Ok, so I am just going to get this out of the way.
I do not want to write this post.
I know. I said that last week. But bear with me.
I mean we all know I will find something to say regardless.
I just need to get back on top of this thing and start taking notes each night, rather than trying to get it all done in one afternoon.
Truth be told, I simply cannot be bothered with it this evening.
I am sick of thinking about it each and every day.
I am so far behind with so many things, and this is just one more of them.
I feel worn out.
Not that exhaustion I used to have when Emily was first born, but a deeper more chronic version.
Michael is sick, Emily is sick, I am sick, there is no coffee in the house, and it hasn’t stopped raining for most of the weekend.
I used to secretly judge those mummies who said they were afraid of a wet weekend and a toddler in the house.
But oh boy do I understand that fear now.
I used to think they just were not stocked with enough craft supplies or something just as ridiculously naive.
So consider this yet another apology to the mothers who have walked this path before me.
I did not know what I did not know.
It doesn’t matter how big your brave girl pants are, when it comes to rain and entertaining a spirited toddler, you should be afraid.
We do not have a big arse playroom, and as much as I would love to get rid of the dining room table, Michael had to have, and replace it with the big fat play mat, I had to have, and cover that side of our living area with toys, my husband says no.
However, if someone, anyone, would like to come and accidently set fire to said ugly dining set, or take it off my hands, I would be eternally grateful.
Every time we wander through our local furniture retailer to get to the supermarket, I dream of the day I can afford to replace our furniture with actual things I like instead of this make shift I love the lounge, the big arse television, our big comfortable bed, and Little’s cot, but nothing else thing we have going on.
I was frustrated earlier in the peace when Michael would not let me move the lounges around and bring all her equipment in from outside in preparation for these seemingly endless hours of stormy weather.
As it is, we have the rocking horse and the fold out tunnel.
Which let us just say have not been enough.
It is about 6:15PM on Sunday night, the wind is blowing a gale outside, and really, the only place I want to be is in bed, but my head will not switch off.
Although I have to admit to getting an hour and a half nap today while baby girl slept.
Michael and I pretty much tag teamed.
I got up with Emily at 6:00AM something, because he couldn’t face it, then after he got up just before 10:00AM, which in itself tells me just how sickly he is feeling, he made us breakfast as promised, we tried baby girl with bacon, she rejected it, and then she and I went back to bed while he dozed on the lounge watching sit-com re-runs from the eighties.
He hasn’t been well for days.
And my husband doesn’t get man sick. If anything, he is the opposite, so it is really hard to tell when he isn’t himself.
Have I mentioned there has been no coffee in the house for over twenty-four hours?
Once again, I am caught in the quandary of if I don’t write, I know that I am going to look back and kick myself.
So here, we are again.
My pen scratching the page like a chicken in dirt, as I take inventory of our week.
And that is exactly how it has been, accept a lot less productive.
I don’t think I could get any less efficient if I tried.
Every spare second I have, and I have to admit there have been a lot of them, I am stuck in the overwhelm of it all.
Although on the plus side, I have discovered hash tags, and have been trying to populate my Facebook posts with them.
This takes an exorbitant amount of fiddling, and I know I do not quite have the hang of it yet.
I am torn between making up my own, which are original to our brand, and using the most popular in regard to my subject matter and industry.
Truth be told, I am nervous about the latter, because what if people start liking my stuff and we have nothing to show for it?
Then there are the questions I have around twitter, Instagram, and whatever other social media platforms are out there.
How do I know which one to choose, and what is the point in having they if they are all basically going to be populated with the same items?
Of course, I understand different audiences engage with different mediums, but it all seems a little overwhelming trying to figure out which goes with what.
One of my biggest hurdles is that I have not found a content scheduler, which is accessible with my technology, knowledge base, or skillset. Therefore I will need to post everything individually myself. Which again takes time.
Therefore, the question is what can I automate in return.
The only revelation I have had around any of these things are, if I can do it for our business, and show those skills off, be it social media, business acumen, strategy, audience engagement, and whatever other wanker terminology recruiters like to use, then maybe I will stop feeling like a fraud, and will be able to get a proper job after all.
Listen to me, proper job, as if what I already do is not valid.
No wonder I am getting nowhere.
All work on the website has stopped, and my husband has not mentioned it in weeks.
We hit a snag with a wonky WordPress update, and although I have been keeping an eye out for the next upgrade, as far as I am aware it has not happened.
I am reluctant to ask him about it, because I am sick of being the nagging wife.
