The view from my toilet seat

If I posted a series of photos named "My view from the toilet seat" most of them would have one or both kids in them. The others wouldn't because it's very difficult to take a good photo of a kid sitting in your lap, trying to climb on your head.

The joy of sharing

Next year we'll label Moki's gifts as "Bibbo" and the other way around - that way they might end up playing with their actual toys.

Excited about Christmas

-Moki, do you want to watch the tablet while I'm putting Bibbo down?
-No, I'll just watch my Christmas tree.

She doesn't know...

-Look, mama! 
-I'm driving. What is it? 
-Mama, look! 
-I can't look, I'm driving. What is it? 
-JUST LOOK! 
(I turn around to look. She's showing me her fingers.)
-What is it?
-My fingers.
-Yeah, but what about them? What did I have to look at?
-I DON'T KNOW!

Be careful what you wish for

We went to a Christmas market where Moki got a felt (!) magic stone from one of the guys working at the stall. She was told to hold it tight, make a wish and put it under the Christmas tree and her wish will come true tomorrow! She first told us she wished for chocolate, which was a huge relief. But then she changed her wish to "a real Winnie the Pooh who can walk and say "Hello!" and live forever!"
Here comes another disappointment. Unless that stone really is magical. In which case we'll be living forever with a giant bear who can only say one word.

You can solve anything by magic!

Moki believes she actually has magic powers and magic is her suggestion and solution to various problems. Today she was disappointed (again) because she failed (again) to magic herself to England, to visit Nana. Soon she'll realise that she's very bad at it and will be able to focus on more practical solutions. Hopefully.

Little successes in life

Success of the day: I didn't puke on Bibbo after Bibbo's puked on me!

What did you get from St. Nicholas?

The only way to get the kids to share their St. Nicholas gifts with you is to get them a packet of instant tomato soup.

Screw the system!

I'm such a rebel! Feeding Bibbo "Guten Morgen" Müsli for dinner! Screw the system!

A practical dinner

You know you're a parent when you could prepare a whole meal just by using the food off your kitchen floor.

A child parenting a parent

-Let's play you be Moki and I be mama!
-How do we play that?
-I say No and then you cry and then I say Yes.
My three year old just explained how I'm failing at parenting. It's too late for her, but I won't ruin Bibbo. He will get nothing from me, no matter how much he cries. Fun times are over.

Just a regular day in a kindergarten

-Moki, what did you do in the kindergarten today?
-I play and I fall and I break my head and I go home and drive and walk Klara and go back, sleep on the tree, on the nest and fall on my head and eat pasta and sleep on the lamp and go back!
(When I was a kid, we weren't allowed to drive or sleep in the nests or on the lamps. Kids these days have amazing lives!)

Mama's night time routine

Attempting to take your contact lenses out after having taken your contact lenses out is really painful. My eyeballs hurt. If you don't want sore eyeballs, don't continuously pinch them.

First time in a library

-You have to be quiet in the library, Moki!
-I can't! My mouth can only talk really loud!

Parenting low or a great life hack?

New parenting low: I made Moki wipe her nose with Bibbo's bib. And I lied to her about it not being dirty.

Foodie baby

Bibbo's favourite food at 10 months: hummus, bread, tomatoes, potatoes, cheese, eggs, fish, yoghurt, bananas and every other fruit or vegetable he tried except clementines. His least favourite food: clementines. But he'll reach for them and stuff his mouth every time I eat them nevertheless.

Spa day

Spa day: coming home early from work to take a long shower and remove nail polish from two weeks ago.

Everything's OK if you brush your teeth

-What did you do in the kindergarten today? 
-I put sand in my mouth. 
-What? 
-I eat sand. 
-You ate sand?! 
-Just a little bit. And I brushed my teeth later.
She brushed her teeth. I guess sand eating is OK then.

Let's take these clothes off!

When I picked her up from the kindergarten, Moki was wearing ridiculous clothes and NONE of the clothes were hers. It turned out she got wet and changed completely into random clothes she found lying around. We went for a piece of cake, and while I was feeding Bibbo, she ran to the middle of the café and, to my horror, started taking the trousers off. Luckily and surprisingly, it turned out she had another pair of trousers underneath. Also not hers.

Our baby's teething!

Bibbo's teething and he's salivating A LOT. I literally changed him four times today but he managed to soak through three layers each time. I'm contemplating either attaching a plastic cup to his chin to contain the saliva or having him live in a bathtub for a few days. Both options are difficult for different reasons so it's really a shame that there's no other solution. Bathtub + plastic cup it is!

Avoiding nappy rash

Confession time: when Bibbo took a massive poo at 5 a.m., I couldn't care less about his potentially sore bum. The only reason I changed him was because he smelled so bad that I couldn't be in the same room as him.

What to do with my kids' art?

An amazing life hack: always have a plastic bag ready in the Kindergarten - that way you can immediately stuff all the kids' "art" in it and have it never even reach your car, let alone your apartment!

Take any chance you have to sleep!

Playing hide-and-seek is a great opportunity for a short nap.
The best hiding place? Under the bed, with a pillow under my head.

There's a pretzel in my nose!

Moki sometimes does such amazing things that I forget she only turned three and I treat her almost like an adult. But she only needs to stuff some pretzel deep up her nose and I'm instantly reminded that she's still a baby.

