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Personality Vs birth placement

So I saw this picture on Twitter recently…..

children

 

It got me thinking about my children: Girl one is 10 years old (going on 17!), Girl two is very nearly 5 years old and the boy is 3 on Saturday. Does this apply to my children in any way?

Coincidently, I was recently struck by a realisation that despite I have brought my children up in the same way, by the same rules, values and beliefs; they are all very different in personality. Girl one is sporty, tomboy-ish, nervous and eager to please and fit in. Girl two is a girly-girl, wants everything purple and sparkly, wants to wear dresses, be a princess with lipstick. Boy is football mad (yes even at the tender age of 2!), loveable, stubborn and loves laughing, and wants a bit of everything. So even though they have been raised following the same rules as each other, their individualism is starting to creep out.

But does the pecking order of birth into the family have anything to do with it? I have looked at the list and broken it down.

I will start with the First born: Girl one

Natural leader: When amongst her siblings, yes she is very much a natural leader!

High Achiever: As with most children I suspect, only when it comes to subjects she likes, enjoys and is good at. Jujitsu for example, she is doing brilliantly with this.

Organised: Not at all! I am afraid that her bedroom is like a constant bomb-site, clothes everywhere, can never find anything let alone remember where she left something. Very much the opposite in fact.

On-time: Mostly, but as with any child her timekeeping is usually handled by the parent. I suppose I will have to watch this space on this one.

Know-it-all: She very much likes to think so, but she isn’t afraid of asking. She will argue her point, especially if she knows she is right. Like Mother like Daughter!

Bossy: Yes Very. A mini-me in this respect. Occasionally she will over step the mark with her siblings. But she does like a good boss-about.

Responsible: She likes to think she is, and when given the confidence is showing good signs that she can be.

On to Middle child – Girl two

Flexible: Mostly yes. Although routine has always played a big part of her life, as she is getting older change doesn’t faze her, and usually as long as she sees that the end result is the same, she isn’t overly bothered.

Easy-going: Yes she is very easy-going. She doesn’t look for arguments, and is a delight to spend one-on-one time with, but she can be demanding when the need calls for it.

Social: Extremely, especially with people she is comfortable and confident with.

Peacemaker: To date she is showing no signs of being a “peacemaker”. Unless you want to turn it on its head and use the phrase “walk-over” in which case I would say that she can be a walk-over, particularly when she is the less dominant child in the room.

Independent: A close relative recently defined Girl two as “having the perfect only-child personality” By this they meant that she is more than happy to go and play on her own, she doesn’t require her siblings to entertain her. Yes, independent she is.

Secretive: Oh my goodness, She is a child of such subtle cunning, you have to see it to believe it. She is such a good little liar, actress, and sneak that I have to stop myself from smiling a lot when telling her off. Her slight of hand is AMAZING!

May feel life in unfair: I am sure if you asked her this, she would say that it is unfair, and then probably perform the worlds best sulk to prove it.

Finally, Last child – The boy

Risk-taker: He knows no fear. He is the boy who will jump feet first into the swimming pool without any armbands on and give Mummy a heart-attack in the process. He is the boy who will try every type of new food put in front of him without asking what it is. This is the boy who will jump off anything. Why? Because he can. Because he wants to be Superman and fly.

Outgoing: At first he isn’t. Put him in a new environment with new people and although he is comfortable and confident, he is not what I would call “outgoing. For example he recently had his first settling in session at his new preschool, he went in and focused on the toy cars and trains. He was more than comfortable playing on his own with these. He didn’t immediately hunt out someone to play with. When other children came over the join in with his game, he was more than happy to make friends. He seems to be more silently confident than outgoing.

Creative: When he goes off on his own with his many toy cars, planes, trains, action figures I love listening to him. His imagination is simply wonderful to witness.

Self-centred: He is mostly a very caring and loving little chap, however he does have a streak of self-importance about him. This comes out occasionally but not all that often.

Financially irresponsible: Not relevant in this child – He is not yet 3 years old. Time will tell, but I sincerely hope he isn’t.

Competitive: This should be his middle name. Everything is a race or competition. Who is going to be first up the stairs? Who will finish breakfast first? Who will get dressed the quickest? It drives me absolutely insanely nuts! I am always the referee!

Bored easily: Like any child he is capable of having a short attention span. However, he attends football matches and manages to stay focused on those (which is more than you can say for me!).

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What’s my conclusion of my children and whether or not their personalities match up to the picture. If I am honest I don’t really have one I suppose. Not at this stage of their lives. I feel it unfair to base their entire temperament, personality and outlook of life on their ranking of birth. I am sure that many people could turn it around and say that Girl one is bossy because she is the eldest, but I can assure you that the other two are equally as bossy.