He says I can remind him of anything, but I don’t see the point.
He will simply answer me the way he always does.
As it is, I have been waiting for six weeks for him to print something out for me.
Because I am fairly certain, that like me, he is feeling the pinch of being on the front line of transitional toddler land.
I can only speak for myself when I say I have toddler trench foot.
Working on the front lines these last couple of weeks has been intense.
Emily is going through some massive changes, and although we are trying to be present for her, there is not always a lot we can do.
If this is a prelude to the teenage years, then we are in trouble.
At the moment much of our time is spent offering the cutie cute cute cute a cuddle, which she gratefully accepts. However, I am not sure that is going to work when she is fifteen.
Everything upsets her.
Her toys, the pegs, the slippery-dip, rice cakes, mummy’s feet not being on the floor quick enough…
Oh so many things.
It is the funniest to watch, and I probably shouldn’t phrase it like that, because in toddler territory tantruming is some serious business, she is throwing herself face down on the floor and having mini tantrums over the smallest of issues.
Sometimes over mummy not wanting to walk with her, which is slack of me I know, but really? Really there are times when I just don’t want to do another lap of the lounge.
I know I promised myself I would not be that mummy, but I so am.
Sometimes I have to confess to this being boring.
There, I have said it. So I had better start saving for Little’s therapy now, because God knows if she ever reads this, she is going to need it.
I look at her in astonishment, because on the one hand, it seems so natural, but on the other, I can barely believe my eyes.
We have a toddler, I say to Michael as we hold our arms out and ask her if she needs a cuddle.
At this point, it is the strategy, which feels right for us, so we will continue.
As I said, thank God more often than not this works to calm her down, but for how long people. For how long!
Poor sweetie pie has been super-duper clingy this week.
Michael says she has been asking for more cuddles than ever.
He says she sits in the middle of the lounge room floor and simply puts her arms out in the gesture of come pick me up whenever she is feeling sad.
Which by the way is a lot.
But just as instantly, she can be happy again.
Then cranky, then smiley, then sweet, then cranky, sad, happy, grumpy, frustrated, content, and quiet.
Her big back teeth are coming through, and she has a cold.
I think this is as sick as she has ever been.
We don’t think she feels very well in the tummy either, because she isn’t eating as much as usual, and there are an awful lot of dirty nappies compared to our new usual of going twice in one day and skipping the next.
Admittedly this has been a boring all mummy does is go to work week, and none of us are really coping well with this turn of events.
Working is getting in the way of my being a mummy.
I know it may sound like I don’t like it, but I really really do.
What I don’t like is the split in two different directions I am feeling.
I feel as though I cannot be present at work because I want to be home with Little, and meeting my other mum friends in the park for coffee and a catch up.
I keep meting the most amazing mammas online, some of whom are locals, and we keep trying to make a time to see one another in person and have our kids play, but it rarely if ever happens because I am so busy.
I always thought I would want to be a working mamma, but now I am not so sure.
Actually I am.
I am pretty sure I would love nothing more than to poor all my energy into raising Little.
This isn’t to say I want Michael to go to work either.
I want everything.
I know it sounds idealistic, and even unrealistic.
However, on the other hand when I am at home, I feel like I should be doing something to earn money.
Mainly because we don’t have any. And not out of any real sense of ambition.
Put it this way, if we won the lottery tomorrow, I would not continue to work.
Which is probably why I am beginning to resent my choice to write this blog, as it does not take us any closer to financial freedom that I can see.
Or does it?
I know it may look like I don’t put a lot of thought or effort into this, especially judging by my conversational based poor grammar, and let’s not even discuss my spelling, but I can assure you this type of shabby sheik takes time people. Loads and loads of tick tocking time.
Universe, if you are listening…
A hint would be nice.
I had hoped that the Blind Mamma brand would grow into something, which I could spin off the main Taylored Thinking empire and loop back around like a beautiful ribbon.
I envisaged beautiful baby clothes, swaddles, a kick arse adaptive parenting book or three, full of stories from all my blind mamma friends about how we rock this gig, some kid’s books, and a host of other practical baby items to make a blind mamma’s life easier.
However, this is still all in my head.
I mean I have not even figured out how to add photographs to my blog yet, let alone nice little internal links, proper heading levels, menus how I would like them, and the list goes on. Let alone an online shop or affiliate links.
I feel so stuck on this piss poor income level, it is as though I have created my own glass financial ceiling, and I have no idea how to crash through it.