Don't get colder!

Moki's quite a brave girl. She's a bit scared of heights, she's not a big fan of swings and she doesn't like the sight of blood. Today I also found out that she's scared of the weather getting colder because "then I be a mountain and I be no Moki any more and I be scared and have no arms!" It admittedly is a scary image: Moki the mountain, without arms. I hope it doesn't get much colder.

Girls night out

You know you're a parent when you go out on a Saturday night and find a dummy and a pack of Baby Bell cheese in the pocket of your jacket. I have a feeling I'll be very happy when I rediscover that cheese on my way back home. I hope I won't need the dummy.

Our car is filthy and this is why

I always say that our car's full of trash because we have kids. To be honest, all of it is mine: coffee cups, candy wrappers, used tissues, receipts and bills. So I guess it's fair to say that our car's full of trash because we have me.

Who's dirtier than our kid?

The only child dirtier than our daughter today was our daughter from three days ago.

Salty mouth

-Would you like some water?
-No, I don't have salt in my mouth.

Free style painting

I asked Moki to use a brush and only to paint on paper but when she asked me why, I realised there was no reason. I was just being very lazy. So I told her to whatever makes her happy. Bath time was rewarding.

Missing mama. Not.

-I really, really missed you, Moki.
-I know mama.

Being a parent means... II.

Being a parent means patiently watching someone do a shitty job at the simplest task and praising them for it.

Toddler meltdown

Some of the things that made Moki upset this afternoon:
-Cinderella didn't appear on the screen as soon as I put the TV on
-I jokingly pretended to put her pyjamas on Benny
-She wanted me to cool her milk down in the microwave
-I told her I wouldn't drag her bed into the kitchen

Toddlers are like homeless people

In some ways Moki's a lot like a crazy homeless person: she collects trash when we're out on the walk, she pees and poos in public places and she'll only take a bath if someone runs it for her. In addition to this, I'm just witnessing her stuffing her face with yesterday's cold rice from a styrofoam delivery box.

Facebook is actually fun

My mum's been using Facebook for a couple of years now. She's been enjoying it a lot more recently because she finally discovered the newsfeed.

Being optimistic

One good thing about a screaming baby in the car is that you can be pretty sure that he's still alive.

Irrational fears

One of my biggest fears was that Bibbo wasn't going to enjoy watching YouTube. I'm happy to announce that the fear was completely irrational. Piles and piles of laundry, here I come!

How to spend the afternoon

"We need to do something I like first! And I like bogies!" (Moki on our afternoon plans - I'm not sure what exactly she wanted us to do but we're not doing it)

Being a parent means... I.

Being a parent means ordering your toddler to save the last biscuit for her brother just so you can later eat it yourself.

Oktoberfest with kids

The final score of going to the Oktoberfest with kids is not that much different from getting drunk there - I got home with a broken shoe, ripped tights and some puke on my shirt. The only difference is that I actually noticed it.

How to make mama feel very uncomfortable

Moki talking to an American lady:
-You have a big belly!
-Yes, that's my trousers and my zipper, see?
-And this? (poking at her belly)
-That's my body.
-You have a baby up there?
-Not this time.
(I was lost for words, I just wanted the whole thing to stop)

Trilingual (or nonelingual)

Moki H. (almost 3): "You not skinut my majicu off and then kommt znoj in my head!"

Amazing manipulation

When I picked Moki up from Kindergarten today she didn't want to talk to me, instead she just kept shouting and screaming. When she finally calmed down a bit, I asked her what was wrong. "I talk later, when we have ice-cream", she said. So I guess we're having ice-cream then.

Mamma bear

I just had the longest stare-off with an old man who made a rude comment about Bibbo practicing his screaming. Even though there was a lot of anger in the old man's stare, the exhaustion, intolerance and overall negativity which I generously projected, made him look away first. Which was good because I was starting to feel awkward and probably would have apologised if he had said anything to me.

Jingle bells in September

The only way I was able to get Moki

out of the house without a tantrum was by allowing her to wear her ski gloves and a scarf. It's supposed to be up to 25 degrees today and she was happily singing "Jingle bells" on the way.

Impressing the older crowd

Moki was trying to play with a group of seven year old girls who were using the climbing frame and ignoring her. She kept jumping around them, shouting "Look at me, I can do it! Look at me, I can do it!" After a while, they finally made room for her. She couldn't do it.

Rules of the game

Moki playing hide-and-seek: "You hide under the bed, mama, and I find you!"
Moki playing chase: "You need to be slow, mama, so I can easily catch you!"
The rules are there to be followed.

How do you know you're a grown-up?

You know you're a grown-up woman when you don't ask your friend to go to the bathroom with you in a restaurant.

Co-sleeping's dangerous

In my opinion, co-sleeping's dangerous and it ruins children's sleep cycle. Every night when I see Bibbo asleep in our bed, I feel the uncontrollable need to squeeze him hard and pinch his cute chubby cheeks. It really disturbs his sleep.

We don't like people

"Mama, you can't be in the lounge because we don't like people" said Moki as she closed the door of the lounge where she and her friend were playing. Fair enough.

Be a fashionable mum!

