In for a Penny, in for a Pound (and a half!) of poo

Why is everything coming out underlined? Seriously, is the universe just testing my patience today? The last 24 hours have been something akin to hell, some strange "mammy hazing ritual" which every mammy must undergo following the birth of each of her children (as though being split apart by labour and delivery wasn't challenging enough!)

Nope! Instead, the powers that be have decreed we must suffer an additional testing phase to ensure that we really are worthy of being mothers. (oooh! the underlining has stopped! yay!) A period of suffering defined by niceties such as stretchmarks, hemmorhoids, teething, gas, hair loss and other fun times which further underline my belief that whatever divine power might be watching out for us is indisputably male...

The Snot Queen is teething. Again. (cue menacing music) This time though, is different. This time, not only do we have the usual suspects - pain, fever, agony and long periods of hellish, unabated screaming during the hours most people consider to be "sleeping hours" - we also have a new guest at the table. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce "Baby Number Two."

As if teething wasn't bad enough on it's own, last night, my normally placid, chilled out newborn came down with a lovely case of wind. This meant that everytime the snot queen settled into a temporary peace, instead of managing to grab a few precious minutes of sleep, I would have to roll over and tend to the squawking, red bundle of trapped wind and resentment that was masquerading as baby number two.

By 4am my vocabulary had been reduced to repeating a certain four letter word (starts with f, rhymes with duck, has an amazing number of uses!) at various volumes as a mantra of sorts, in an effort not to throw either of my lovely ducklings out the window.

At 6am, the big one's fever broke and satan released his grip on the small one. For the next few hours, we slept.

When I awoke, I discovered the snot queen had created the kind of nappy that can only be described as toxic and which over the course of the night had leaked out the sides and run down her legs to form a lovely brown pool on the sheets (which then soaked through to the mattress below) A nappy which out of sheer curiosity was placed on the scales and found to be weighing in at a pound and a half.

On the bright side, I've recieved my first ever blogger award (Thanks Jen!) Which I in turn will be passing on to some other deserving blogs including two battle scarred veterans of the sisterhood ( infantasia and living in a toybox who really needs to sort her comments setting!) and two little innocents about to bravely enter the pukey, pooey world of parenting, yup, that's right, xbox4nappyrash and wannabe dad. Congratulations guys, it's a messy, mad and at times heartbreaking world, but it is the greatest gift you will ever be given (and no, I'm not talking about the blog award, though that's pretty sweet too!)

Right, I'm off to clean the poo out of my mattress. Have a great day!

If only we could bottle it...

I don't know how she does it. For the last two weeks or so, the Snot Queen has been busily sprouting a new molar or two. This weekend marked the climax of the show complete with an all night display of temper and tears to which the only obvious solution (to her at least) was to use mommy's breasts as her own personal morphine drip/teething ring.

I was not consulted on the matter so much as molested into submission as she smacked at my chest and tore at my nightgown until I gave up the goods. You see, we broke the night feeding habit some time ago and since then, I have been slowly rediscovering exactly what 6 or 7 unbroken hours of sleep feels like and am loathe to give it up.

But, for want of a few minutes peace, give it up I did. Every hour on the hour to a sound track that went something like this "WWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!! (smack smack) WWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! (smack smack) WAAAAAAaa.... (suck suck slurp) zzzzzzzzz...."

It is now Monday morning. I am wrecked. Destroyed. Despite a lovely, unbroken stretch of zzzz's last night (with only 2 or 3 pregnant pee breaks! Yay!) I am completely and utterly beside myself with tiredness. Broken potentially beyond repair.

And what about the Snot Queen? The poor little love who's pain wracked gums caused all the kerfuffle in the first place? Surely if I'm in such a state, she must be practically comatose!

Not. Bloody. Likely.

The little scut has been happily chatting away sine 6:00 this morning and even as I type this is gleefully taking apart the kitchen, leaving a trail of sippy cups, chapsticks, mobile phones and anything else she can get her sticky little hands on in her wake.

Far from being exhausted, she looks as though she's been pumped full of e numbers and liquid sugar. The joys of spring fairly glow from her fingertips as I slump at the table, a haggard shell of my former self pleading with her to slow down, to show some some sign of weariness that I can capitalize on in the form of a nice, 2 hour nap.

She shows no such mercy though and continues on her cheery faced rampage.

Oh lord, she's found something sharp. Must drag myself off to prevent her being impaled on a flossing stick.

Enjoy your week!

Misery loves Company, but hates Stale Bread...

Damn you Mammy Bloggers!!!!! I was all set to sit down and write a scathing review of all the things that are currently stressing me out (finances, teething, state of the government, really expensive bread at the petrol station that's set to go off in two hours...) but then decided to have a quick read of what some of my favourite "Other Mothers" had been up to first....

ArtyFeminist was busy being vomited on by her daughter.

Jen's Rantings were filled with mourning for the loss of her "clarity of thought" due to baby brain.

Infantasia had gotten herself a lovely new bag which met with the approval of a "petite, Italian, Homosexual"

and xboxfornappyrash and his wife were given the all clear for trying IUI (intrauterine insemination) and then given a lesson in injecting mad dutch hormones into her thigh.