Each child is different. Each child has their own sparkle. Each child has it faults. And each child brings something different to our family, whether is it stubbornness, kindness or competitiveness. By bringing them up in the same way and loving them same, they will grow and develop in their own way. And I will continue to love them regardless of where their “ranking” is in the family.

 

 

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Third time lucky

Me and my boy

Me and my boy – Summer 2012

This post was recently published on the blog of Emma from www.emmaandalfiesworld.co.uk . A lovely blog by a lovely lady. Emma collated and published a large variety of birth stories. Thank you Emma, it was lots of fun and surprisingly emotional for me to sit and recall all the details of my third birth!  Below is my contribution to Emma’s blog.

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My third baby was due on 24th August 2011. It has been a long hot summer and I was getting very uncomfortable. With my first two pregnancies the baby had arrived early; so at 39 +6 I was getting very bored of waiting. In the last 3 weeks I undertook a lot of walking, spicy food, raspberry tea and sex…NOTHING!
On the 23rd August, it started. I had just woofed down a plate of my homemade chilli, (with extra chilli), literally as soon as I had finished my last mouthful, the contractions started. Maybe the baby was fed up of me feeding it unnecessarily over-spiced meals. I was over the moon.
And oh boy did the contractions start coming! I know that with each pregnancy, labour usually is quicker; so as eager as a beaver, Hubby and I jumped in the car and drove to hospital (I had rung them first to advise I was en-route). I timed them using the clock in the car, and during the journey, they increased in length and got stronger, much stronger.
I know what you’re thinking. No I didn’t give birth in the car. That would be Hubby’s worst nightmare, and mine as he would be completely useless.
We made it to hospital, and were put in a room on the labour ward for observations. Typically, my contractions slowed! I was only 2cms dilated. But as this was my third pregnancy, they said I should stay and put me in a bed on the antenatal ward. Hubby was unceremoniously dismissed, and so at 2am(ish) he drove home.
The ward was as you would expect at 2am, dark and quiet – no babies in THIS ward. It was full of sleeping pregnant women, probably stocking up on all the sleep they knew they would forfeit once bundle of joy arrived. And I can’t blame them.
Unfortunately, I found this disturbing. I was given a bed at the end of the ward, next to a window with the curtains pulled around, and left. It didn’t occur to me until some weeks later, that I was not offered any kind of pain relief, paracetomol, gas and air. I had nothing, just a bottle of water, a pillow and a buzzer for the midwife. I lay there for what felt like hours and hours, writhing around, doing my deep breathing, taking sips of my now warm water, trying to keep in any kind of noise to prevent waking up the women who were not in pain. I was convinced that things must have progressed. I called the midwife two times, and on each time following an inspection, she whispered that I “was not dilated enough, I was doing well and try to relax”….!!!!! This is the worst thing to hear when you’re in pain, and alone in a dark ward full of sleeping mummas-to-be.
So I endured this torture on my own for what felt like an eternity, until finally I simply could not bear it anymore. For the third time, I buzzed for a midwife – they have the patience of a saint, truly they do! – and FINALLY following a third inspection, she looked at me and informed me I had gone up to 6cm dilated. “We’d better get you down to the labour ward, you’ve progressed quite quickly.” AT LAST!
I don’t recall much of the wheelchair trip down in the lift. I don’t remember being helped onto the bed, and I certainly don’t remember having those horrible itchy uncomfortable oversized elastic-band-type products being strapped around my tight and contracting belly. I bloody hate those things. They don’t help my mood during labour one bit. They get in the way, and are like wearing a bra in bed as far as I am concerned. I DO remember telling everyone and anyone who was within earshot that I had requested an epidural. It was in my birth-plan, so I must absolutely must have one. For everyone else’s safety and wellbeing I must have an epidural. I was not prepared to not have one. It was not even a possibility. I put my hands up, I am a wimp with labour pain, but I also turn into a complete and unreasonable ogre. I swear like a sailor. I am not one of these ladies who can sail through (no pun intended) labour looking lovely and serene, smiling, enjoying and embracing the pain. Not me. I want drugs. Don’t care what type, but after a certain point of the labour I do not want to feel anything. They invented pain relief for women just like me!
So at around 6am(ish), epidural plugged in, belly strapped up, midwife positioned in the corner writing up her notes, Hubby walks in, clearly in a state of excitement and trepidation.
And so the waiting and the vomiting began….my labour slowed right down, thanks to the epidural. It plodded along at a very boring and frustrating rate. So much so that I had a change of midwife three times! But all were absolutely lovely.
You have noted I made mention of vomiting….yes I did. It turns out that epidural makes me sick, literally. Throughout my entire labour I was unable to keep anything down. The only thing that kept me going was fruit polos. I sucked them to death, desperate for something. Was I jealous when Hubby walked back in from the hospital restaurant having just had his dinner, a curry? No, not at all. I was happy for him to have enjoyed something to eat. He needs to keep his energy up. After all a man who is hungry is nearly as grumpy a woman in labour.
Time ticked on; it continued raining; we lost count of the amount of the cardboard sick bowls which had been disposed of; I lost count of how many doctors, registrars, students had all inspected my nether-regions; Hubby had been sent down to the hospital shop at least twice to re-stock my fruit polos; texts were sent advising still no baby……oh my god it didn’t want to come out. Clearly I was destined to be pregnant, strapped up, drugged up and throwing up forever!
At around 6.45pm, the midwives (there were two with us at this point), left the room for a teabreak. They deserved and needed one. I was giving Hubby instructions and about to send him out to get something – I can’t remember what for – but I felt another bought of sickness coming. “Sick bowl” I hollered. This was the worst lot of retching I had (apologies for going into details), I felt like my ribs were about to pop out of my throat. I had nothing to bring up, but continued violently retching over and over. Hubby, bless him, stood there holding the bowl like a trooper.
I didn’t think anything of it, this had been happening ALL DAY, but I did feel a bit tight down below between my legs. I put my hand down to have a feel……I had wretched so much I had pushed baby’s head out! Oops! It was at that point the midwives came back in. And it was all go. The button was pushed and in flew more midwives; my body then chose at that point to start retching again. This of course, made the rest of the baby pop out too!
Baby boy made his unique appearance at 7.07pm on 24th August, his due date! I am sure that the midwives won’t forget that birth, and I will take get joy in reliving the experience to my Son when he is older.

