Category Archives: Devilette

You say potato…

This morning grandma came to visit. This in itself is not out of the ordinary.

Devilette was gifted with a plush Winnie the Pooh which she immediately fell in love with. Given her current fixation on all things fluffy, this is not out of the ordinary either. But then…

We told her his name.

She immediately shouted “Poo” gleefully and, taking us at our word, proceeded to stick it in the toilet.

Fair play, baby girl. Fair play.

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An epistle to a one-year-old Sugar-Puff

Dearest baby girl,

It’s 6.00 am and I am extremely awake. You, sweetness, are not. For once! I can’t sleep because my head is so full of you, precious girl, at this sweetly significant time. You see, one year ago at this exact same time I was also awake. Only on that occasion I was being raced to the hospital due to an impatient little girl who was in rather a hurry to be born.

It’s been one year since your burst screaming into the world, all pink and squishy and so gloriously alive. One year since I first held you in my arms, amazed that your daddy and I, with the assistance of a cast of thousands and the wonders of modern science, were clever enough to make perfect little you.

It’s been a year of holding your warm little body close in the dark of night, all night, given that you are nocturnal. Soothing you and feeding you, tired but buoyed by the the physical and emotional connection that time affords us. (But don’t tell your dad or he may not let me sleep in on Sundays). I must admit though, that one year in to this whole you business, the party-all-night thing is getting a bit ‘tired’ and I’d love you to consider giving the sleeping-all-night thing a bit of a try instead. Just saying. No pressure! Think it over and get back to me – preferably between 6am and 7pm.

It’s been one year of watching you weaving your spell over your daddy (or “Dee Dee” as you squeal when you see him) with every flutter of your lovely long lashes. No matter how tired and cranky after a night of your nocturnal naughtiness, one glance into those beautiful big brown eyes as they peer from your perfect little face and he is molten mush.

It’s been one year of watching your big brother become ever more besotted with you. From that first, perfectly peculiar (and let’s be honest, fairly disgusting) lick he gave you at the hospital, he’s been dedicated to doing whatever he can to make you smile, which you seem to do pretty much all the time. There’s been no jealousy, no rivalry and no drama – just a sweet little boy thrilled to share his life and his things with “the most beautifulist and laughiest baby sister ever”.

It’s been one year in which my life has been changed forever, in ways too wonderful for me to ever have imagined. As a professional cynic and card carrying member of the basic black brigade, never could I have foreseen a life filled with so much colour or so many flounces, ruffles and bows. And never could I have imagined how whole-heartedly I would embrace my long buried girly side.

It’s been one year of your infectious happiness and, of watching you grow and thrive and become quite possibly the most endearing baby in the whole history of babies. One year of nurturing and protecting you and trying to be the very best mummy you could want. One year of worrying about the things I could and can and should do better. Worrying that is until, sweet girl, you smile at me with such trust that I realise the best thing I can do is simply love you.

It’s been one year since you joined our little family. A family that, during those long, long years your dad and I spent trying to conceive you and your brother, I feared we would never have. But here you both are, and you are precious gifts that your dad and I are thankful for every single day.

It’s been one year of you. And, when all is said and done, that is all that really matters.

Happy first birthday baby girl.

I love you.

Mummy

xx

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Thank you for not smoking…

Today Devilette had her 4 month immunisations. This in itself is not an event of great note.

However, it was our first visit with a lovely new lady doctor who I shall henceforth refer to, with great affection, as Dr. Vague.

As per usual with Dr’s and babies, we had to answer all the standard questions about how we were coping, if we had enough support, how she was feeding, sleeping, pooping, etc…. and then came one which I haven’t, in several years of being a parent, heard before.

“Does she smoke inside the house?”

“Umm No”, was my shocked and smugly pious answer. “It’s a filthy habit. We always make her go outside to smoke. And don’t get me started on her drinking!!??” 

Good thing I was thinking on my feet there… I mean, could you imagine the ramifications if I gave the wrong answer? I’d hate for anyone to think I was an irresponsible parent.

But as I left, screaming newly immunised baby in tow, I couldn’t help asking a question of my own.

“Does Dr Vague smoke inside the house? And if the answer is yes, what exactly is it that she’s smoking?”

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Doppelganger

 My darling Devilette is quite the Devilboy doppelganger.

Here she does a stirling  impersonation of her brother as a baby. 🙂

She’s definitely got the same looks, but here’s hoping she a tad less insane.

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Say cheese!