By the time I finished catching up with everyone, my rage at the world had diminished somewhat. It wasn't that anyone had written anything particularly uplifting, I mean, come on! Having your hand VOMITED into? EW! But somehow, reading about their own trials and tribulations (and cool new handbags!) had me being a little more chilled out about my own.

I'm still having panic attacks at my self imposed impending deadline for finishing the book and finding an agent (10 weeks Tuesday! Baby's a coming!)

The Snot Queen's ongoing battle with the tooth fairy continues to threaten my ever more delicate mental health.

I am becoming more and more frustrated with the overweight, bloated buffoons who are in charge of cleaning up the nation's economy when in fact THEY ARE THE PROBLEM!!!!!

And the thought of what's going to happen when my partner's current contract runs out makes my panic at meeting my self imposed deadline all the more fierce (and no, not the Tyra Banks "Pout your lips and squint your eyes" kind of fierce)

I suppose it's true what they say, misery does love company, or at least the knowledge that we're all in this together.

Although I'm still pretty pissed off about the bread...

Song of the Snail

Welcome to three a.m... Well, 3:17 to be precise. Having been granted an hours sleep while my partner took the first shift, it is now my turn to sit up with the increasingly alert baby who switches between being the most miserable child in the universe to being suzy sunshine herself. At the moment she's happy, and has rediscovered her musical snail roy whose song sounds much louder and almost obscenely cheerful at this ungodly hour. Oh, look at that! She's found out how to make the music play, again and again and again......

We are sitting out in the living room waiting for the kettle to boil as my hips - as well as the rest of my joints - have chosen tonight to do that lovely pregnant twitchy thing where it feels like someone is constantly tickling you in a not fun way and you would pay exhorbitant sums for some magical person to come along and snap them all back into place...

We've added percussion in the form of a tablespoon to the snail's song. She's keeping time by banging it against the table, the floor, any hard surface really. Look mom! Loud noises are fun! Yes dear.... Especially at 330 in the morning...

Mmmmm.... the kettle's boiled. Must run and fill up the hot water bottle. It might not be the same as the joint popper inner, but it's magic is still strong nonetheless. Note to self; Invest in a set of plastic spoons. Much quieter... Easier on the nerves.

Teething: Night Two

Well, it's night two of the teething fairy's visit to our humble abode. She arrived last night with a bang (and a bucketload of drool!) We tried to explain that we really don't have the room for visitors at the moment (come back next month when we're living in our DREAM HOME!!!) butshe wouldn't take no for an answer and set about unpacking her belongings and making herself at home.

Lil was in bits. You see, her and the teething fairy have a rocky relationship, their history is marked with pain and suffering (and yes, even more bucketloads of drool) and the second she realized who our house guest was, she raised the roof and wailed the house down. All. Night. Long.

I pleaded with the fairy to find alternate accomodation, I even pointed her in the direction of friends of ours, but no, she was adamant. She wanted to stay with us.

This morning found me bleary eyed and tired having spent the night comforting my inconsolable daughter. She was showing signs of wear as well, her eyes were bright and her little body was burning up with fever. Her red cheeks could be seen from space and her chin had developd a lovely rash from yes, the bucketloads of drool.

After a day spent cuddling on the couch, an emergency run to the pharmacy was in order to pick up a packet of teething granules. The princess is in bed now, as is her daddy. I'm off to join them but first must find the fairy and have a little chat. I'd like to know exactly how long she intends on staying for...

5 down, 15 to go...

Right. The Snot Queen is throwing a tantrum. It seems that either she's ridiculously over tired and desperately needs a nap or else she's been possessed by demons whilst my back was turned. Either way, according to her at least, her little world is ending and it's all my fault. Even just looking at me can bring on a bout of head and body thrashing rage which can only end in tears as she invariably accidentally whacks herself on some random surface.

Whatever happened to my lovely, placid child with the ever present smile who loved her mammy and spent her days doling out kisses and napping for Ireland? Who is this squalling, crusty nosed imposter with the red face and angry eyes who fights sleep like a seasoned warrior, her battle cry ringing out loud and clear as her willful eyelids attempt to drift closed?

We are now well into day three of the napping strike. My nerves are shot and my patience is wearing desperately thin. I'm developing a small twitch and just yesterday discovered a grey hair in my thick, dark mane that had not previously been there. My work is falling by the wayside as my poor brain is even mushier then normal. Just yesterday, I caught myself about to put the Orange Juice into the cups and mugs cupboard instead of back into the fridge where it belongs.

The nights are just as bad. Tired beyond the point of reason, the enfant terrible cannot settle down and so wakes reglarly to rage against the universe that has so forsaken her. Myself and my partner take turns trying to soothe the infant overlord who in turn rejects our overtures with a mix of scorn and derision.

Of course, this sudden hatred of all things sleep related is not without reason. I see the flushed cheeks and the drool soaked pajamas. I can't help but notice the frequent nappies and red, rashed chin and it is this which helps me to keep my last shred of sanity intact.

My baby is teething. She's not being deliberately horrible, she's in pain and has no other way to show it.

As a friend of mine frequently says, and indeed, this phrase has gotten me though more sleepless nights then I can count...

"This too shall pass"

And in my limited experience, it always does.