33 Years old!!

Candles spell out the traditional English birt...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!   (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Well today is the birthday of yours truly….I am 33 years old today! Eek…..

Firstly I want to say a BIG thank you to the Husband for my gorgeous present. You’ve done well this year. Well done for listening. xx

Well done to my Mum, who has been a Mum for 33 years!! I bet that makes you feel old! ha ha ha Love you Mum bundles xx

So what does one do on their birthday when they begin creeping towards their mid-thirties. What does one do on  their birthday when you have three children, no babysitter, and the Husband (who DIDN’T take the day off work) who won’t walk in the front door until nearly 8 O’clock tonight?

I did all my partying in my twenties. Spending hours getting ready, choosing the “perfect” outfit, shoes, handbag, doing hair and make-up, sorting out who’s meeting who and where, Pub crawls, rounds of drinks, tottering in too-high shoes into the nightclub, knocking back the shots, visiting the loos to preen and primp, playing “pull-a-pig”, flirting with a member of the opposite sex to obtain a free drink, more shots, taking off the too-high shoes, falling out of the nightclub, taking possession of a burger/kebab/chips, trying to hail a taxi, usually ended up walking home minus the shoes (which are now tucked under my arm), and throwing myself on the bed, sometimes still fully dressed. No, the thought of getting drunk now and suffering a hang-over (especially with children around) DOES NOT appeal to me one iota. I would much rather watch someone else younger and/or more stupid than me suffer instead.

Suddenly I feel “old” is this normal? I would much rather go to the local pub and have drinks there with the Husband and a few friends, pop into the local Indian and then come home NOT DRUNK.

Currently on my birthday, I have done the school run, been grocery (!) shopping at the local Co-op, put some washing on, cleaned the kitchen, emptied the dishwasher, painted a dolls china tea-set with T, finished and published a post on my blog, had three very LARGE cups of coffee, spoken to various members of my family, replied to birthday text messages. Very Rock n Roll!

And tonight…well lets see what happens.

However, I am content with it. I have done my partying days (thank goodness! If I had to do them again, I think it would kill me!) and I have safely stored them away. (Disclaimer: They can be taken out at will and dusted off as and when the need/want arises.)

Crikey I do sound old don’t I?

Welcome home Gorgeous!

So my eldest daughter, L, has been , and since returned from a holiday with her Dad. You may recall I posted about this a while back “holidays during term-time” and I can now sit back and honestly say that I feel as if a weight has been lifted. Normal service has since ressumed.

For the past few weeks, the situation had been hanging subconsciously over me like a stubborn cobweb in the corner of my head. I don’t like being apart from my children, any of them, for any longer than a school day. (Am I weird? I must be!) I hate that they are with someone else. Call me a control freak, but I like to know what my children are doing, where they are and that they are happy and safe. They will hate me when they are teenagers. I may just microchip them – Is that allowed?

