Clocking in.

I think it is extraordinary as we turn back our clocks to gain an hour, internationally they are none the wiser. We all live on time in accordance to our country, and obviously the sun, without thinking too much of it. In some countries the time is not altered at all.

As DS is now a bouncing toddler and his routine is a little more flexible, the clocks have not really affected him. Waking at 6:30AM new time meant that his normal routine could be maintained, as he would usually wake at 5:30AM anyway. I remember the last time we had to change the clocks the lead up was very different. We would adjust meal times by fifteen minutes each go and slowly pushing back naps. An hour is nothing to an adult, but to a baby it probably equates to half a day; their tiny brain can only handle so much activity.

All this messing about with time, who does it actually benefit? In the days of yore the farmers could utilise the extra hour of sunshine in the summer and sleep in during the dark months of winter. This of course is translated into modern day utilisation, where childless individuals can get that extra hour of sleep. But for the rest of us who have reproduced, and there are a lot of us, it is just a prolonged day with tiresome little rascals.

I do miss those baby baby days, this baby toddler is growing up way too fast.

Army crawl.

My baby boy seems to be growing up faster than I expected. He is already able to pull himself across the room using only his arms, not bothered by the effort or weight. He hasn’t quite worked out the purpose of his knees, though I am sure with time he will figure this out. It is incredible to watch him army crawl from one end of the room to the other, jealous that I cannot make the same movement with such ease. I have read numerous books/websites, and listened to friends and family reminisce over their own children; they have all said that babies start to crawl at around eight months, but it didn’t quite register in my head.

Neglecting his toy caterpillar, he now favours his eczema cream bottle. He loves to push it, watch it roll away and then chase after it. It is amazing how something so simple could keep him occupied for a good hour. I do wonder when he will pull himself up on our furniture and then start to walk. Obviously we encourage him to reach each development stage, but it is frightening to think that he is actually turning into a real boy. Every now and then I try to cradle him in my arms as if he were a newborn and he refuses to cooperate; he fights with all his might against my will, to the point that he overpowers me and stands up with his little sturdy legs.

My boy is thriving individuality and his independence. I sense I will be saying this eighteen years on from now, but with less sorrow.

Oh boy.

From birth, babies have their gender pushed upon them, forcing them to be a particular stereotype and have a certain personality. I neither agree nor disagree with a blue/pink baby; allowing boys to hammer away with plastic tools and girls to comb Barbie’s hair.

Most people fantasise about having a baby girl, so they can dress them up, take them shopping and plait their hair. I’ve discovered that boys are equally as fun; you give him a cool name and an outfit to match. Styling his hair after he’s had a bath is another one of my favourites.

With the inevitability of him growing up, there’s less to worry about. I need not fret about him having a menstrual cycle, bringing boyfriends home or getting pregnant. I guess the only thing that niggles away, is the prospect of having my son need me forever (thus creating a mummy’s boy that will inevitably be a loser at school), or get brainwashed by someone who insists on being a bitch of a daughter in-law. There is a chance he’ll marry a modest sweet girl whose extra nice for brownie points, but that’s a one in three chance, right?