Devilette cried a fair bit today… as four week old bubs tend to do. A concerned  Devilboy insists it’s because she has a tummy ache. And he has the solution!

“I’m going to sprinkle her with cheese”

Of course you are. :-/

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Surprise!

18 nights ago and unable to sleep, I found myself writing the following epistle to my unborn daughter…

 My darling Trufflette,

It’s been almost nine months since we first met you – a tiny cluster of expanding cells huddling together in absolute blastocystic beauty. I knew in that first moment that it would be you, of all our  embsicles, that would be the one to stay and complete our family -though I dared not say it out loud. I was smugly certain that, as I peed on the little white stick that would become my conduit to life as a mother of two, two little lines would appear.

But after so many disappointments, when my instinct was proved right and that lovely linear duo appeared, I was overcome and I sobbed and sobbed. (Scaring the shit out of your dad who didn’t realize my tears were those of joy but who, on further investigation of said pissy stick, quickly joined in the somewhat damp and salty celebrations.)

Of other things I wasn’t so certain. For example, after your first ultrasound I was convinced you were a boy and your brother convinced you were a shark . This was of great concern. Not that you might be a boy, I would have been cool with that. More that Casa Conception had somehow implanted the wrong embryo and some poor infertile shark somewhere was carrying a human baby. You must admit this would be a somewhat perturbing turn of events.

Nor did I know that you would have so many little surprises for us along the way.

Though I’m sure you were having a simply fab time swimming about in the pink room – beating mummy’s insides black and blue with your little ninja kicks, doing those special baby gymnastic moves that make mummy look like an extra on Alien, swinging on the umbilical cord like a fetal Tarzan (or Jane) and merrily drinking your own pee – you’ve certainly kept me on my very swollen toes.

It started when I was told that there was an extremely high risk of you having chromosonal abnormalities, information that was accompanied by demands that I undergo invasive tests that could risk tiny 12-week-old you coming into the world at all. Mama-bear mode kicked in almost on the spot.  I knew they were wrong and I fought them kicking and screaming all the way. A month and some less intrusive, though still scary, tests later and I was right again, you were just fine.

And, to my great surprise, a little girl.

Thrilled as I was  by this unexpected development, it did kinda fuck up our plans to name you Remy, which both your dad and I had thought was the perfect name for our new baby boy. (Though your nutty brother-to-be wanted the more formal “Blue Remy Rat”). Sadly, that was the last name we saw eye-to-eye on and here we are on the eve of your birth, and your dad and I still haven’t come to any agreement (though Devilboy is still putting a case forward for his preferred rodent prénom) so please  forgive me if you’re lumbered with “Number 2” for a time.

I was also surprised at how much harder it was to carry you in my ageing and weary body than it was to carry your brother and  the scares you’ve given me because of it. But I shouldn’t really have been shocked… I am getting a bit long in the tooth to be playing a game mother-nature designed for women half my age (Note to Mother Nature if you happen to be reading this: You. Are. A. Bitch)

Though this gestating a person malarkey has been a bit tough at times, I have really enjoyed having you along for the ride while you’ve been renting out the pink room. In fact, it’s been a privilege having you aboard. But I will admit that but I am very much looking forward to your disembarking the mother ship and meeting you face to face, so I can have my instincts, this time that you are utterly perfect, confirmed once more. And so, my love, that you can see for yourself just how much your dad, brother and I already love you… ”

I never had the chance to review,  finish or post this nausea inducing pap as, when the clock struck midnight, so did writers block and I put it aside for another day.

And that was my undoing. It turned out that the blockage was actually somewhere around my cervix and it cleared with forceful impact at around 5am the following morning when my waters broke and I went into early labour, yet another curly surprise from that impatient little japester in my belly as she shouted “surprise!” and demanded entry into the world, right bloody now.

And so, just a few hours of unfuckingbelievable  pain, a shed full of drugs, and an emergency caesarian later, a tiny 3kg of deliciousness arrived to validate my belief that my beautiful little girl was, and indeed is, utter perfection.

Perky little Ms. Marlo (her name became clear to us both the minute she was handed over for her first cuddle) and her uterine cohabiting shark (who are we to ruin Devilboys fantastical notions of a sharky sibling sibling?) are both doing well, as is the rest of this very blissful family.

So to my darling daughter… we’ll just have to fill in the blanks of my abandoned epistle as we get to know each other over the next lifetime. But know that it would have been signed off –  with much love,  Mummy. x

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