I tried not to dwell over it, but it bothered me and niggled away; eventually the day came when I had to say my goodbye to L and watch her go off. I was happy and relieved  that she was excited, but I still could not shake that dull nervous feeling I had. It was the ‘what if’s’ that bothered me. You know the…..What if she is ill? What if she gets lost? What if she gets upset? What if…….

In the end I had to accept that she was gone for two weeks and that I had two other rugrats that still needed me, so I looked for the positives of only having two children for a short while:

  • No school runs to do each day – so it was almost like a holiday for me. (Although T still has preschool three mornings each week)
  • No having to make a packed lunch for two weeks
  • No clothes/shoes being dumped and left around
  • No Disney channel shows – we can stick to good old CBeebies
  • No arguing/begging/pleading for her to GET UP and OUT OF BED every day!!
  • No backchat
  • No begging to stay up later – as a result bedtime was done and over with by half 7 each night!
  • No fussy eating habits at the table

It seemed odd only having two children. I was not restricted by the clock and “school-run” time, When we went shopping, during the day, I felt as if I was doing something wrong. I didn’t have my mini-me with me. I almost felt as if I were playing truant. I know that sounds ridiculous, even the Husband said I was mad.

I actually missed the school-run. I missed seeing my friends each morning for a moan and a gossip. I felt as if I were missing out on things. It’s funny how a simple thing can become such a large part of your daily life.

I pined over making the packed lunches. Day-to-day, as a chore, I loathe it. But take it away and I suddenly have this empty period of time which I didn’t know what to do with. Hands up I’m a routine kinda-gal, especially since having children. But a change in that routine, in any way (unless its driven my yours truly) completely throws me out!

The first week went quite slowly and seemed to drag on and on and on. It felt as if the impending second week would do just the same. However, after various trips to the Doctors (T had a chest infection) and learning to relax and play with just two children, the second week was over, and before I knew it I was opening the door to my smiling, grown ever so slightly, browner, blonder and happy L.

Welcome home gorgeous….now get your backside back to school!!

What’s in your bag?

MY BAG! It’s funny the things you can ponder on while you mop the kitchen floor…
– Is it rubbish day? Better put the bags out before it rains
– Dinner plans for tonight…Spaghetti Bolognese – do I have enough of everything? Who is coming for dinner?
– My daughters jujitsu class is tonight – I wonder when she’ll be ready enough for me to order the uniform. She’ll need to be measured.

But mostly, and more often recently I think about potential subjects to blog about. This is because I feel I should post more often but also I want to write pieces which are slightly humorous and interesting and not completely mundane.

So I mentally prepare a list, plan it and write them in my journal (occasionally I think I may benefit from having a Dictaphone); sometimes it’s just the subject title which I then expand on it fully when I publish it. I’m not sure if every blogger works this way, or if they just sit and type? Maybe I will find it easier as time goes on.

Some of the topics I have in the wings, waiting for their fifteen minutes of fame include :
– Friendship – losing, making, keeping and maintaining. The ‘rules’
– Child support – financially. L’s dad and his ‘efforts’ etc. What’s right, wrong and fair.
– Lifestyle Vs money –
– Friend’s spouses – is it taboo to blog bout them?

All of these are mentally finalised, some are drafted and others completed, I just do not have the courage to publish them, yet!

So for today, I will just blog about the contents of my handbag

Let me begin by saying, I love my handbag. As a mum, I am responsible for making sure that I cover every possible situation. Long gone are the days when I could manage with a funky fashionable overpriced small over the shoulder job, which could just about house my mobile, lip-gloss, keys, purse, etc. To me, back then, they were the essentials.

Nowadays, as any mum will agree, small dainty handbags are a thing of the past – well until the rugrats are old enough to carry their own things.

Nowadays my handbag resembles more of a horse feeding bag, with the weight to equal that of a fully packed suitcase for a two week holiday.

My handbag from above. Straps – the bag must have shoulder straps AND an over-the-body strap – you never know when you need both of your hands at one time – slinging the bag across your body actually frees both hands. The bag must also be made of sturdy material, but look presentable – leather is always a good option. Pockets – It must have pockets inside, at least two. It must have a zip or similar to ensure it closes completely – this prevents things falling out and rolling all over the floor of whichever establishment you are in at the time.

I have had my current bag since Christmas. It was a present from my Parents (Thanks Mum and Dad! xx) I can always rely on a blooming decent bag from them. And I am pleased to say that, so far, it has held up well and is doing me proud.

