Avoiding the 'where do babies come from' talk. Just

My 6-year-old son is struggling a little with creation.

"If God made everyone and everything," he asks me, "did he also make the Mars men and aliens?"

There is no point going down the 'there is no such thing as aliens' route because he TOTALLY believes that there are.

Star Wars is not fiction to this boy.

"When is Lily (our aged cat) going to have babies?"

"She's not."
"Why? Doesn't God put the babies in all ladies' tummies? And she is a girl cat."

"Well, not everyone has a baby do they Dan?"

"So he chooses who to give one to?"

Oh no! We all know where this is heading.

"That must mean you are really really special mummy. He must have thought you would make such a good mum."

Pause.

"And twice! Mummy you must be such a good person."

Call me a bad mother or a coward or whatever you like, but I left it there and let him believe that his mother is just one step away from sainthood.

It's just a good job he didn't see me later that night raiding his treat tin because mummy needed her 'hit' of chocolate (although this all obviously happened a couple of days ago as I have given up sugar for Lent).

Picture: Katiya Rhodes-Singh

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When I became a mum I swore I wouldn't become one of those maniac women who has their children's wardrobes stuffed so full of clothes that there is no way - even with several Kylie-like changes of costume - they could ever wear them all.

You try having a girl and not doing that.

There was a time I could have told you exactly what was on sale at any given time in the children's section of H&M/Monsoon/Zara and online shops Vertbaudet and Boden.

I was like a woman possessed. I had more money than sense. I had a daughter who would rather wear wellies and jeans than squeeze herself into anything remotely like a dress. So I kept on trying.

Anyway, this is all my way of telling you that I am a bit of a children's clothes junkie and so the reason you can now see a Boden button on this site is because I am totally happy with sending you their way because their stuff is fab.

If I could clothe my two in their range from head to toe I probably would, but I do need to buy food and pay at least some of the bills.

I have also put Lego up there because, while I have this obsession with clothes, my 6-year-old son is equally manic about all things Lego. Specifically Star Wars Lego, but if truth be told he's not really that fussy.

When I bought him a £4ish keyring with a Lego Stormtrooper on he cherished it like it was made of gold and would bring him untold luck.

The Potty Training and Ink for Hire links are for the really talented Writer Dad because he's a fabulous writer and I want to do my bit to support him.

So, I have only put links up here that I totally believe in.

If you click through and buy I earn commission (and probably get to satisfy my newfound Innocent Smoothie addiction since quitting sugar for 40 days - I know, I know. Just more evidence if you need it that I'm not the full ticket).

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Is one-armed CBeebies presenter scaring your children?

Last summer, while on holiday, we took the children to a huge water park where they met their first disabled child.

Daniel and Mia were utterly fascinated with the skinny, young boy racing around in his bright red swimming trunks. He had just one arm and only three fingers on his other hand.

At first they were quite frightened and asked question upon question upon question (and very loudly!) and they simply could not take their eyes off this strange little figure who was so perplexing and slightly scary to them.

But we talked about it, I explained why things like this happen and at the end of the hour they were splashing around with him and throwing water at him like he was any other child.

They had totally forgotten what had frightened them, absorbed the "wow, that's amazing" information and moved on.

I've had similar experiences when they met a girl with Down's Syndrome (who is now my son's go-to girl when he's playing on the Wii at after school club because "she's the best") and a girl in Daniel's class who has a growth problem.

It has never ever been an issue, but a learning experience and both of my children are happy to listen and understand.

Which is why I was utterly floored when I read that the BBC has received a flurry of complaints about a new children's TV presenter who has one arm because she is scaring youngsters and is not suitable to appear on the show.

What? Are these people serious?

I must admit I hadn't noticed her disability at first (her arm is missing from the elbow down) but only realised when Dan said: "look mummy, that lady's like our friend from holiday."

Other than that she is like every other children's TV presenter - bright, slightly too perky and all about the fun, fun, fun!

But the BBC has apparently recieved 9 formal complaints about Cerrie Burnell, a mother of a four-month-old daughter, who was born with one arm.

Some messageboard comments became so vitriolic that they had to be removed.

One wrote: " 'Is it just me, or does anyone else think the new woman presenter on CBeebies may scare the kids because of her disability?"

While another said he wouldn't let his daughter watch because he was worried it would give her nightmares.

I read all this and my heart sank. How desperately desperately sad.

What kind of message is that passing on to our children?

Is it really that difficult to explain disability to a child?

We don't all grow up looking the same and children need to know that from a very young age.

But then I wondered, is it too much for children to see at such a young age (children as young as 2 watch the show)? Or should we be celebrating in Cerrie's success and using her as a means of education?

I would be really interested to hear your views on this.

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What would your advice be to expectant mothers and fathers?

From the minute my son was born I promised myself I would enjoy every single minute of his beautiful life.

I was in my 30s when I brought that little man into the world and I was ready.
During those 9 months of pregnancy I heard every shocking birth-related story imaginable.