Even when I put more hours in at work, I still seem to make the same amount of money or something comparable.
I am not sure what I have to do to break this cycle, but whatever it is, I need to get my arse into gear, because this is getting boring
Miraculously again we made rent, and even with a little left over. However oh my God, how that happens, when on paper there is no chance, I will never know.
But thank you universe.
I have to confess to putting the payment off for the weekend, because I wanted to look at that measly sum in our account a little longer.
I know, it is pathetic.
Especially considering how much better, I feel when all the bills are up to date.
Again, I sit here and I wonder how did it come to this?
When did I become the person who refused to put the heater on because I am worried about the electric bill?
Anyone who knows me knows I hate hate hate being cold, and will do almost anything to avoid it.
Which by the way makes it difficult to get up and settle Emily during the middle of the night?
And oh God those early mornings…
It is almost as if I have transferred the shame I once felt, and I guess sometimes still do feel to varying degrees on occasion about my disability to my financial state of affairs, and cannot move through it.
So the question is, what do I like about our poverty that I am not willing to give up?
Don’t get me wrong, I know how good we have it.
We have a lovely house, which although I feel like we are out-growing, it does meet our needs beautifully.
It is close to transport, in a good area, quiet, has plenty of space, a sunny yard, and most of all I feel safe here.
I know I have been complaining about the lack of light in our kitchen lately, and blaming it on my vision, however it has since occurred to me that Michael also puts the kitchen light on during the day now.
Whereas when we first moved in, neither of us ever did.
the tree outside our kitchen window, which admittedly provides enough privacy from the house up the back that we could indeed make mad mad love on the kitchen floor without fear of being seen if we so desired, has indeed grown ridiculously tall over the last twelve months, and is cutting out most of our natural light.
This meaning, that maybe it is not all about my eyes playing up after all.
When I ask Michael about it, he says that all the trees seemed to have grown extra big over the last twelve months. Especially the mulberry tree just outside our yard, so all the shade in the yard is different this year.
Therefore, maybe there is hope.
Mind you, how lovely it would be to have an open plan kitchen where we could all fit.
Emily loves to be under Michael’s feet as he is preparing dinner.
I tell him he brought it on himself, because that is cheese and bickie time, and as if she is going to miss out on some of that action.
Although rumour has it, this is not unique to our toddler territory, but is happening throughout little people empires across the world.
The problem is, when she is in there, she wants me there as well, and I end up being in the way.
The walls have been creeping in lately.
Admittedly, the house feels cluttered, but there is not a lot more I can put up on the local freecycling site.
Speaking of which, we have done so well from that this week.
I have developed quite the reputation for my tongue in cheek adverts, be it asking for something or giving something away.
Apparently, it is obvious to all concerned that my talents are wasted at the moment, and clearly, I am too clever for my own good.
Whereas for my money, it is a tactic I use to build a relationship, and hopefully get what I want, while masking my deep seeded feelings of guilt and shame about having to ask in the first place.
Mind you, it is becoming less about the money we save, and more about the recycling aspect, which is nice. Because on that level, I don’t feel so bad about putting it out there.
Unfortunately, I have run out of things to trade, so I am reluctant to ask for anything more at the moment. But I will be back.
However, here is what I received in the last seven days:
One brand new pasta machine, which has been on my wish list forever.
I am so excited, because now Little and I will be able to make pasta together, and fill those tiny shapes with all sorts of ingredients, and daddy will be able to cook them for us.
I think he is secretly looking forward to the experience.
Sometimes he doesn’t always see the method to my madness until it has come to fruition.
Secondly, we received one rather flimsy, but no less a cubby house for baby girl.
It is beautiful and bright, and will do the trick for now.
Although I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but I should have specified something sturdier in my brief to the universe so that Little could climb in and out of it Dukes of Hazard style the way she likes to do.
I am thinking of swapping it out.
Thirdly, a wooden open toy box also for one cutie cute cute cute cute, which she can climb in and out of to her heart’s content.
I am not quite sure, but I think it almost matches her cot.
In the process I gave away my crappy foam massage bolsters, which was kind of a big deal, as I have held on to those for years even though I don’t want to work from home again in that capacity.
I also gave away some wooden puzzles we don’t use, and offered a pair of boots up for the taking, which no one liked.
On the plus side, I made a new friend, and we are aiming to catch up when the weather clears.
On a whim, I asked for a wooden table and chairs for baby girl, but I knew nothing would come from my request, so I took it down after twenty-four hours.
It feels like such a mixed bag this week.
