Life Lessons from a Toddler

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*Silly Mummy Moment*

Getting a little bit emotional about Lyla learning to walk. Not because it means she's growing up (which, by the way, is happening way to fast), and not because parenting is involve a lot more chasing; but because of what I'm learning from her. 

Toddlers have so many traits we all aspire to as adults. Motivation, courage, perseverance; no matter how many times that child has fallen down she will get right back up again. 

Failure is not part of her vocabulary (admittedly that stretches to about 5 words at the moment!). She wants to walk, and she is going to keep on trying until she does.
Same with using a spoon. I spend an inordinate amount of time scrubbing weetabix (which is a motherf-er to clean) off her face; my face; the floor; the wall; the window... but the lack of food going into her mouth doesn't even deter her from trying. 

I was at an up styling class yesterday and I couldn't get the hang of one of the styles. (A vintage wave) 

After about half an hour of trying I was ready to give the mannequin a crewcut. I took out my phone and started scrolling through Instagram, I looked at my latest picture, the one above with Lyla walking holding my hand, and got a bit of a reality check. 

I am the worst for letting failure get to me. I have an awful habit of giving up when I find something too difficult and have thought to myself, on many occasions, that I hope Lyla isn't a quitter. Failure, or fear of failure has held me back from doing so many things I could have been great at. It is something I am acutely aware of, and have been proactively trying to fix. This quote is repeated in my head on a daily basis.

                                                                                                                                           Image via Lucy & Lola Creations

Anyway, I put my phone away and tried the style again. And again. And again and again and again, until I created something that vaguely resembles the wave. (Here it is) It was far from perfect, but I was happy enough to have overcome my difficulties and gotten the technique down. Now its about practicing that technique to perfect it. I'm not there yet, but I will get it.

And I have to thank my 15 month old for teaching me this important lesson.

This is the theme tune to this post...if you ignore Aaliyah's dating advice (and diamante choker) and just listen to the chorus. Anyway, tune. 

Motherhood

I'm a little late with this post, but the last week and a half has been hectic. You see, this week saw all the craziness that is a firstborn’s first birthday.

So, I am now the insanely proud mother of a one year old little girl....and holy crap is motherhood incredibly different to what I had envisaged.

I've mentioned before how awkward I was around children. I didn’t think I had a maternal bone in my body. I knew I would love my child and be a good Mam but never in a million years did I think that I'd be the type of mother I am today.

I was always a little bit selfish, very much into doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to do it. The thoughts of losing that freedom was probably what I feared most about being a parent. That and the loneliness. Because now matter how amazing your support system is (and mine is amazing) you'll still spend an awful lot of time alone with one person, who can only communicate through tears and screams. In addition to these fears, I had people repeatedly telling me 'sleep now', 'go out for dinner', 'throw away your skinny jeans', because "there'll be none of that once the baby arrives".

But what no one tells you is just how amazing it is.

Yes, it is exhausting and scary and frustrating. And yet, I have never felt so alive and so complete. I laugh more than I ever have done and my heart constantly swells with pride over ‘ordinary’ moments spent with Lyla. Like how she will point at a dog and say 'Oof' (she's so clever) or shout 'Hiya' at strangers to get their attention.

See?! That there! That's the kind of mother I never thought I'd be. When she says 'Oof', some people might not think it’s a big deal. Except it kind of is a big deal, because I'm her mother. I created her, I gave her life. And that makes nothing about motherhood ordinary. Something I never understand until I gave birth.

Each day is filled with raising this little person, creating memories, filling her with confidence and love and building her future. That's not ordinary, that's amazing.

So to all my pregnant pals, forget all the negative information and advice you’re hearing. Your days are going to be filled with love, laughter and adoration. Your going to be somebody’s world; somebody’s hero. I can happily, proudly say that being a mother is the most special thing I will ever do.

So, to the person that makes me so proud every day: Lyla Jane, you have turned my world upside down and inside out. You light up my life. You make me so proud. You make as happy as anyone could ever hope to feel.

In short: I love you. I love you. I love you.

Nappy Changing

One word: Terrifying.

My first nappy-induced panic attack came even before my baby. It was at my baby shower and was a baptism of fire. We were playing a game which involved changing and dressing a doll's nappy against the clock.

If you know me, you'll know I was never really child-friendly. I hated when people came at me with their kids and I had to act all interested and maternal.

I just never knew how to act in the presence of a baby.  Do I talk to it? How do I talk to it? Is there any point? And god forbid you would ask me to hold it. The pressure. I was literally a big bag of awkward.

 Excuse the quality of the photo, from my baby shower. The fear on my face.

My friends and family knew this, so the games at the baby shower were pretty much designed to stress me out (as far as I can see.) I left that day with a million gifts and the hope that they would teach you the very basics at the antenatal classes. They don't.

Things were looking up after Lyla was born, when the mid-wife cleaned her up and dressed her for me. All was well until Jamie was sent home and I was brought back to the ward with the baby. Panic set in.

I rang the bell for the mid-wife who was up to her eyes. When she arrived, I came clean and told her I had absolutely no idea what I was doing and that I probably shouldn't be left in charge of this tiny human. With a knowing smile, she assured me that it'd be grand. I wasn't so sure.

An example of my shoddy nappy work

Lyla slept the whole night (the first and last time for that to happen!) while I hovered nervously, checking to see if she was still breathing every 22 seconds or so. The next morning I watched in panic as the doctors went around to check over the newborns. I just kept thinking I've been rumbled. They will take one look at how I put her nappy on and know I have no idea what I'm doing. They would judge me and think I'm a terrible mother. I mean who can't put a nappy on?

Bizarrely, the didn't voice any such concerns. And after my fifteenth nappy that same day, I had kind of developed a knack.

An example of my seasoned nappy work

I actually began to kind of enjoy it (in most circumstances.) And I especially relished watching the fear etched on Jamie's face when he stepped up to the plate. I felt like a combat veteran watching a new recruit tentatively taking their first steps onto the battlefield. 'You'll be fine Marine. Just remember: 'Know the enemy' and 'Preperation is key'.

I'd have more war medals than I could fit on my chest if that were the case after some almighty poonamis and unexpected guerrilla battles, but I have developed from that raw recruit into someone who is ready for (almost) any challenge and who secretly looks forward to the odd explosion or two.

I've kind of gotten lost in a metaphor, but what I'm trying to say is I no longer fear The Nappy.