Do you feel that as a mum you have no time to make yourself look nice? Do you avoid looking at yourself in the mirror? Are you jealous of all the women who aren't mums for their fresh, youthful looks? Do you believe all mums who look good are actually robots? Here's a few words for you from our sponsor "Faschion4U":
"You're on your way out and in a hurry, but your baby just puked on you? No need to panic and definitely no need to change your clothes! Just use our camouflage tips: If it's on the bottom part of your trousers, wear high boots! Puke in your lap? Put on a long cardigan! Puke on your shirt? That's what scarves are for! Puke on your cardigan? Wear a jacket! Puke on your jacket? Wear a coat on top! Puke on your coat? You have a bigger coat to put over it. Puke on your shoes? Just walk through the first puddle you see and they'll be like new in no time. Being a mum is not an excuse - always be fashionable and look pretty! Check out our MySpace page for more tips from Faschion4U!"

A puppet show

We went to see a puppet show. "I am Moki, this is my mama. My Dada is with Bibbo. And where's Klara, mama? I don't know where Klara is!" said Moki to the guy who asked us in which name we reserved the tickets. He didn't understand a word.

Moki investigating the stage

Big sister's words of wisdom I

"Bibbo, this is reading book, not eating book!"

Why you running?

Moki's "Why?" questions aren't limited to just us parents. Today she stopped right in front of a jogger and asked: "Entschuldigung, hallo, why you running?"

Parenting rule #176

If you find a really good place to hide while playing hide-and-seek, you'll get at least 30 seconds of "me" time every five minutes.

Parenting rule #723

If you're having a stressful morning and the only thing you want is a nice cup of coffee, when you finally get it, there will be some scrambled egg in it.

Parenting rule #8754

The dirtier baby's hands are, the more likely is he to grab your phone while you aren't watching.

Happy hour starts at 1 a.m.

The only thing more exhausting than a demanding, screaming toddler is a demanding, screaming toddler at 1 am. Extra points if she wakes the baby up as well.

Don't let your child play with scissors!

Don't let your toddler play with scissors... Unless you want some peace and quiet.

Making a house for "the fishies".
No need to tell her they don't live in a house. 

A gifted child

Our child is not even three and she can already write. Here she is spelling the word "grass" on the fridge, from right to left, using magnetic "numbers".

"Look, mama! Me write grass!"

Complicated sleeping arrangments

What an exciting night with various sleeping arrangements! J and I in the big bed, Bibbo and I on the sofa, Bibbo and I in the big bed, J on the sofa, Moki, Bibbo and I all in the big bed and finally, very awake Bibbo and I in Moki's bed! 
Also, a prostitute sleeping in our campervan after her surgery. But I'm pretty sure I dreamt that part.

Creative chaos

I asked Moki to play for a bit while I put Bibbo to sleep. Next time I'll just turn the TV on.

After putting kids to sleep, I have this to deal with

Getting a toddler dressed

It's getting more difficult to choose clothes for Moki. Today she expressed a desire to dress as a "proper dragon elf".

I just used to call it "a quick shower"

In this camp site you have to press a button to start the shower and then the water runs for exactly 15 seconds. I pressed it three times during my shower yesterday: water - shampoo - water - shower gel - water. That amounts to approximately a minute. Then I pressed it again and treated myself to just standing under warm water for another 15 seconds. I used to think of this process as "taking a quick shower". Now it's my "me time". Realising this made me laugh. Fake laugh of sadness.

A new sort of training

That thing when I jog but I stop every few seconds to walk? That's interval training, baby. Also, when it looks like I'm grasping for air and I can't seem to breathe properly? Interval breathing! Amateurs don't know about it. It's a new thing. But, also ancient. I read about it on-line.

Getting creative with the truth

Moki's getting quite creative with her lies. She couldn't give me Bibbo's dummy "because my hair is wet and my leg is tired". I didn't think to tell her to hop on the leg which isn't tired, that could have worked.

Enjoying the summer storm. Almost.

I really wish I wasn't awake at this time at night. Since I am, between feeding a crying baby and calming down a screaming toddler ("Water! I can't sleeeeeep! "), it would be nice to be at least able to have the windows wide open to enjoy the summer storm. But that means also having to deal with a terrified dog climbing up and down the bed and panting in my ear. Our bed is a safe zone for everyone and we'll all suffocate together.

Nothing wakes our baby up

I was looking for my shirt in a very dark room for about 5 minutes before I realised that I could just turn the light on. A second later, I remembered why the light was off in the first place. There was a baby asleep in the room. This proved that a) I'm so tired my brain doesn't work, b) a bright light shining directly in his face doesn't bother our baby at all. Now I'm intrigued. Time to find out what else doesn't wake him up.

Trilingual. Or none-lingual.

Moki can't stop talking and I'm terrified of forgetting it all, so I have to write it down. 
So, here's a list of some of the things M said in the last few days:
- Look mama, me skinut my cipele off! You bosa and I bosa!
-Mein tummy's very big. Me really hungry, dada. 
-Mama, I like me sladoled. I happy again. 
-Ugh, orah is really yucky!
-Klara likes sticks and Klara likes water, no like kamens, no like lots of kamens.
-B's so sweet. He's so mali! Tiny arms!
-Dada, are you best friend of me?

