T - Thomas the Tank Engine

Thomas played an important part in my eldest's pre-school years.

He loved him.

Wholeheartedly.

He took him everywhere.

We have the photos to prove it...

Thomas on a sledge

Thomas in the bath



Thomas doing the Limbo

Thomas at Thomas Land

In fact, he appears in that many photos he could have his own album.

But then, out of the blue, after they aired Disney's Cars on the BBC one Christmas, it all changed...

Whenever I watch Toy Story I think that is how Thomas must have felt when Lightening McQueen came to our House. One day, Thomas fell from his hand, the tracks started collecting dust, his favourite colour changed from Blue to Red and no longer did we hear "Peep Peep" echo through the house.

And for us, the Grown ups, a wealth of knowledge was suddenly out of use. We had memorised ALL the Engine's names, knew the Sodor songs like nursery rhymes, watched every feature film at least 20 times, bought every piece of Thomas merchandise... and for what? For a red, American racing car to come in and steal the limelight. My sister took it the hardest. She still can't find a nice word to say about Mr. McQueen.

But hope was not last, there was always his brother. Our Thomas knowledge would not be wasted, the toys would be played with once more. For two long years he showed barely a flicker of interest, then the other week. BOOM! Thomas love.

Check out the first picture I managed to get with the three of them together (or should I say 4?)



Look who's back!

And look at the baby's face! Smitten at 3 months! Yay!

S- School Run

This is how it goes:

- Take 45 minutes to get myself and three children washed and dressed (without  make up or nice hair)
- Settle baby in buggy
- Ask if anyone needs the toilet
- Put coats, gloves, scarves, hats etc on at door
- Eldest child: "need a poo"
- Eldest child strips from the waist down
- Commentary on poo (inc size, colour and wiping)
- Middle child wakes baby
- Re-dress eldest child whilst jiggling buggy
- Leave house with three children
- Remember about dinner money/ PE kit/water bottle/homework/ridiculous random item needed for that day e.g. egg box or something less specific like "an item in the shape of a cylinder"
- Leave children in front garden and return to house
- Retrieve forgotten item
- Separate children fighting over pushing the buggy
- Retrieve buggy from the middle of the street
- Wipe a snotty nose
- Take a deep breath
- SET OFF!
- Eldest child points out huge dog turd
- Remark in OTT loud voice about how disgraceful some dog owners are
- Passing dog walker brandishes a poo in a see though orange bag in my direction
- Middle/Eldest child falls over
- Wipe tears and a snotty nose
- Chase middle child around a stranger's front garden, apologise to house owner, straighten unearthed flower bed  (x 3)
- Pretend to be scared witless by eldest child jumping from behind wall
- Stop and admire his favourite tree with middle child
- Force middle child onto buggy board
- Ignore middle child's tantrum
- Wipe  a snotty nose
- Explain to eldest child that I am also tired but also have to walk
-Reach main road and run along side of middle child who won't go on buggy board and has a fascination with the noise of the traffic
- Get off main road and swallow heart back down
- Reach pelican crossing, eldest child has tantrum about not being able to press button
- Wipe a snotty nose
- Hold on to middle child's hood till we here the peeps
- Cross the road
- Tell eldest child to run ahead, in case they're closing the doors.
- Chase middle around school outhouse
- Smile at some smartly dressed Mum holding hands of daughter with perfect pigtails
- Get blanked
-Carry middle child under one arm, pushing buggy with other, to classroom door
- Hang coat on peg
- Hand in homework/dinner money/mystery random object
- Say the longest-goodbye-known-to-man to eldest child (Romeo and Juliet departed quicker)
-  Stop middle child writing on the interactive whiteboard
- Remove middle child, who is sat crossed legs and sitting smartly amongst the class, from the class room
- Wipe a snotty nose
- Take a deep breath
- SET OFF HOME!

Every single day!

O- Operations

I've been very lucky; I have  very healthy boys. As parents we have manged to avoid the painful drama of visiting A&E at daft-a-clock and as health goes the children have had a fairly smooth run (meanwhile us parents continue to fall apart as our immune system plummets under the pressure).

However, my middle, adorable boy has suffered with chronic nose infections since he was born and we finally got forwarded on to a specialist who,without hesitation, booked him him for an op.

I was so focused with him getting better, I didn't absorb the whole "operation" procedure and what, emotionally, this entailed.

So the day we took him it hit me like a wrecking ball in the chest.

The Childrens' Ward is full of heartbreak. No matter how clean or colourful or how many toys, DVDs and smiling nurses, they can't plaster over the fact that children don't belong there. And every colourful wall is darkened by the broken look upon a parent's face.

We had to wait 5 hours on this ward before he went down to theatre, then an agonising hour and a half till he came back. Because I'm breast feeding the baby I had the perfect excuse to opt out of the hard bits; like carrying him down, watching him go under, leaving him there.

But I have three images I'm struggling to shake: his tiny teddy-bear-patterned gown folded on the overbed table; his dad carrying him down, a heavy eyed bewildered expression upon his face; him returning, sleeping silently with a tiny cannula bandaged against his little foot.

That night his dad stayed with him in hospital, I went home and slept with both his brothers in the bed with me. I kept waking in the night finding myself looking for a third child in the bed feeling like "I'd lost something".

