Those beautiful curls

There is nothing cuter than seeing my little toddler racing around with his blonde curls bouncing behind him. Well that's what I think anyway - his father has other ideas.
For months, the little man was rather thin on top, so much so we christened him Garibaldi after my favourite biccie. Now, while I go soft and gooey at the sight of the ringlets that eventually appeared, daddy thinks they constitute a mullet and, seeing as it isn't the early 1980s, the look is apparently a no-no. In fact, I am told, it is verging on an embarrassment. I get the message - he doesn't want his son and heir to have girly curls.
This is definitely a man v woman issue. At a recent family get-together, the first thing my cousin (male) did when he spied my son's hair-do was to pull a disgusted grimace and ask me why I hadn't chopped off those "rat tails" yet. His girlfriend promptly started cooing over them, with my other cousin (female) joining in the adoring chorus. "Once you cut them they never come back," she added, shaking her head sadly. She has three herself so clearly knows only too well the fierce love a mother can have with her child's newly-grown tendrils.
Besides which, I don't think he has a mullet. To me, it can only be classed as such when the locks touch the nape of the neck and his curl prettily up with no contact with said body part whatsoever - ergo, not a mullet. Anyway, the battle continues and I know one day I will have to say goodbye to them (gulp). Until then, I am going to rejoice in his crowning glory. Who knows I might even venture a hairstyle or two. Pigtails or plaits - what do you think boys?

What does your little one sleep in?

Since becoming a mum, the thoughts that whirl round my head have changed. Before, it was filled mainly with work (deadlines, front pages to fill, reporters to chase), with a good portion spent on more frivolous matters - clothes, gym schedules, where to go for a slap-up meal. Now it is more: oh, god, what can I feed him now, when will that pink rash on his bottom disappear and where can we go now winter's set in and the park is a no-go?
The latest all-consuming thought at the moment is what to put the little man in to sleep now the temperatures are dropping. At the moment he is in a sleeping bag and, having interrogated all my mummy friends, this seems to be the consensus. But when he tries to stand, the poor chap gets caught up and I worry his arms are uncovered and get cold - so much worry, so little time.
So now I am thinking it is time to throw off another vestige of babyhood and invest in a duvet. But would this work? He tends to move about a lot when he sleeps and I often find his legs where his head should be when I check on him so would he just fling it off and be cold? The woman at Mothercare recommended introducing one at twelve months plus and reassured me that he would learn to cover himself up when he got cold but I can't imagine that happening for quite some time. That said the duvets do look cosy.
Sleeping bag, duvet, sleeping bag, duvet. Oh what the hell, he can come in with us and we will all be toasty warm.

Things you only know as a parent

Looking back over the last 17 months, I am amazed, and rather proud, of the steep learning curve I have been steadily climbing. I am now an expert when it comes to bodily functions (my son's that is - I mastered mine some time ago you'll be pleased to hear). I know how to deal with a tantrum (ignore and distract) and I can spot a potential hazard at ten paces. Unfortunately, I still haven't perfected grabbing the sick bowl in time but I'm working on it.
Curious, I asked my fellow mummy friends what they had learnt since becoming parents. It was a good conversation starter and here is a selection of mine and theirs. Feel free to add:
- You must remain serious while discipline is being dolled out to a friend's child. Trying to instill morals in the next generation is made all the harder if your fellow adults stand around sniggering at their antics, showing them that, despite what mummy says, shoving pebbles down next door neighbour's car exhaust is in fact a good idea.
- Never throw away birthday cards. At the moment we use them as a cheap version of flash cards but I am sure they will come in handy when cutting and glueing becoming a favourite passtime.
- However horrendous the graze might look, it will disappear in a few days with no visible after effects. The little man had an awful one between his eyes which twisted my stomach with worry and regret every time he looked at me. Within a week I couldn't even see where it was.
- Be careful how you word instructions. When you say "Don't crayon on the wall" all they hear is "crayon" and "wall" then the idea is planted.
- A new baby number two might be little and sweet but visitors should withhold any loud cooing until suitable fuss has been made of the older sibling first. Although we still have just the one, I couldn't bear the thought of him feeling left out even for a second when the pitter patter of more tiny feet come along.

Separation anxiety? He's not the only one

I was in a London pub and two sips into the first drink of the evening when I got the call. The little man had woken up from his sleep and was crying and no amount of coaxing from his grandparents would soothe him. He was inconsolable, I could hear it from the other end of the phone as my mother-in-law tried to make herself heard over his screaming. And there I was, a walk, tube and train ride between us. He needed his mummy and he couldn't have her. It was awful.
He had been going through a clingy stage - only really wanting me to hold him and even getting upset when I left a room - so I knew there was going to be trouble and a small knot placed itself firmly in the base of my stomach as we left him napping, knowing that when he woke and looked for me I wouldn't be there. 
As it happened, it was mostly one of those grumpy cries we all feel like having when we wake up and haven't quite had enough sleep, only accentuated by his parents' absence. I advised setting him in front of the TV or playing a CD to distract him from his mood and after a nervous wait, while I pondered whether to start making for home, I got a text to say he seemed better. I wasn't able to relax until I got a final message to say he was tucked up in bed; only then did I head to the bar and got myself a drink - large please barman.
I have been very lucky that I haven't had to use a child minder and the one-day a week I do work is spent at my parents' where he is able to come into the office, show me his favourite toy cow and leave, happy in the knowledge I am there. As he is mostly with me, I have avoided the distress many of my friends have described when leaving their babies with a child minder for the first time, but I do ask myself would he be so clingy if I had done the same? Whether it is better for children to always be with their mothers in the first few years or to learn independence and social skills at a nursery or childminders, it is difficult to say and I can see advantages to both. I know leaving him is a hurdle I will have to face and that it will probably be harder for me than him. Clearly separation anxiety can work both ways and I have been holding him a little tighter ever since while I still can.