Why do people think you want to hear those? Why do they tell you about pain and suffering and anguish when you're enjoying the most magical time of your life as a woman?
Why does anyone need to tell me how hard it's going to be, how I will become friends with real sadness, flirt with depression, cry myself to sleep?

I was not going to become one of those people.

Picture: Tambako the Jaguar

I would not turn my much-wanted child into an excuse for never getting out there and living any more. I would not blame him for us being slightly poorer or for the signs of motherhood etched onto my body.

It was our decision to bring this child into the world and I was going to make sure he knew how much we wanted him there.

There are countless whispers from mothers of how time seems to slip away and you've only to turn your back for a minute and they're all grown up and chasing girls and dreams like they used to chase butterflies in the back garden.

I recall friends saying how, if they could have their time again, they would do this or say that or visit here or stay there.

I didn't ever want to be saddled with those regrets.

And so I never once minded waking up at all hours with demands for his mama's milk - I actually enjoyed sitting in the dark with his little fingers clutching at my dressing gown and the smell of new life in the air.

I never minded being housebound when he was ill and having to give up all my time to rock or soothe or feed.

I gave up a whole chunk of 'me' to make sure he had the best start in life and it brings me great joy to say that I can look back now with no regrets.

Sure there have been hard times. Of course there have, but I accepted them, ruminated on them and plodded on, leaving each of those hurdles behind.

Now my son is 6 and I am so proud of the young man he is and the gentleman he is becoming and I look forward to see how he navigates the rest of his life.

Of course at times I think, 'wow, he's nearly 6! Wasn't I just changing his nappies and rocking him in my arms just a few months ago', but now he's moving on to an even better stage and I can't wait to hold his hand while he's doing it.

I am writing this because two very good friends of mine are just about to have babies of their own.

There are also a couple of daddy bloggers I read who are expecting.

All these dads to be and are setting off on that amazing journey that will be all-consuming, emotionally draining and, let's face it, bloody hard.

They have probably had the same conflicting advice I was given. The 'I wouldn't do that if I were yous' and the 'in my days'. Everyone thinks they are an expert.

But I wanted to add my twopenceworth.

Enjoy every single moment. The crying, the crushing lows, the draining lack of sleep, the highs, the laughs, the heartswelling joy - embrace them all.

It won't last forever and one day you want to look back on these times and say to yourself 'I made the most of my child's life and I have no regrets'.

So, what would your piece of advice be to anyone expecting their first baby?

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10 things I say ALL THE TIME

1. "I'll think about it."

2. "Stop drawing on yourself Mia."

3. "No you can't have chocolate for breakfast."

4. "Put that DS down and get dressed."

5. "Stop climbing."

6. "Don't play with your food."

7. "I don't have any money on me."

8. "In a minute".

9. "Oh look at that, I'm having to ask you for the FOURTH time . . . "

10. "Don't hit your brother/sister."


Lessons learned:

Kids don't get sarcasm.

"I'll think about it" ALWAYS means you'll do it - and they know it.

I am becoming my bloody mother!

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Giving you a chill pill for the weekend

I don't know what it is about this video but I cannot stop watching it. Again and again.

It cheers me up no end and I've just shown it to the children and they've invented the cutest dance to go with it.

Very clever, very catchy. Have a fun and chilled out weekend. x

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Do you find it hard to make friends?

There is a woman, a mother, who sits in the children's play area of our local park and she is usually alone on a bench on the sidelines, watching her little boy play.

The wind picks up and she pulls her scarf tighter around her ears, buring her chin deeper into her woollen coat, only raising her eyes every now and again to catch what is going on in the hustle and bustle of her surroundings.

She is trying to be invisible. She is trying to be noticed. She never moves from that bench, afraid to strike up conversation with someone, afraid that someone will strike up a conversation with her.
When I first saw her I thought it was one of the saddest things I have ever seen.

She scans the playground for her son, who is crawling over the metal apparatus like a little bug, oblivious to the biting cold.
He is only three but he has no problems making friends. He runs up to other children with that wide-eyed innocence of youth and requests their name. He talks to other parents like they have always existed in his world.
There is no embarassed pause. No reservations. No nervous laughter.

But all the while his mother sits alone, kicking her heels against the soft tarmac to keep warm, hands buried deep deep in her pockets.
She makes no effort to socialise with the other parents dotted around the playground. She doesn't know how to. She watches their easy chitter chatter and it stabs at her conscience. Did they know each other beforehand? Did they just meet? How did they just meet? How?

She has no idea how to approach the other mums and dads and make friends. She doesn't have her son's easy charm. She finds it makes her panic to think about it.

And so, every time they make that trip to the park or the play centre or a playgroup, she pushes that little feeling of dread to the dark recesses of her mind and makes the effort for her little boy.
I know all of this because I saw her one day and knew exactly what she was going through. I knew every stab of failure chipping away at her confidence and so I sat next to her and said something trite like: "It's not much fun for us mums here is it?"

She gave me a weak smile and carried on staring ahead at the swings. But I bulldozed on, talking rubbish, talking about the children's programmes I'm forced to watch, the 'treats' I'm bound to be buying on the way home, the pile of washing I'll have after this trip to the park.