Lessons my children teach me, part I

When there's no salt on the table, use the pretend salt. It's just as good and you can use a lot more of it.

This is me!

My daughter drew a picture of me!

Being grateful for the little things in life

You should be grateful for the little things in life. When your child throws a full blown tantrum in a tiny space such as a camper van because the juice you offered her was boring, you have to appreciate the fact that she's rolling around under the table so at least she's out of the way.

Every gift is a "happy birthday"

"Here you go, mama" said Moki as she gave me three little rocks. "Hold on tight! It's a really happy birthday."

It's a crazy idea but it just might work!

Each day Moki's getting better and better at talking and explaining what she wants. Today, for example, she walked into our bedroom while I was playing with Bibbo and she managed to communicate a very specific request to me: She wanted me to put Bibbo in his chair and take him into the bathroom so he can sit there while she pees. It was such an absurd and peculiar wish that I did it right away, no questions asked. I don't think either of them particularly enjoyed that experience (it was a bit boring so slightly disappointing), but I'm excited to see which idea she's going to come up with next.

Beauty's in the eye of the beholder

Today I'm sick. That means I have a stuffy nose, my throat aches, my head aches and I'm feeling feverish. It also means I'm very irritable and hate the world and myself.

Today's one of those days when I'm aware of how pale I am, how awful my skin looks, how flabby my stomach is, how much weight I need to lose... I feel so disgusting today that I have absolutely no energy to make an effort while dressing in the morning. I grab whatever's in front of me. Literally. This leaves me taking kids to the daycare in a dark-blue and white stripey skirt, a black and grey spotty cardigan and a T-shirt with a cartoon character on it (which is never appropriate if you're 34, I don't really know why I have it in my closet anyway). My hair's up in a ponytail which is a not-so-secret code for "dirty". I desperately need a shower. I smell. I'm all gross. Still, I spend the day without doing anything about it, except complaining to the baby about how lazy I am and how I should go jogging. And then I feel even more miserable and have some chocolate instead.

The day passes between the waves of self-pity and self-loathing and it's already evening.
As I put Moki into bed and give her a sweaty hug, I have already decided to call it a day and curl up in bed. Then she stretches lazily, all cute and cuddly in her night-dress and kisses me back while running her always-so-sticky fingers through my greasy hair and says: "Lijepa mama" ("Pretty mama"). And I almost cry. 

This was an hour ago. In the meantime, I took a long shower, washed my hair, did my eyebrows and already chose clothes for tomorrow. 

I promise myself I'll do my best to look the way my sweet daughter sees me. Most of the days at least.

Why it is OK to play with food

-Moki, we don't play with our food! 
-But Pooh Bear swimming in honey! 
(from: "You thought you can't go wrong with Winnie the Pooh")

Party in the bathtub

A random thing to hear your child shout from the bathtub: "Mama, more soap for my friends!"

Little things in life

The best part of my morning so far was when Bibbo was crying so loudly that I couldn't hear Moki's hysterical screaming.

Sleeping rituals

Everyone has a ritual that helps them fall asleep, even if they're not aware of it. I, for example, always lie on my side, put my hand under the pillow and think of nice things that happened that day. Moki likes to have one dummy in her mouth and one in her hand and then change them around.
Bibbo, on the other hand, shrieks like a wounded bird, pulls his dummy out of his mouth unintentionally at least seven times then cries because he can't get it back in, flails his arms around, attempts to scratch his eyes out, turns his head left and right, bangs his legs against the mattress, all the while fighting me while I try to hold his hands down so that he doesn't hurt himself. Whatever works, I guess.

Setting the rules

Two new rules were set today:
1. Moki's not allowed to lick the train window. Or any window.
2. Mama's not allowed to tell Moki that she's not a monster.

Happy birthday to me

My day started perfectly with a neighbour driving Moki to the daycare and J, Bibbo and me having a lovely breakfast outside. I planned to spend the rest of the day walking around the centre, reading and having coffee in the sun. Unfortunately, around 10:30 I got a call from Moki's daycare to pick her up because she's been sick. Just at the thought of that, as a very empathic mother, I started feeling queasy myself. J picked Moki up and I rushed home where my empathy reached the highest peak when I started throwing up as well (goodbye overly expensive breakfast!). So we spent the rest of the day so far watching Shrek, puking, eating salty pretzels and sleeping, which is really not an entirely horrible way to spend a birthday, I guess.

Mealtimes are messy

One of my kids is dirty because she can't eat properly, the other one's dirty because I can't eat properly.

Mama self-punishing

You've reached a new low when your child wakes you up at 23:40 and you think to yourself: "This doesn't count as a wake up, I shouldn't have been asleep anyway."