And because it’s a bloody decent bag, which is sturdy, has fabulous straps, has three – yes three – inside pockets, I am able to cart this lot around with me nearly everyday. It is also the reason I get moaned at by The Husband, who claims to never be able to find anything – “You carry too much!” “You don’t need all that cr*p in there!”. But the bags serves a purpose when he needs a place to put HIS keys, wallet, mobile, glasses case, etc…

The contents of my handbag

Contents of my bag, audited 10th April 2013:

1 x nappy, 1 x pack of wet wipes, my purse, my glasses case, a pack of plasters (a must have for every parent!), 1 x dummy, 4 x hairbands, 2 x hairclips, 1p coin, 2 x tins of lip gloss/balm, 2 x sachets of ketchup, 1 x KFC wipe, 1 x lighter (I used to smoke!), paracetamol, 2 x lollipops, half a pack of sugar free Polos, 1 x plastic ring red in colour, 3 x pens, 1 x tampon, a pair of my daughter’s sunglasses, 1 x bottle of perfume, a compact mirror, 4 x lipsticks – all different shades, 1 x lip stain, 2 x eyeliners, 1 x concealer, 1 x lipliner, a smaller bag for the makeup, 2 x nail files, two receipts for Morrisons supermarket (I would add that usually there are more receipts than this, I must have been good recently!), 1 x pack of tissues, 2 x pair of mittens for my son.

So there you go. What’s in your bag?

The coffee is brewing and it smells so good….

English: Beach at Walton-on-the-Naze Looking n...

English: Beach at Walton-on-the-Naze Looking north from the Mabel Greville breakwater. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So we’re almost halfway through the school Easter holidays and it’s been lovely. The Husband has taken a week’s holiday and although the weather could not have been more different to what it was like two years ago, ( Easter 2011 we spent on the beach. Not a beach in an exotic location, well unless you class Walton on the Naze an exotic location!) we have had a good break so far.

But time goes so fast. The days get eaten up so quickly. In amongst the plans, days out, entertaining children; you have to maintain a certain level of the mundane routine:  Cooking dinner, doing the washing, getting the shopping done.  I’m already thinking about the shopping list needed for the school packed lunches (L wants a new packed lunch bag!), locating and washing that dreaded P.E. kit (white t-shirt, red shorts and a pair of those lovely black plimsolls), wondering what the weather will be like; usually its after the Easter break that the summer uniform gets brought out and the winter one tucked away. Not sure that will be the case this year.

I’m thinking about the things we’ve still got planned and haven’t got around to yet. Cookie making, cinema trip, gardening, London day trip, zoo trip.

At the Movies ~ The Croods, 2013

We’ve had the afternoon of painting nails (mine: orange, L’s: purple and orange, T’s: pink and sparkly but not G’s – boys of 19 months should not be subjected to wearing nail polish, there is plenty of time for that), shoe shopping (you should know by now that I am a shoe fiend and that trait has definitely been inherited by my kids) a good hour or more was spent trying on various shoes, sandals, trainers, canvas pumps, flip flops, etc. We’ve done the compulsory trip to McDonalds, and got the happy meal toy x3 (The Croods), balloon x3 and fought tooth and nail for a table to sit and eat. We’ve been to Pizza Hut and pigged out on the buffet menu and unlimited soft drinks. I have also had to spend a very unpleasant but much needed morning at the dentist, which resulted in me being unable to talk properly, dribbling everywhere and unable to feel the left side of my face and tongue for the next four hours – yes a filling!!

I always dread school holidays; I am not, in any way shape or form a Mum who can naturally come up with ideas to keep my children happy and amused. I like activities which do not make a mess or require 100% supervision. Whereas my girls just love baking, painting, cutting, play dough, glitter, stickers, etc. This is not unusual I know and many of you are reading this smiling and nodding. Yes you are!

However,  I dislike having my children in the kitchen cooking or baking; they make too much mess and take too long. I know I know I know. Now I’ve typed that I realise that I sound awful. But my children do not miss out and actually despite what I have said I DO let my children do baking, do arts and crafts. I am getting better.

So here I sit at 5am on Thursday morning, downstairs, unable to sleep. My bed; full of snoring Husband and a restless daughter (I would not recommend letting your 9 year old watching an episode of Jonathan Creek by the way, it causes a night of non-sleeping and climbing in and out of mum and dads bed), I decided to retreat to the lounge, put the coffee machine on and catch up on my recorded Sky+ programming  – OBEM, TOWIE (yes I know! I’ve never claimed to have a good taste in television programmes.)

As I type this blog, I am working out what to do with the children today, with the knowledge that in slightly over a weeks time I will be moaning that the alarm has to be re-set and the kids dragged out of bed. But in the meantime, my coffee smells good……………….