Then, suddenly, she changed. A light sparked behind her eyes and she started chuckling along, joining in, adding stories.

After half an hour I knew how very lonely she had been for a very long time.
She moved to this area with no friends, no family and while her husband worked long hours, she stayed home with her son.
And it wasn't the life she had dreamed of.

Is that you? Has that ever been you?
I found the school playground difficult. My son started at a school where I knew no one, not a single soul and while he ran in through those school gates on the first day all arms and legs, I hung behind, not wanting to crash in on little cliques forming around the edges of the playground, too shy to say hello.
Luckily there were parents there who noticed me and strolled over to break the ice and for that I am eternally grateful, because making friends is hard when you're the new face on the scene.

Now I find myself in that position again as my daughter has started a nursery school and has been invited to one of her new friends' birthday party.

She is SO excited. I am secretly dreading it. I know none of the parents there. Sure I say hello in the mornings and make small talk, but attending a party for two hours is a different kettle of fish altogether.

And then I start to panic that my reservations will somehow percolate over to my children and infect them with my insecurities and they too will feel more comfortable sat in the corner on their own than mixing with anyone who will listen.

I'm not that bad I suppose. My defence mechanism when I am shy is to talk. Talk talk talk talk talk. It's to hide embarassing silences I suppose. Or to avoid giving anyone enough time to decide that actually they don't like me!

SO I wonder, what are your experiences - good or bad - of making friends with other parents?

Picture: dsevilla

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You've survived the Terrible Twos, now prepare for hell!

When your child finally starts nudging the age of 3 and you've weathered the absolute horror that is the Terrible Twos, you expect - nay demand - a change.

You've suffered a whole year of screaming tantrums (oft times in public).

You've just about kept your head above water with the 'I will absolutely NOT sit in that car seat and I'm going to turn myself into the most rigid child ever if you try'.

You've weathered potty training, toy sabotage, fascination with toilets (but never to actually use them for the purpose they are intended) and food being used as target practice.

You've been drawn on, climbed on, shouted at, punched, bullied and manipulated.

You've sat in a corner and cried, you've blamed yourself, you've blamed your other half, you've despaired that you are the worst parent ever.

And you await that birthday number 3 with the dull ache of expectation.

Pleeeeeaaaase let it be over soon, you're secretly praying as you sit and watch the gentle rise and fall of your angelic child's little chest as they slumber, a moment tinged with the guilt that you actually quite prefer them when they are sleeping.

Because it feels like it's the only peace you ever get.

I too was that mummy. I prayed that the number 3 held magical qualities that would transform my little wild child into something more, well palatable.

It didn't happen.
Here is what we swapped the Terrible Twos for. Not so many tantrums, it is true. But is it any better? You decide.

1. My sofa/bed/back are her own personal trampolines. If I say "please don't jump on the furniture" she looks at me like I've just said "please don't breathe."

2. If it is switched off, it must be switched on. If it is switched on, it must be switched off. And then on again. And then off. And then on again.

3. Everything ends up in the bin. Expensive mobile phone? Go looking among the potato peelings and egg shells. Or under the bed. Basically anything that is interesting or shiny will go under my bed or in my Dora backpack. Like mummy's wedding ring or the car keys.

4. Paper is too small a medium for my art. What's bigger than paper? Hmm, this wall here . . .

5. I am 3. I know fashion. If I want to wear my party dress over my pyjamas with my wellies and my Harry Potter dressing up glasses there is nothing you can do or say that will make me change. If you make me change I will put my swimming costume on with my rain mac.

6. I don't have time to wipe my bottom/flush the toilet/wash my hands. However, I will always sweetly tell you I have wiped my bottom/flushed the toilet/washed my hands.

7. Walking in the room to find she's climbed on top of a beanbag which is balancing on top of a kitchen chair and she's standing there precariously on one foot while reaching for my mobile phone (which she is obviously planning to put in the bin).

8. Everyone and everything is "an idiot".

9. The first sightings of a roll of the eyes and a big fat 'oh for heaven's sake' sigh.

10. That voice she uses in the playground? The one that can cut glass and make your ears bleed? Best used first thing in the morning to wake mummy. Works every time.

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Quotables

Dan, 6: "I am NEVER going to 'snog' anyone mummy, because licking the inside of someone's mouth is just wrong"

Mummy: "Why have you drawn all over your doll in blue pen, Mia?"

Mia, 3: "Because she wanted a tattoo."

Mummy: "Why are you sitting on Emily?" (a realistic looking sleeping cat that 'breathes')

Mia: "Because I want to kill her."

Dan: "I love you more than you love me mummy. I love you all the way to the moon and back, down into the sea and inside a whale's mouth and then back out again and then all the way over God's head."

I'm figuring that's a lot of love.

"Do sharks have pushchairs, mummy?"

Laughing: "I don't think so honey."

Looks at me in disgust or her 'oh for heaven's sake' face (they're quite similar). "Well how do they take them for nice walks into town then?"

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