How you change with the second baby, an empirical study, part IV: Rolling over

With the first baby, you read a lot about her physical and emotional development. You know each day not only what new skills she's acquiring but also how to help her develop those skills further. You perform a series of gentle physical exercises with your baby each day and you're really looking forward to her reaching her next big milestone: rolling over. You have a feeling it will happen soon so you video every play session because it would be a disaster if you didn't catch this special moment on film. You're excited for a week, announcing to all your friends and family that your baby might roll over soon. Then you're worried for a week because you would have expected her to roll over already, is there anything wrong? When she finally does roll over, you send that video to everyone in the family, followed by numerous videos of her getting even better at rolling over! Then you start getting excited about her sitting up by herself. You have to start reading about that!
With the second baby, all of a sudden you realise that your baby's as old as your first born was when she rolled over. When you come back into the lounge from the kitchen one day, you get a bit excited because your baby might have rolled over. You're not sure though because you can't remember if you left him on his tummy or on his back when you left the room - so he either rolled over or he hasn't moved at all. Mental note to self: avoid leaving the baby unattended on the bed for longer periods of time because he will roll over eventually.

Who's a better child

I knew that I wasn't going to be sleeping well once the baby was born and, needless to say, I was right. I get woken up at least three times a night and that pretty much fits with what I expected, based on our previous experience with Moki. But what I didn't expect was that two times out of three I'd be waking up because of Moki. She's literally the worst sleeper ever. Her four month old brother officially wins in the "Sleep" category.
...which brings us to the current results of our "Who's a better child" competition!
For those who are interested - Moki's currently in the lead in these categories: "Talking", "Walking", "Singing", "Using the toilet" and "Just generally using things". Besides "Sleep", Bibbo's currently doing better in "Flapping arms", "Anger management", "Headbutting mama" and "Staring at own hands". They both score equally very high in "Cuteness" and "Lovebility" so there's no clear winner at the moment. I'll keep you posted!

One of the truths about parenting

70% of parenting involves someone crying. If it's not a kid, it's a parent. 30% is peaceful and quiet. That's when kids are watching TV.

The joys of doing a night shift when you have two kids

I fell asleep (if you don't count a short nap on the sofa) shortly before midnight. Around 1:30, I woke up frantically searching for Bibbo who got lost. I woke J up by almost pulling his arm off because I was afraid he might have fallen asleep on top of the baby. "He's in his bed", J said. And this made a lot of sense because Bibbo's always in his bed.
I managed to get back to sleep feeling confused after a scary dream that melted into reality until around 2:30 I heard Moki cry and scream. I ran into her room before she could wake Bibbo up and gave her a hug. I told her "Bibbo's in his bed" because that was the most soothing thing I could think of saying to calm her down from a bad dream. Around 4, she was awake again. This time she also woke her brother up. I gave them both their dummies, but Bibbo was wide awake. "Shhh..." I said, "You're in your bed" but that was exactly where he didn't want to be. So it was feeding time. Around 4:30 he was almost asleep again. I put him down, excited about finally going to bed, when I noticed he was taking a poo. I briefly considered pretending I didn't see it and acting all surprised in the morning because honestly, anything sounded better than waking him up again. I am not an asshole though so nappy change time it was. I carefully avoided eye contact but regardless of all of my efforts, Bibbo was smiley, happy and definitely not asleep.
Around 5:30 he finally fell asleep on the sofa and I made myself comfortable, already decided not to move until morning... Except that fifteen minutes later I heard my beloved daughter shouting for water extremely loudly and with a lot of determination. So I carried Bibbo back to his bed because I was scared he might fall of the sofa, saved Moki's life by handing her a water bottle that was right next to her bed and squeezed into her tiny bed with her, telling her a story at 6 a.m.
At 7:15 our day started again, with all the crying and screaming and trying to stay calm. I'm determined to have a pleasant morning so I just dropped Moki off at the daycare, fed Bibbo and we're both about to take a nap in the car, in the parking lot. I'm just hoping all this rain will distract passers by from looking in and calling the police.

How you change with a second baby, an empirical study, part III: Showering

Baby number one: you feed the baby and put her down on her playmat to play while you quickly take a shower. As soon as you get into the shower, you can hear the baby hysterically cry. You turn the water off and listen. Everything's silent. Instead of calming you down, this makes you jump out of the shower and run into the lounge to save your baby from whatever horrible thing that was happening to her. You find her happily playing. Back into the shower. Crying again. Water off again. Run into the lounge again. Repeat the whole process again. Give up on the shower. They say that happy mama equals happy baby but you're only happy if you can look at your baby's smiling face ALL the time, making sure she's safe.

Baby number two: you feed the baby and put him down on his playmat to play while you take a shower. You take a shower, wash your hair, sing loudly to yourself. You get out of the shower to find your baby happily playing on the playmat. You say: "Oh, hello, you're here!" and go prepare breakfast. You feel like some nice toast this morning.

Potty training III

Among other dirty clothes I've been given to take home from the daycare to wash was a pair of slippers with poo on the soles. I asked Moki if she's taken a poo on the floor (again) and then stepped into it (again). She looked at me pensively and said (in Croatian): "No floor, mama. Carpet."

Potty training II

Moki's been potty training for two weeks now. At the daycare they told us to bring in extra clothes for the "accidents". Yesterday I brought in five pairs of trousers and tights and six undies. Moki came home in someone else's clothes and I was handed a bag full of laundry.

Potty training I

Moki's been potty training for two weeks now. This means she doesn't wear any nappies whenever she's inside. During that time she successfully took four poos. Two out of four times she pulled down her trousers first. Zero out of four times did she actually use the potty.

Cannibalism

I find Bibbo so cute that it demands a lot of will power not to bite off his cheeks while I'm watching him sleep.