Those images, that feeling, remind me how lucky I am. For us it was just two days.

The doors to Childrens' Wards are never still. Tiny veins have seen a life time of needles, beds are changed but rarely empty, some children go in and they don't come back out. I have the up-most respect for parents who have poorly children, parents who are on first name terms with doctors, who have to spend hours, days, weeks, in waiting rooms, waiting for appointments, waiting in children's wards.

Two days was enough for us to feel the strain.

D - Dog Poo

I really cannot stand people who don't pick their dog's shit up. It is the epitome of selfishness; giving two fingers to the community they live in...

... And wherever it is, wherever we are, it's always one of my children who steps in it.

There are only two places where it is acceptable to leave a dog turd:

1. Very long grass off the beaten track
2. The sea

Otherwise pick it up!

I am now all for offenders having their dogs taken off them - and those who think I'm harsh, I suggest you clean two pairs of Croc boots (£30 per pair) and a Bugaboo wheel (£500 of buggy) that is laden with the sticky, stinking, revolting  mess and then come back at me.

Don't even dare to say I should teach my children where they are going - don't even dare to suggest that my children should spend their time outside (in the little freedom this society allows for children) not running, laughing , chasing, giggling skipping or hopping, but instead watching the floor, in case they tread in something a dog owner couldn't be bothered to pick up,

And besides I challenge anyone to walk down the street, with a pram, a buggy board and a child holding onto either side and  ensure all 6 pairs of feet and all 5 wheels avoid a huge, steaming, fly ridden turd that someone has left in the middle of the footpath.

Let me know how you get on.

N- Newborns

I'd already had two babies. I was prepared for number three. "Oh an expert" midwifes would exclaim when I told them I already had two at home.After having two, you are hardened to the world of parenting, but never an expert.

You don't forget the nights, or the nappies, or the first smiles, But there are somethings you do forget about...

I forgot how long you can just look at them for. My mum rang me when my newest addition was 2 weeks old:

Mum: What are you doing?
Me: Just sat here... looking at him.
Mum How long have you been doing that for?
Me: About an hour.

You can just look at them. They may move, or murmur, or flutter their eyes. Or they may do nothing at all. Either way you will be transfixed. Whatever time you have, can be spent just, contently, looking at them.

The other thing I forgot was the five second window. When you have a toddler, the nappy change can take up to half an hour. You start, get half way through, the child escapes and runs off, you retrieve him, you fish out the sudo-creme from under the couch, you misplace the nappy, you get another one,the child has run away again, you retrieve him... etc etc And in this time, you'll be really unlucky if the toddler has an accident.

However, with a newborn you have a five-second window. It's a military operation. Everything must be ready, placed perfectly by your side, you've got to be quick, precise and efficient. You will only take "too long once". Only one second over and they'll have an accident, and if the newborn is a boy, it's likely that accident will hit you in the eye.

E - Elective C-Section

There's something very strange about knowing the day your baby will born. Oh yes, it's much more civilised this way round, but there's no drama. I miss the drama.

First time round... Waters break 6 days early at 3.00 am. The other half  is drunk.Mum woken in the early hours and drives us to hospital. Discover baby is breach. Rushed down for an emergency c section as contractions are coming quick and strong. One hour later I hear a tiny baby cough. He's here.

Second go... Waters break 6 days early at 3.30 am (again? that's a bit freaky) uproot and dump Little O at his grandparents. Go to hospital. Labour doesn't start. Wait 24 hours (in hospital). Still no labour. Get induced. 5 hours later he flies out. Cord round neck. Silence. Crash team called. He breathes.He cries.

Third time lucky... We wake up.Get showered.I do my hair. Drop boys off at their Grandparents at a reasonable hour. Drive to hospital. Get shown to ward. Meet the midwives. Small talk. Chit chat.Wait patiently in hospital bed wearing only a hospital gown and dark green hospital stockings. Random trainee midwife says a heartfelt goodbye to bump.walk down to theatre. Meet all the team (appears to be about 35 of them). More small talk. More chit chat. A few injections. A screen. Some tugging. A baby.

So the elective section was quite straight forward. Quite unusual for us.   We returned to the ward and I looked at Little Leo and felt utterly complete. My work in procreation was done.

C - Cha-Cha-Changes!

When I fell pregnant I was well aware my body had changed, forever. This wasn't a surprise to me. I had factored this and made the sacrifice. But I wasn't prepared for how I would feel about it.

I have really chunky legs, and I'm short, but I have always been proud that I kept my tummy fairly (debatable at some points in time) toned and I had good boobs. Big boobs. But, good boobs. In fact, for many years my boobs had been my selling point.

But what is pregnancy going to ruin forever? You stomach and your tits. Ouch!

Then, after my second child, still breast feeding and walking everywhere, I discovered my legs to look the best they had ever looked.

So there I was, a year ago, able to wear leggings for the first time, but also forced to wear underwear that had to be plastered on and set each morning (otherwise known as Spanx).

With a week left in this pregnancy I'm wondering what the outcome will be this time? Will I be saving for plastic surgery? Or, maybe, as I'm having a baby just before Christmas the surgeon doing the c-section might throw in a tummy tuck and boob lift for free?

I know, only if he's got a beard and is dressed in red! Shucks!