Children - the ultimate traitors

Since moving back to my hometown, I have picked up with some of my old musician friends and we have even gone so far as to form a string quartet. I know, very posh. We recently played at a wedding fayre and, in our break between sets we were sat in a back room, munching sandwiches while sharing amusing anecdotes, mostly about our children.
Now I don't have that many, with the little man being fairly new and all that, but our cellist, who has three strapping teenagers, has stories aplenty which she was happy to share. Here's one I just had to tell you.
When her daughter was younger, pre-school at least she remembers, she was having a particularly fiesty tantrum and her frazzled mother decided to plonk her on the naughty step at the bottom of their stairs for some much-needed intraspection on her behaviour. While mummy calmed down in another room, she presumed that her little darling was doing the same. When, a few minutes later, she returned to the hall to accept the humble apology that was no doubt waiting for her, she found her daughter crouched over the letter box, her fingers prising open the flap while shouting "Please help me, my mummy beats me"  to anyone passing. Now that deserves an Oscar doesn't it?
If you are ever in Dorset and in need of some high class entertainment, we would be delighted to comply. Go to our website www.theminsterstringquartet.co.uk to find out more. Shameless plug but had to be done.

Radio Four anyone?

I know I have always been a little bit old before my time (I was knitting long before Madonna et al made it trendy and I always thought nightclubs were far too loud well before I hit my thirties) but this week has confirmed it.
On Monday I visited the hygienist for a routine scrape and spit. I am ashamed to say it was my first visit to her despite having moved to the area over a year ago - you know, nappy changes, vegetable blending and the entire series of West Wing all needed my attention before any thoughts could turn to dental health.
As I shimmied myself down into the dentist chair, my lovely hygienist reached behind her and flicked on Radio 4 before getting to work. How wonderful, I thought, as I relaxed back and listened to the afternoon play unfold. When I was in London, my young and vibrant hygienist would have Radio 1 blaring while he listed the bars and clubs he would soon be frequenting once he had finished chipping off the plaque from that hard to reach spot at the back of my wisdom teeth. Although I would never begrudge him his youthful exuberance, I somehow felt in better hands with a professional who prefers The Archers over RnB.
Now onto smaller matters. Since becoming a parent, ducks have become very important in my life. There is a river that runs through Wimborne (our lovely town) and there is no getting past the ducks that live on it when walking to the shops. The little man loves the quack quacks and we have to spend at least ten minutes gazing at them over the wall before I drag him away, usually kicking and screaming. So when I spot a new rubber duck on the market, my ears prick up - and I have found a good 'un. Cuddleduck is by Cuddledry (the creators of the wonderful apron towel) and comes in a glamorous gold polka dot. Go to my other blog for a quacking (sorry) review: BabyMoonBlog.

Clean my teeth? You're having a laugh

Michael McIntyre, Eddie Izzard and all you other comedy wannabes, step aside - there's a new kid on the block. Me, in fact.
I don't mean to blow my own trumpet but lately I have been hilarious. I have never been so funny - well according to my 15-month-old that is. All I have to do is put on a silly voice or squint up my eyes and wrinkle my nose and he is in floods of laughter. He is the best crowd I have ever played to - and he doesn't heckle, unless he needs a nappy change. Of the many joys that come with being a mum, hearing his unbridled chuckles at my antics comes somewhere near the top, although nothing quite beats that first smile does it?
However, his delight in me soon turns sour when I take off my funny hat and attempt to introduce that ultimate instrument of torture - the toothbrush. No matter how many silly faces I pull, the message is clear - he does not like having his teeth cleaned. Which is why I had to tell you about the breakthrough we have had this week in our dental standoff.
For a few weeks, he liked his toothbrush and would chew away happily on it but then suddenly I couldn't even show him it without his lower lip wobbling and his brow furrowing ready for the full-on drama that quickly followed. To be honest, I think I should have replaced it sooner as the bristles had gone stiff so I couldn't blame him for not being too keen having it scraped along his newly showing teeth. But by the time I realised this he hated the sight of the brush and I needed an alternative. I did what every other mother would do in this situation, I turned to Google. And there I found Brush-Baby. This clever company makes chewable toothbrushes, made of rubber that not only cleans the teeth as they gnaw down on it but, it turns out, is wonderfully soothing. We put ours in the fridge when he is teething and he loves it. So instead of the twice-daily battle in the bathroom, I simply pop a bit of toothpaste onto the rubber bristles and hand it to him at the end of a meal while he is still in his high chair. He sits happily chewing away and cleaning his beautiful smile as he does. I found it in Waitrose and it cost over a fiver which did make me baulk but I would pay twice the price knowing how successful it has been. Go to http://www.brushbaby.co.uk/ to have a look.