The fall

Bibbo fell of the sofa a few days ago, while J was sitting right next to him. These kinds of accidents are a lot less painful with the second child. I didn't cry at all.
On the bright side: Bibbo laughed out loud for the first time later that day. It's possible that the fall killed some of his brain cells so he finally started to find J funny.

A disappointing suggestion

J: "M, would you like me to give you something?"
M: "Yes!"
J: "I'll give you a bath!"

Lego character swims!

M proudly announced that she peed in the toilet... And that her Lego figure went in for a swim as well.

My daughter is a joker

Moki skipped her nap today but I'm not complaining because she managed to stay in her room for two hours, playing with her toy monster and singing extremely loudly. She only came out of the room three times: the first time to tell me that she had to pee (even though she still wears nappies and most of the time refuses to use the potty), the second time she knocked a picture off the wall which really scared her and the third time she called me to say that the picture fell again but when I came in to check, she shouted: "Moki joking!".

How you change with the second baby, an empirical study, part II: Bed time

I'm very strict with our kids' bed times and for both of them I have established night time routines pretty much from the day they were born.
With M it was: bath, pyjamas, milk, lullaby, sleep.
With B it is: pyjamas, milk, asking M not to turn the light on, telling M to turn the light back off, holding B in the dark room silently while attentively listening to the noises from the lounge and hoping he'll fall asleep before M gets bored of watching TV.

You have to be self-critical

Moki just asked me for another piece of paper because what she drew was "really boring". Let's hope that what she draws next is more exciting.

Watching the eclipse... Not. (II)

Now that the stupid eclipse finally ended, I can stare directly at the sun for as long as I want!

Watching the eclipse... Not.

I told him he was being ridiculous but Bibbo insisted on being scared of the eclipse. He wanted us to spend our morning inside, just watching TV and drinking coffee. So even though I wanted to do something constructive today, I had to listen to my son's needs and quickly finish my second cup of coffee so I could have the third one while binge watching low quality television.

Night time naps

I'll stop saying that I'm going to sleep in the evening. I'll start referring to it as "going to take a few night time naps".

One of those days...

One of those days when you wake up feeling more tired than you were when you went to bed, when you feel like you've wasted your time doing nothing all day but can't motivate yourself to do anything worth doing, when you feel guilty for not being patient, loving or supportive enough...
That's when you decide to pick your daughter up early from the daycare because spending time with her will make you feel better.
Except that instead of hugging and kissing you the way you imagined she shouts at you, spills a full glass of water, kicks her baby brother in the head (not intentionally but it makes him scream for ages nevertheless), pees in her trousers and shouts at you some more. She does give you a big hug at the end of the evening, when she's trying to get you to let her stay up for a bit longer...
On one of those days I like to go to sleep at 20:30 and not think about the fact that I'll be up again three hours later.
Hopefully in my dreams I'll be a single, childless woman who gets to sleep for 12 hours after a day of intellectually fulfilling work and zero nappies.

Dealing with a minor hysterical breakdown

I dropped Moki off at the daycare and was on my way to register our new camper van when I got stuck in traffic. Which would have been annoying but bearable if Bibbo had been asleep but he was wide awake and complaining. Groaning turned into whining turned into screaming.
For a full hour and a half I was trying to sing, shhh Bibbo and every now and then shove a dummy in his mouth and keep it there. All the while I was driving slowly enough that I was able to attend to Bibbo in the back seat, but fast enough so I don't get beeped at. For a full hour and a half Bibbo was upset and after a while, I was emotionally exhausted.
Five minutes later it was difficult to tell which one of us was crying more loudly. Having a minor hysterical breakdown was my cue to pull over (sobbing while driving across two lanes full of very angry drivers to the only empty parking space I've seen for ages) and treat myself to some nice breakfast (or any food, actually!).
The second I took him out of the car, Bibbo was in a great, smiley mood which made me feel a lot better but it also made me re-think my life philosophy: I realised that we were healthy, we were about to have some tasty food, it was a very sunny day and there was actually absolutely nothing of be stressed about. Everything else could wait. So I forced myself to breathe deeply and enjoy my unexpected moment for myself.
As we were about to get back in the car of course I was hoping for a fast, tear-free and enjoyable drive. But I knew it was OK to just pull over and find something else to do if either of us got too stressed. And honestly - both options sounded good.

Like a crazy night of heavy drinking

I spent most of the last night awake. The sound of the morning birds around 5 a.m. made me nostalgically think back to all those pre-children times when I returned home from a night out accompanied by the chirping of the birds.
Then I realised my night was quite similar to a night of heavy drinking: I prepared drinks, I cleaned the puke off someone, they smiled at me and then puked in my hair, I held and comforted them while they cried and I woke up feeling pretty shitty.
But I never had friends stay over and then loudly and in tears demand breakfast and entertainment after just three hours of sleep.

For Moki... before we knew her

We decided to sell our camper van by the end of the month. It was old, it was falling apart and besides, our circumstances changed.

Knowing that this was our last campervan trip made travelling far less enjoyable. There was a lot of pressure to get the best out of it and that unavoidably made us unhappy at the end of the each passing day. Every evening at dinner we discussed the events of that day, taking turns at repeatedly trying to convince each other that it was important just to relax and enjoy ourselves and that we shouldn't expect too much. We were trying hard to make ourselves believe that sitting on a sunny terrace of a touristy cafe bar can be as fulfilling as getting drunk with locals in dark bars, the way we used to.