On the one hand, I have found happiness in the folding of clothes, scrubbing of toilets, and travelling on the train with my coffee.
Mind you, that trek into the city is becoming a bit too much again.
I have been making more of an effort and wearing my favourite jeans and boots, so that I at least feel more presentable than I do in my regular work clothes.
I mean it is not as though I have been walking across the bridge.
On Friday, I even wore my favourite high heel boots.
However, it has been so long since I have had them on, that I felt silly, and as though I was tottering all over the place.
I would really like a new nappy bag for Little, and a new backpack or handbag for me.
Hello wish list.
However, on the other I am becoming more aware of the need for our situation to change.
I am aware that both Michael and I are better when we exercise, yet neither of us are getting any.
I am aware of my pending fall from grace when it comes to my current job.
I am aware that going back to uni right now is not the correct move, so I will put it off another six months, which makes me a bit sad. But the question is, considering how much else I feel like is on my plate at the moment, what would I be proving by adding yet another obligation to the mix?
I am all too familiar with the study guilt associated with higher learning, and as much as I need to be doing something, I would prefer we had the business in a better place, I was more organised and on top of this blog and Little was through this tricky transition.
Whether or not it gets easier on that last, one I don’t know, but after talking to Michael at length about it, and going back and forth in my head a million times, I have taken the decision to put my masters off a little while longer.
I am aware that we need to get this business up and running. However not out of desperation, but because interest is slowly building in what we are trying to achieve, and it feels good to be able to capitalise on that opportunity.
Sure, my canes may not end up in Harrods, although that would be the ideal, but they will end up in places I have not even imagined yet.
I am aware that I need to do more to support my brilliant husband.
He says I do more than enough, but I know I have more to offer.
The truth is, I am better when I am being stretched.
Whereas right now I am so scrunched up and trying to avoid the world that I am no good to anyone.
Least of all myself.
Every night I go to bed feeling guilty, because I have not accomplished what I promised myself.
Every night I vow I will do better the next day.
But I don’t.
I don’t do better.
I don’t do anything differently.
I tell myself if Michael gets up with the baby, then I will also get up and do some exercise.
However when it comes to it, sleep is far too precious a commodity to give up so easily.
Even though I would feel better and more energised and on top of the world if I traded it for my hoop, a set of squats, and a luxuriously languid yoga session.
My problem is, I feel like I should take the sleep when I can get it, because if I get up with my family, then I may as well be up with Little so that Michael can get some extra shut eye.
He says he knows how I feel, and that I am being ridiculous.
But I can see beyond those words.
I know what he really means.
I know you honey.
Granted he isn’t nearly as judgemental as I am, but I can tell when he says one thing and really means another.
Mostly because it is oh so rare.
Oh but wait, it gets worse; every evening I come home from work, or after spending the day with baby girl, and I promise myself I will work on the blog, or the business, but I do neither.
Even though I cannot stand most of the crap on television, I sit mindlessly with my husband, and zone out.
All the while knowing that this is not moving, us forward, and if I don’t do something, then I will be stuck here forever in this hand to mouth existence.
So yes, I am aware of just how much of this brimstone and hell fire I am bringing upon myself, but here I am, trying to write it out on the page in a bid to move something. Anything. Everything!
I know I could take the lap top up to bed with me or sit at my desk, but if I do that too often, Michael gets lonely.
Honestly, I wish he would turn the television off more and just come to bed with a book, or suggest we play a board game instead.
The only ever night we took the latter option we had the best fun.
Sure, he may have kicked my arse at whatever that game is with the triangles painted on the board and the counters, but we had a blast.
However, he seems intent on sitting in front of the idiot box for whatever reason.
I can only assume it is because he feels overwhelmed and doesn’t get his time out the way he used to when we didn’t have a Little.
Not that we would hand her back of course.
Although I have to admit to having the odd second here and there of remembering fondly what it was like to sleep in.
Sorry sweetie, unfortunately you are like your mummy, and you don’t seem to sleep well.
Tuesday was our only day together, and we spent it much the same way Michael and Emily spent most of their week.
In his words, we didn’t do anything interesting.
We simply hung out the way we do.
We repeatedly stood at the toddler gate at the base of the stairs watching daddy come and go, while Emily asked where did he go?
As in, literally she asked that question.
She may have had no words the week before, but this week they have exploded. Certainly she still ehhs and points to anything and everything, but she has begun to ask questions.
Most of them revolve around where did you go or what are you doing, but they are actual words strung together in a proper context.
