I woke up the other day realising that with 12 weeks to go until our new baby enters the world, I’ve done a grand total of nothing to prepare. I have 3 packs of nappies, 2 packs of botty wipes and a cute lil baby grow from my friend in Cape Town. My lil girl will sleep in a tin bucket and bath in the kitchen sink, but we have the poo situation sorted for all of a couple of weeks. Boo-ya!
So this morning I’m off to our biggest local baby department store, Mothercare, to make a list of stuff I need and start planning. Start… Planning…
11 years ago, with Jimmy, I don’t recall being in such a pickle. Everything seemed to appear. We just had stuff. Lots of stuff. I have awesome pictures of his nursery looking like Hamley’s… I think I didn’t notice where everything was coming from because my head at that stage had actually come loose from my shoulders, so I actually was the headless chicken, and all memory of pre-birth has also just been wiped away. I was on auto-pilot it seems. Worked out well though, but leaves me with no experience to draw from and this honestly feels like I’m doing this for the first time.
Jimmy is quite excited about the whole business when he’s not busy worrying about my general welfare. He does worry an awful lot for an 11 year old.
“Mum, sit down. You’re preggers..”
“Mum, are you alright? Do you feel sick?”
“Mum, where am I going to be when you’re in the hospital screaming?”
“Mum, be careful.”
“Mum, do I have to change nappies?”
“Mum, how’s your breathing?”
Poor guy is going to burst. I suppose it comes with the territory of having the large age gap. He is feeling the build up and the excitement but he’s also aware of all the other stuff a younger child wouldn’t be. He keeps saying he’s stressed. At 11? I didn’t even know what stress was at that age. I just cuddle him a lot and hope it helps a little bit.
On the flip side it appears he’s an absolute clown at school, which leads to it’s own set of issues. We’ve been having calls from the teachers saying he just won’t be quiet in class. Talks ALL the time I hear, disrupts the class and so on. I can’t imagine where he gets that from… (snippet from high school year book… Apparently I can talk the hind leg off a donkey and likely to work in a profession suited to my gregarious nature…). I believe that means I probably talked. All the time. To everyone. Sorry boy – it obviously runs in the family.
School is on the whole going well for him. He seems generally happy, has made some new friends and is starting to form his identity. I have a feeling this identity of his is going to make me go prematurely grey, but that’s high school I guess. I can’t expect him to grow up and be under my thumb, so now begins the balancing act of letting him grow up and giving him the best guidance we can. Nerve wracking.
So our baby girl is coming at a very pivotal point in our lives. She’s already quite active, and has been keeping me up most nights with her 3am acrobatics. The first lesson I will be teaching her is the importance of beauty sleep.. ‘Darling, it’s essential you go to sleep or you’ll wake up looking like a miserable old troll…’ Well you can’t say that isn’t true! At the same time I will be teaching the Jimmy the importance of baby sitting and how it’s directly tied in with any teenager-I-need-money-for-going-out-pocket-money. ‘Darling, it’s essential that you babysit or you’re going to have the social life of a miserable old troll..’ Genius!