It was still difficult to wrap our minds around the fact that our world has changed and that it was about to change a lot more. We rarely brought it up, but we both feared that the adventurous, spontaneous travellers in us are being replaced by boring tourists, discussing whether we should have an ice-cream before or after the museum.

We chose France for our last trip. It was safe and familiar and civilised and that seemed appropriate. I felt guilty, of course. I felt I was being boring and it was my fault that our potentially exciting last trip was turning into... this. I tried to improve things at least a bit by suggesting or agreeing to risky activities which we might still be able to enjoy, such as riding our bikes to the next town or finding a car wash big enough to fit our van. A few times I even suggested staying out late because „it might be fun!“ but I always felt relieved when that suggestion was disregarded. There was nothing I wanted more than to cuddle up in bed and fall asleep at nine in the evening.

On Tuesday, the 17th of April 2012, we left the camp site behind us early in the morning and have been driving down a long, straight country road for a while. I was looking through the window at the tall trees closing in above us. There was nothing other than more road and more trees ahead of us, but that felt good. I felt at peace and content. The atmosphere between us changed in the last few days. We were learning to embrace the change – we were sleeping in camp sites with warm showers instead of camping wild, we were going to bed early and getting up early feeling refreshed instead of hung over, we were spending time focused on each other, instead of trying to find people to hang out with... we were starting to enjoy the slower pace of travelling. We were half way through our trip and our only goal for the day was to find chocolate croissants which I was craving.

All of a sudden, I felt something. It was a strange feeling, not similar to anything felt before. Popcorn popping? Little fish swimming? I wasn't able to describe it but I felt it deep inside me and I knew it was you. There, again. It popped? Or tickled? Or moved? You moved. I put my hand on my belly and looked over at your Dada, his eyes focused on the road, humming along with the music on the radio. Feeling me watching him, he looked back at me and smiled. I wanted to tell him that I felt you move, that suddenly everything feels more real and makes more sense, but I stopped myself as I was about to open my mouth. I'll wait until we pull over. I wanted you just to myself for a bit first.

„Isn't this nice?“ said your Dada with a happy grin on his face.
„More than nice," I thought as I smiled back.

How you change with the second baby, an empirical study, part I: Spitting up

Baby number 1 spits up a little bit while being changed - you get a clean cloth, gently wipe his mouth, change his shirt because there's a little stain on the collar, put the cloth into the laundry basket because it has now been used, quickly google: "Baby spits up a little while being changed" and spend half an hour reading about different kinds of spitting up, which naturally leads you to reading about vomiting and dehydration. Get freaked out about your baby maybe being seriously ill. Cry a bit. Or a lot.

Baby number 2 spits up a little bit while being changed - take off one of his socks, wipe his mouth, put the sock back on, quickly google: "Carrot soup" because that's what you really feel like eating.

Communication breakdown

It's incredible how much Moki talks and how little I understand.

Waste of a night

Slept for two and a half hours, spent the last three and a half awake. Two more hours before Moki wakes up and we're done for the night. If babies grow and learn in their sleep, this night was a complete waste of time for Bibbo. And I didn't particularly enjoy it either.

Carnival time is fun

Little ladybird

How to get Moki ready for a carnival party?


Have J put her costume on.
Watch her happily jump around.
Notice a change in her mood.
Listen to her hysterical screaming and crying while trying to eat your breakfast.
Take the costume off.
Get in the car.
Listen to her repeat "Moki bubamara!" ("Moki ladybird!") for ten minutes on your drive to the daycare.
Put the costume back on.
Try to get Moki to stand still for the photo.
Give up on that and take a mental picture.
Breathe deeply.

Isn't science amazing?

I'm sure I read somewhere that if you eat a doughnut while walking quickly, you're actually losing weight. I'm sure that it said it was scientifically proved.

Night time shopping

I just received a confirmation email from Amazon telling me that last night, at 3.38 a.m., Night-time-me thought it would be an amazing idea to buy alphabet magnets for our fridge. Since I have almost no recollection of this, I'm convinced that Night-time-me and Day-time-me are two separate entities. This means I bear no responsibility for the absurd purchases and I can enjoy Night-time-me's spontaneity completely guilt free. Lovely.

Shrinking baby

That strange feeling when you're looking at your baby in his nappy at the doctor's appointment and you irrationally fear that he's shrunk. That awkward feeling when you realise that he's wearing his sister's nappy which is three sizes too big.

Breast is the best. Except when it's not.

I find never ending discussions about breastfeeding and its alternatives really unnecessary and annoying. Let me explain - first of all, I find the biological side of breastfeeding puzzling - it's supposed to be the most natural thing in the world, still majority of my friends struggle with it. So I do understand discussions about breastfeeding in sense of reaching out for help. Online forums can be extremely helpful in those situations and it's great to hear experts' advice and encouraging stories from women who went through something similar to us. What I don't understand is the need to discuss it over and over and over again - because there's a lot of passive-aggression, judging and, consequently, feelings of guilt. 