I always repeat her question to make sure I have it correct, and to show her how to ask it properly.
It is so strange to hear her say words I didn’t even know she knew. Let alone to put them in the right order and at the right time.
Words such as tea towel, princess, and her latest for this evening, come.
Now to hear her call me up the stairs by using more than just my name was surreal.
How did our tiny baby, who used to cry in her cradle to get our attention, only to laugh when we poked our heads over the top, grow so big, I asked Michael as I returned to our lounge room.
When did she become a little girl?
She can even say her name. Well, sort of, she says mimi for Emily.
Now if that isn’t the cutest thing.
It started because that is what her friend Ronya calls her.
It sounds like pretty sparkly twinkling stars in her mouth, so I suspect it might stick.
Although I am fairly certain Michael doesn’t like it, because he goes all-silent when we practice.
It certainly isn’t a version of her name I had ever considered, but I can live with it.
I guess we will wait and see.
Michael says she is the pulliest face baby ever, and they seem to spend a lot of time cracking each other up with the funny faces they make at one another.
Emily loves to look at daddy in the mirror and practice her funny faces in the reflection
I can always tell when she is doing it, partly because of his laugh, and partly because if I am holding her, she pulls them using her entire body.
Meanwhile she and I just make silly sounds together.
This week it is all about the pppp, ffff, thhhh, ssss, sttt pspspspspspspsps, and blowing raspberries.
We are learning to whisper.
And we are also learning about what one does with things when they are finished.
I made the mistake of showing her how to put her dish in the sink when she was done, along with her food scraps. So now, she thinks that is where her dirty nappies go also.
I thought about showing her how to put things in the bin, but I am worried about what will end up there.
I found her on Wednesday morning eating an avocado skin from the rubbish as it was.
And being the best parent ever, I didn’t rush to take it off her, because I was so glad she was eating the remnants of said fruit.
As it is, we have started to put her peas in with her solids, and let her eat them that way in a bid to get more nutrition into her.
It turns out that rather than not liking Michael’s food, she wants to feed herself like a big girl – sometimes.
I really want him to make a variety of different burgers, filled with all sorts of meats, vegetables, and combinations so that she can simply hold them and munch away.
But as he always says, this takes time.
The other new thing we have been doing is playing with bubbles in the bath.
I cannot remember if I mentioned that in the previous week or two’s posts.
Which leads me to ask, how big a squirt of that soapy synthetic bubble gum smelling not so good goodness do I need to use, and is there a way to measure it out more effectively than simply squeezing the bottle and hoping?
I used to be able to see the blue liquid come out and contrast against the white tub, but now it all just blends in.
I know I could run it through my fingers, but honestly, I don’t like the feel of that slimy stuff.
I have been reluctant to use it because I worry about what is in it, and what is being absorbed by her skin as a result.
However like the pain relief, I am reaching the point that if it keeps her happy, then I will risk poisoning the cutie cute cute cute.
I mean, good God, look at some of the stuff we used to use at the turn of the penultimate century.
I am sure historians will look back on our era and wonder what the hell we were thinking.
In other news, Michael says she is a dancing machine, and now as well as rocking up and down, be it standing, sitting, or kneeling, she is incorporating some hand actions also.
It worries me that she dances to the theme songs of Michael’s pain in the arse talk back radio shows.
However, he said when they were at the library this week; once again, at the earlier kid’s story time on Friday; she did more dancing than ever.
I love how non-self-conscious she is, and hope to God she always remains that way.
Because even on Saturday when we were at a friend’s two-year-old birthday party, Emily simply sat in the middle of the room and rocked those Disney Princess songs like no man can.
She and daddy have been sick most of the week to varying degrees.
Therefore, it was nice to see her a little more cheerful on Saturday morning when we were out.
It was hard because all those toddlers look the same to me, and I kept having to ask who they were.
I felt vulnerable and a shamed as Emily walked me around the room the way she does.
It wasn’t that I had to trust she could see where we were going, but rather that I could not.
This isn’t her job, I kept thinking as we did lap after lap, circle after circle, turn after turn…
I know a big part of this is about her wanting us to have a shared experience, and not really, about her showing me where things are because I cannot see them.
I know this because she is doing it more with daddy also.
He tells me they did many many laps of the yard this week while I wasn’t home.
I became a little upset with him on Thursday, because when Emily and he went to meet Ronya and her mummy at the shops for a playdate, because yeah, that’s exciting, they sat on those stupid kids rides in the shopping centre.
