This year marked Molly's first Christmas and what a Christmas it was. My little girl was spoiled rotten by our family. She received so many gifts I'm left wondering if we have enough space in our apartment for these latest additions.
We woke on Christmas morning and got on Skype with my husbands family who all live in Wales. Molly's grandma and granddad watched her tear into the gifts they had sent the 12,000 miles to Australia. It was really nice to be able to have that interaction with them, and I started to think how any of us ever got by without the technology we have today.
We then set of to my parents place for our Christmas lunch that they hold every year. Molly was definitely in her element. I know a lot of parents make these kind of statements, but in all seriousness my little girl was going crazy. She squeals a lot as it is, but Christmas was just so much fun for her, she couldn't contain herself and I was so happy to be part of it.
After a completely exhausting day we headed home to get ready to visit our friends, this is a tradition that has been going on for a while and is always a lovely relaxing end to Christmas day. So we got home and I gave Molly a bath and got her ready for bed so that she could go straight into her cot when we returned home. I sat on the lounge to watch some TV with Molly on my lap all nice and clean. My husband was in the back garden. I felt Molly fart and did the "Oh my, Molly", then out of nowhere I felt something slide down my thigh and my stomach sank. I looked down, and to my horror Molly had 'sharted' (shat/fart) and her nappy leaked on me. Not only that, it was liquid! I started screaming out to Jon to come quickly, at which point he came running in and almost wet himself with laughter. Molly looked up at me with those big blue eyes and proceeded to have a little giggle herself. Jon then started frantically trying to find a camera!!! Luckily his phone battery was running low and wouldn't allow him to take a picture, through all of this I was screaming at him to get the baby wipes (as well as some other colourful words). It was just awful, but then I thought to myself....at least it was Molly's poo hahaha!
What a first Christmas we had with Molly, but at the end of it all it was truly memorable, and one that will make us laugh for many years to come.
Merry Christmas!
Sunday, 26 December 2010
Friday, 17 December 2010
I suffer from Ornithophobia
Yes, that's right, I'm Ornithophobic. I suffer from an irrational fear of birds, and those heinous ibis birds are the worst of the bunch. The only birds that I could possibly stand would be the gorgeous penguin species. I like cats. I also like dogs, but I have an affiliation with cats that I just can't explain.
My reason for letting you know about my phobia is this; I was sat in the park the other day, surrounded by the enemy. There were ibis, Indian minors and the vermin pigeons all sizing me up wanting to flap at me and peck out my eyes, and I'm not exaggerating (OK maybe a little). When it suddenly struck me while looking at my darling Molly, is my fear of birds hereditary? So I've started looking this up and so far it seems it's not a hereditary thing, but at the same time there is nothing to say otherwise.
I then began wondering what else I could pass on to Molly, and the list begins with migraines. My grandmother, my mum, my aunt, my sister and myself all suffer with migraines. I didn't get my first one until I was 22, and it really bowled me over. I wouldn't wish a migraine on my worst enemy (although I would wish them on birds, yes I'm awful), so I am hoping that Molly will not inherit them.
I just want the best for my girl but she may be predisposed to conditions that are out of my control, which is the most terrifying prospect as a new parent. Why on earth do we do this to ourselves? All this worry is going to age me overnight. Tomorrow morning my husband will wake up to find a 120 year old dessicated corpse next to him....that's how much I can worry! But I have had to stop myself worrying, it becomes nauseating and one very vicious cycle.
I have since figured that if Molly does inherit some horrible things from me, at least I will be there to hold her hand through it and mop her brow with a cool towel and kiss away her fears. I will be by her side through all the ups and downs waiting to catch her in my ever loving arms. She will always have a mother that loves her more than words can describe and that in itself is the most important thing. The other important thing is, no matter how much I love her, she will never have a pet bird.
My reason for letting you know about my phobia is this; I was sat in the park the other day, surrounded by the enemy. There were ibis, Indian minors and the vermin pigeons all sizing me up wanting to flap at me and peck out my eyes, and I'm not exaggerating (OK maybe a little). When it suddenly struck me while looking at my darling Molly, is my fear of birds hereditary? So I've started looking this up and so far it seems it's not a hereditary thing, but at the same time there is nothing to say otherwise.
