttering and not exactly sleeping.
It’s coincided with my husband doing his back in.
And to be honest, I’m not sure who has felt the most sorry for themselves. The little dude has even – between sneezes – started doing a bit of an impression of his daddy’s back-related groans.
But anyway. When your toddler is poorly, in the winter, you kind of end up housebound. You can’t really take them to playgroups and share the germs around. It’s not fair to take them to their usual classes or soft play when their nose will. Not. Stop. Running. And when it keeps on raining you can’t even take them for a walk. Or to the park. Continue reading
Hang-up free: Sonny Jim
A massive part of being a parent is spent (obviously) trying to teach your little ones how to be decent people. It’s the main reason (aside from trying to keep them alive!) mums of toddlers seem to spend almost their entire waking hours repeating things like “no”, “ta, say ta”, “it’s good to share, remember?”
But watching Sonny Jim, I’m increasingly beginning to think that us grown ups could actually learn a thing or two from our youngsters. Here are some of them…
They have no issue saying no
So much of adult life is spent doing things we would rather not being doing, simply because we feel bad saying no. Toddlers have no problem making it quite clear that they don’t want to do something/eat something/go somewhere.
Forget body hang-ups
Ask Sonny Jim where his tummy is, and he will proudly remove any item of clothing covering it to show you it. And when does wiggling your squishy bum and dancing become something only to be done after copious amounts of wine? Continue reading
Guilt inducing: My Sonny Jim
Before I had Sonny Jim, guilt was something I felt every once in a while.
You know, when a hangover meant that I wasn’t on great form at lunch with my folks. Or when I realised it was my BFF’s birthday and her pressie was still on my table. Not posted and on her doorstep as it should be.
Since having a baby though, it seems as well as delivering a 7lb 6.5oz boy, I also birthed mummy guilt.
No one warned me that along with the sleepless nights, the teething and the unimaginable love, there would be this never-ending fear of not being good enough. Continue reading
Fear free – Sonny Jim runs along the esplanade
There’s a rather famous poem by Philip Larkin, which opens with the line “they f*** you up, your mum and dad.”
It was a somewhat outrageous read when I was 14 and studying for my English Literature GCSE – but the sentiment stuck in my mind.
Now almost two decades on, a mummy myself, I find myself pondering the truth of his lines,
“They fill you with faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.”
I am a worrier. I can’t remember a time when I haven’t had anxiety over something gnawing away at my gut, prickling just at the edge of my consciousness. In a weird way it has probably spurred me on in life. I might as well put myself out of my comfort zone, take the big leap, I’ll worry it about it, whatever I do. Continue reading