I fear I’m turning into a proud Mummy blog.
- Sing the tune to the Wheels on the Bus
- Tell us she is a ‘Goo Gir’
- Toddle about with a walker, and steer the walker, and do an about turn with the walker
- Stab food with a fork and get it into her mouth if the food plays ball (watching her eat a teacake with this method was rather fun)
- Enjoy olives
- Enjoy curry
- Ignore bananas, strawberries, satsumas (why? Other kids go mad for the things!)
- Do little dances
- Stack her stacky pots
- Persuade Daddy to read ‘Spot Goes to the Farm’ several times in a row
- Rummage in the Lego without eating it
- Sort shapes into my old shape sorter
She’s not been a well bunny – she got a really nasty chest infection and the first antibiotics didn’t fix it, but the second did. However, by that point, it had such a bad hold that we ended up at the out of hours, only to discover that despite her running about the waiting room (holding onto Mummy), her sats were at 85…which concerned everyone. The doctor says we need to keep a close eye on her. We’ve bought an O2 sats monitor in panic. She was fine after 3 days of oxygen. Mummy? Less so. It’s taken a week for me to recover my equilbirum and zest for parenting. I was getting worried that I was getting hit with a depressive episode and retreating into a bit of a shell world. I appear to be moving out of it with the help of using the CBT techniques, acknowledging where I’d got to, and lots of support from N. He really is wonderful. Talking really does make a difference. Realising that it’s all going to heck in a handcart and doing something about it takes energy. And, frankly, after that period of being ‘on’, when I was able to be ‘off’, I was really rather ‘off’. It’s hard not to veer too far in the wrong direction sometimes.