I then began wondering what else I could pass on to Molly, and the list begins with migraines. My grandmother, my mum, my aunt, my sister and myself all suffer with migraines. I didn't get my first one until I was 22, and it really bowled me over. I wouldn't wish a migraine on my worst enemy (although I would wish them on birds, yes I'm awful), so I am hoping that Molly will not inherit them.
I just want the best for my girl but she may be predisposed to conditions that are out of my control, which is the most terrifying prospect as a new parent. Why on earth do we do this to ourselves? All this worry is going to age me overnight. Tomorrow morning my husband will wake up to find a 120 year old dessicated corpse next to him....that's how much I can worry! But I have had to stop myself worrying, it becomes nauseating and one very vicious cycle.
I have since figured that if Molly does inherit some horrible things from me, at least I will be there to hold her hand through it and mop her brow with a cool towel and kiss away her fears. I will be by her side through all the ups and downs waiting to catch her in my ever loving arms. She will always have a mother that loves her more than words can describe and that in itself is the most important thing. The other important thing is, no matter how much I love her, she will never have a pet bird.
Monday, 13 December 2010
Santa Baby
Today I took Molly to have her first photo with Santa. I knew deep inside that it was not going to go well. She has a hard enough time being in the same room as my grandfather let alone sitting on the knee of some big fat man in a red suit with a white beard.
I have to say I was quite surprised, I was expecting it to be to a horrendous experience. I imagined a queue 10 miles long filled with tearful screaming children, people dressed as elves, a shoddy looking Santa who smelled of scotch and a huge wait for the photos. Oh how I was mistaken! We waited in a very short queue and then before I knew it, it was Molly's turn. She was fine initially but after looking up at this rotund bearded man a few times she had sussed him out and was not happy. She let out a blood curdling scream and her eyes welled up with tears. Thankfully we were able to get a couple of decent shots and thus our mission was complete. I have to say Santa was lovely and did not reek of any kind of alcohol, the ladies who were doing the photos were all lovely and dressed in white t-shirts and black trousers and my photos were ready within minutes, a bonus of living in this marvelous digital age. On the whole, it was a really wonderful experience even though Mo did get a little teary.
My little monkey and I headed home. She was tired after her first encounter with Santa, but to my amazement I was equally knackered. Our trip to see Santa had taken the wind right out of me, I guess I may have gotten a little emotional. OK, I was emotional. A little tear may have popped out, it was after all her first photo with Santa and I was just so excited.
Later in the evening I was getting Mo ready for her bath. I was also on the phone to a friend. I had managed to do the womanly thing and multitask, but just as I was about to tell my friend that I had to go because I had a nude Molly in my arms, the little monkey decided she would take the opportunity to urinate on me. The funny thing is, I just said "Gotta go, Molly just wee'd on me" and then I bathed her and didn't even worry about my pee soaked singlet that, at that moment was sticking to my skin. I made sure that Molly was all good and bathed before I tended to myself. Her happiness (and cleanliness ha ha) is the most important thing now. She comes before me and I love it, because I love her.
Christmas finally has that magic feel to it again and it's because it's Molly's turn to experience it. For me, Christmas is not a religious thing, it's a time for family. Time for forgiveness and love. Time to take a moment and remember the ones that are missing from our lives, and sadly there are a few. I hope that we can instill a good sense of family in Molly. I hope that she is as grateful as I am for the amazing family we have, whether they be here with us or on the other side of the world or even with the stars. I want her to know that she will always be loved.
I have to say I was quite surprised, I was expecting it to be to a horrendous experience. I imagined a queue 10 miles long filled with tearful screaming children, people dressed as elves, a shoddy looking Santa who smelled of scotch and a huge wait for the photos. Oh how I was mistaken! We waited in a very short queue and then before I knew it, it was Molly's turn. She was fine initially but after looking up at this rotund bearded man a few times she had sussed him out and was not happy. She let out a blood curdling scream and her eyes welled up with tears. Thankfully we were able to get a couple of decent shots and thus our mission was complete. I have to say Santa was lovely and did not reek of any kind of alcohol, the ladies who were doing the photos were all lovely and dressed in white t-shirts and black trousers and my photos were ready within minutes, a bonus of living in this marvelous digital age. On the whole, it was a really wonderful experience even though Mo did get a little teary.
My little monkey and I headed home. She was tired after her first encounter with Santa, but to my amazement I was equally knackered. Our trip to see Santa had taken the wind right out of me, I guess I may have gotten a little emotional. OK, I was emotional. A little tear may have popped out, it was after all her first photo with Santa and I was just so excited.