You know the ones that I was adamant about her not ever finding out how they worked, because it would make my life more difficult when we are out together?
The same ones I told Michael about and why?
Umm, yeah, those!
He said he thought it would be ok because they did not put any money in. Which means he missed my point entirely.
That is so unlike him.
Normally he is more protective of my wishes like that than I am.
Now she knows where those bloody things are she cannot unknow it, and mummy is going to have to factor finding and waiting while she plays on those types of toys when we are out.
Maybe I am over reacting, but still… It does add another dimension to our shopping trips, which I will now need to take into consideration.
Maybe she will not even ask for them when she is with me, and daddy can suffer that consequence.
That’d learn him.
As I was saying, given how much time I spent at work this week, and again how little I earned in turn, I am seriously wondering what my options are in this arena.
So much so, that I found time to examine my resume, sigh at the thought of re-doing it, and promptly closing the document.
I mean what do I say I have been doing for the last two years?
I am not sure growing a person is a skill that is valued outside my family unit.
Meanwhile Emily and daddy went through the motions of playing in the park, making new friends, seeing old ones, going to the shops for milk, hanging out the washing, and fetching mummy to and from the station.
We have fallen into quite the routine with that task.
I am allowed to use my cane from our door to the station lift, and then it is Emily’s turn once we are inside the elevator, along the concourse, down the second elevator, and on to the platform.
I am allowed to take it back again only when my train arrives.
While on the way home it is Emily’s from the moment we meet on the platform, to our front door if she chooses.
Michael was originally going to be away for the first half of the week, but as that didn’t quite go to plan the way we had expected, I thought I should make the most of the time and see if I could bump up the kitty a little.
Well that, and I figured if Michael was busy with Emily, then he wouldn’t have too much time or space to dwell on his own stuff.
Whether or not I made the right, decision is still yet to be seen.
I have to admit he was a little snappy at times this week, which is unusual for him. And by Michael snappy, I mean nobody else would have even noticed, given how easy going and calm he is by his very nature.
But I felt it.
I am sorry honey.
Part of me felt terrible that we couldn’t afford for him to go away on his own.
Sometimes I wonder if we are inadvertently making one another feel powerless in the relationship.
For example, I feel powerless when it comes to the grocery shopping and what we have for dinner, even though he says he would cook me anything I wanted.
Good God the amount of mash potato I eat is ridiculous.
I hate that stuff.
However I cannot always tell him that, because I know he is doing the best he can, and I do not want to be the wife who is never pleased with anything.
I think the thing is, we have very different cooking styles, and I feel like there is no room in the kitchen for me.
He says there is, but he has always planned, shopped, or started dinner before I can even get in there and have a go.
I am really not sure how to take that corner of our domain back.
Meanwhile I wonder if by my earning the pennies we have, and not giving him any to play with, mostly because we simply don’t have them spare, is that making him feel powerless also?
SO the question becomes what or how can I change that dynamic so we each feel like we are contributing in a more empowered way to the marriage.
I am hoping that it is just his cold getting him down, but he looks so unhappy this week.
Every time I ask if he is ok, he assures me he is fine, but…
I don’t know honey; you just don’t seem like yourself.
What can I do?
Apart from this, I don’t think there is much more to tell.
As I said, it is all pretty much the same thing day in and day out.
Crawling on the lounge, stacking blocks, playing with mummy’s phone even though she isn’t supposed to, endless games of peek-a-boo, snacks, games in the park, feelings feelings and more feelings, and so on.
We have been reading more books, and I can see Emily’s ability to concentrate growing longer by the day.
I worry that I cannot point to the pictures, which go with the words.
I don’t want her to miss out.
However, I guess it is all swings and round abouts, because I did catch her following the braille dots with her index finger earlier this evening as we read Guess How Much I Love You.
I have gone through it enough times now that I no longer sound like a five year old as I sound out the words, and I can almost read it with grown up big girl expression.
Funnily enough, she will let me read that one almost all the way through, but isn’t interested in any of the shorter Touch And Feel books, or Dr Sues.
I had originally intended to braille all our board books, but I realise now that is so not going to happen.
In terms of sleeping, I guess it doesn’t take too much to figure out where Emily has been spending a lot of her time.
Thursday night was the only night she slept in her bed until 6:00AM.
I am pleased to announce that we have finally begun to train her to sleep under a blanket.
Well done sweetie.
Now mummy won’t have to worry so much about keeping you warm.
Speaking of which, sweet dreams baby girl.
I will see you in the morning.