Later in the evening I was getting Mo ready for her bath. I was also on the phone to a friend. I had managed to do the womanly thing and multitask, but just as I was about to tell my friend that I had to go because I had a nude Molly in my arms, the little monkey decided she would take the opportunity to urinate on me. The funny thing is, I just said "Gotta go, Molly just wee'd on me" and then I bathed her and didn't even worry about my pee soaked singlet that, at that moment was sticking to my skin. I made sure that Molly was all good and bathed before I tended to myself. Her happiness (and cleanliness ha ha) is the most important thing now. She comes before me and I love it, because I love her.
Christmas finally has that magic feel to it again and it's because it's Molly's turn to experience it. For me, Christmas is not a religious thing, it's a time for family. Time for forgiveness and love. Time to take a moment and remember the ones that are missing from our lives, and sadly there are a few. I hope that we can instill a good sense of family in Molly. I hope that she is as grateful as I am for the amazing family we have, whether they be here with us or on the other side of the world or even with the stars. I want her to know that she will always be loved.
Saturday, 11 December 2010
Thrills and Spills
Being a new parent is quite an overwhelming experience. It's amazing, fun and wonderful but at the same time it is absolutely terrifying. What if my baby gets hurt? What if it's my fault? The stress and worry can be debilitating.
When I came home from the hospital with Molly I was watching one of those current affairs programs which was running a story about good Samaritans and how people just don't want to be a good Samaritan in this day and age for fear of being harmed themselves. There I am, sat on my couch holding my newborn baby watching this horrifying story....and yes I cried. I couldn't help thinking 'what kind of world have I bought you into'. I wanted to wrap her in cotton wool and protect her from the world. You'll be pleased to know that I have since calmed down and I'm not so precious anymore, but how relaxed is too relaxed?
Molly had her first fall the other day when she went to grab the mouse for our media PC and rolled off my lap. I grabbed her and slowed down her fall, she literally rolled down my shins and landed with a gentle pad on her side on the carpet. It gave her more of a fright than anything, but my confidence was shattered and then my husband decided to put the boot in by saying "What did you do?!", which instantly made me not want to tell him. I knew it was an accident but it felt like I was being accused. I take solace in the words of my friends who reminded me that there will be a million more falls, bumps and scrapes. Looking back on my childhood, I was a complete klutz (and it appears that not much has changed). I was constantly stubbing my toes or having some sort of awful accident. Needless to say I still felt terrible and kept reprimanding myself emotionally (and I'm still doing this now).
Then yesterday morning my husband and I had a horrid argument. One of our cats was being sick and I had Molly in my arms. As I walked through the apartment to check on the cat Molly bumped her head on one of the door handles. We live in an art deco apartment so the doorknobs are quite high (I have had run ins with these silly handles myself when running past them and my long hair has gotten caught and almost scalped me). Anyways, instead of saying to me 'what happened? Is everything OK?' my husband shouts at me that horrible question he uttered previously,"What did you do?!".This question instantly upset me (again), it appeared that he was implying that I was a bad mother and it hurt me immensely. I know that he was just concerned, but his choice of words was thoughtless and mean and as a result I was extremely rude to him, suggesting he F off. My gutter mouth strikes again, and it truly is vile.
At the end of the day Molly is a happy and well loved baby, but now I am left wondering if I really am a bad mum and the idea of wrapping her in cotton wool is slowly creeping back. What am I going to do when she starts crawling?!
My husband and I can have some doozey arguments but at least I have him to argue with. I wouldn't change him for anything. We may be total gits to each other at times but I love him unconditionally and he makes my world a happy one, and we made the most awesome human together.
Life with a baby is full on, but no matter how much I second guess myself two things remain loud and clear, and they are that I love my husband and that I love my little girl so much that I couldn't live without her.
When I came home from the hospital with Molly I was watching one of those current affairs programs which was running a story about good Samaritans and how people just don't want to be a good Samaritan in this day and age for fear of being harmed themselves. There I am, sat on my couch holding my newborn baby watching this horrifying story....and yes I cried. I couldn't help thinking 'what kind of world have I bought you into'. I wanted to wrap her in cotton wool and protect her from the world. You'll be pleased to know that I have since calmed down and I'm not so precious anymore, but how relaxed is too relaxed?
Molly had her first fall the other day when she went to grab the mouse for our media PC and rolled off my lap. I grabbed her and slowed down her fall, she literally rolled down my shins and landed with a gentle pad on her side on the carpet. It gave her more of a fright than anything, but my confidence was shattered and then my husband decided to put the boot in by saying "What did you do?!", which instantly made me not want to tell him. I knew it was an accident but it felt like I was being accused. I take solace in the words of my friends who reminded me that there will be a million more falls, bumps and scrapes. Looking back on my childhood, I was a complete klutz (and it appears that not much has changed). I was constantly stubbing my toes or having some sort of awful accident. Needless to say I still felt terrible and kept reprimanding myself emotionally (and I'm still doing this now).
Then yesterday morning my husband and I had a horrid argument. One of our cats was being sick and I had Molly in my arms. As I walked through the apartment to check on the cat Molly bumped her head on one of the door handles. We live in an art deco apartment so the doorknobs are quite high (I have had run ins with these silly handles myself when running past them and my long hair has gotten caught and almost scalped me). Anyways, instead of saying to me 'what happened? Is everything OK?' my husband shouts at me that horrible question he uttered previously,"What did you do?!".This question instantly upset me (again), it appeared that he was implying that I was a bad mother and it hurt me immensely. I know that he was just concerned, but his choice of words was thoughtless and mean and as a result I was extremely rude to him, suggesting he F off. My gutter mouth strikes again, and it truly is vile.
At the end of the day Molly is a happy and well loved baby, but now I am left wondering if I really am a bad mum and the idea of wrapping her in cotton wool is slowly creeping back. What am I going to do when she starts crawling?!
My husband and I can have some doozey arguments but at least I have him to argue with. I wouldn't change him for anything. We may be total gits to each other at times but I love him unconditionally and he makes my world a happy one, and we made the most awesome human together.
Life with a baby is full on, but no matter how much I second guess myself two things remain loud and clear, and they are that I love my husband and that I love my little girl so much that I couldn't live without her.
Thursday, 9 December 2010
Why people hate Lara...
Today is my first attempt at blogging and as you can see the title of today's blog refers to Lara. I'm a new mum so lack of sleep and looking after my gorgeous little monkey (and yes she's ginger, hence the blog name) can leave me a little worse for wear at times, and at these times I really should avoid Lara all together.
Those of you who are with a certain mobile provider, we won't name names (Vodafone grrrrrr) will know exactly who this evil cow Lara is, and that when you hear that sickly sweet and nauseating voice you are on the downward spiral through the ridiculous system that this Telco have in place.
Three months ago my husband Jon and I decided to upgrade our phones to the lovely new Samsung Galaxy S. Unfortunately Jon's phone was DOA (dead on arrival). My phone however was superb! Jon soon became like a whinging child when his technology didn't work and he had to use a crappy loan phone, so me being the ever loving wife gave him my phone leaving me to wait for the new phone to arrive. This was after having it out with staff in one of the stores and being sent round in circles by the upgrade team over the phone.
When a month passed I contacted the so called provider only to be told that there was no ETA (estimated time of arrival) on the Galaxy S. After working in the IT industry I do know that some companies won't actually provide ETA's, so I could understand where the staff were coming from, but I was still annoyed.
After two months of waiting my patience had worn a little thin. I then said "OK give me a different phone then" so we agreed on a HTC Desire HD. When I called to find out where my phone was, I was told they were sending me a bloody iPhone4!!!!! At this point some very colourful language came out of my mouth. I do not want an iPhone....NO! SO after some confusion we straightened everything out and the HTC Desire HD would be on its way......but that was just a dream.
It is now three months later and I have been told twice that this mysterious HTC Desire HD has been sent to me but alas I still do not have it. Today I thought to myself, 'I want to stab Lara with a fork' and then I thought better of it and wanted to bitch slap the poor sod who landed me for his call in the call centre in India.
All this so I can keep my free Vodafone to Vodafone, which is kind of irrelevant when the service is so appallingly bad that your calls don't even stay connected long enough to have a decent conversation. So I was frustrated enough and decided to leave it there for now. The gent on the phone asked me to wait one more week, so one more week it is, but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and I am definitely scorned.
All through that I was also tending to the every whim of my little angel Molly, who consumes almost all of my time and I am so glad of it. We are extremely lucky to have such a beautiful baby and I'm sure if it weren't for her I very well may have committed a heinous crime against that nasty bitch Lara.
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