I read tons of online articles and forum discussions on how to properly breastfeed and why breast is the best and then even more of apologetic articles written by women who couldn't breastfeed and who felt guilty about it. Aside from usual statements on how breastfeeding is healthier, cheaper and better for bonding, many, many other questions arise, the ones we fear to ask aloud, scared that someone might think that we have no clue what we're doing:
Am I really a better mum if I breastfeed? If so, how long should I breastfeed for to be considered a good mum? Is six months enough or should my six year old also get some breast milk in the morning before a hard day at school? Is just breastfeeding enough? Do I have to stare deeply into my baby's eyes to form that special bond? How long do I have to look at him for while I feed? Am I a bad mum if I just watch TV while he does his thing?
Am I a failure if I can't breastfeed? How long do I have to keep trying for it to work before I can give up? Am I selfish if I consciously decide not to breastfeed without even trying? 

It gets even more complicated because women are not just divided into those who breastfeed and those who don't. There are those women who don't have a lot of milk so they have to breastfeed, pump and also feed their baby from a bottle. And then there's a whole world of mums who exclusively pump because their bodies produce lots of milk but for some reason their babies can't drink from the breast. 

After having two kids and struggling with my own insecurities, I consider myself somewhat of an expert. On not breastfeeding.

With my first child I fit into the last category. My daughter, for some reason, couldn't or wouldn't drink from the breast and, because breast milk is the best and I wasn't going to be a bad mum, I spent twenty five minutes every two and half hours, day and night, attached to a milk pump and then feeding my daughter expressed milk. I did this for ten weeks. It made going anywhere impossible - I only had a window of two hours to get us ready, to go out and to come back before I had to attach myself to the pump again to save my breasts from exploding. I was also scared that if I didn't pump regularly, my milk production would stop and at that point, nothing seemed worse than the idea of my baby drinking horrible, evil, poisonous formula. This meant that I also barely slept. I had to be up every two and half hours and more often than not, M was awake between the pumping sessions. This also meant that when M was crying or wanted to be held, I wasn't able to pick her up because I was pumping milk which was supposed to keep her healthy and allergy free. 

Due to some complications at birth, I only got to see my second baby a day and a half after he was born. At the hospital they immediately brought in the pump and told me to wake up every three hours and pump for twenty minutes. I was groggy from the anaesthetic, weak from the operation, sad for not having seen my child and worried if he was healthy but still I obediently attached myself to the pump again. When it was time to wake up again at 3 a.m., I already feared I wasn't going to keep it up. My body shut down and it wasn't producing any milk. I kept having flashbacks to all the stress with M and no guarantee that the breastfeeding was going to work out this time when I finally do get to hold my baby. Then I visited him in NICU where I tried to breastfeed but it was impossible - he was crying hysterically, making me want to cry myself. The second time I visited, I was told it was better to not even try breastfeeding at that moment because B was hungry and was already used to drinking 50ml from the bottle - since I had no milk, putting him on the breast was only going to upset him and tire him out. Weak and hormonal, it took a lot of self control to stop myself from falling apart, but that was when I finally made my decision - I will not attempt to breastfeed any more this time and I definitely won't exclusively pump. I will gather my energy and strength until he's released from the intensive care and then I'll give him all the attention, warmth and love I have. And a bottle. It wasn't an easy decision to make, but once I made it, I felt a sense of relief.

I weighed my options, I thought about what works best for me and the baby and decided to stick with it. There wasn't as much guilt connected to it as with the first baby, probably because I was more self-assured, but instead came anger at all the women who judge those who can't breastfeed and sympathy for those who keep up with it out of guilt even though it's driving them insane.

Ironically, even this post is written out of sense of need to explain the reasons behind my decision not to breastfeed. Even though I'm sure my decision was the right one for us, deep inside me I hope that who ever reads this understands me and agrees with me. And there's so much wrong with that.

I needed to write all of this down as a message to all the new mothers out there - it's something I wanted to hear two and a half years ago, but didn't have anyone to tell me: We're all very well informed about the benefits of breastfeeding and we all agree it's the best when it works out the way it's supposed to, so if someone decides against it, be sure that they had a very good reason for it. There's no need to discuss it, to question it or to judge it. Sadly, there'll always be people to judge our way of raising our children and (not) breastfeeding is just the beginning. But I strongly believe that as long as I do my own personal best, I can be proud of myself and that's what's important.
We all have the same doubts and feelings of guilt. Be brave enough to do whatever feels right for you and your baby and don't worry about what people around you think. If you want to / can breastfeed, take that boob out proudly! If you don't want to / can't, know that you're not the only one and that you're a great mum nevertheless.
Simple exercise: Next time when you're out on the street, take a look around you and see if you can guess who was breastfed and who was not. You can't? Strange. What if they gave you a history of their illnesses and told you about their relationship with their mums? Still impossible? Right. Go and enjoy being a guilt-free mum.

And if you think whatever you're doing is the best and the right way to do it and you're really great at this being-a-mum thing, keep it to yourself. No one wants to hear you brag about it. There's always someone doing it completely differently and that's fine. Also - none of your business.

Does the perfect birth exist?

I never dreamed of having a "perfect" birthing experience - I didn't come up with a birthing plan, I never sat around imagining what it was going to be like. I pushed it out of my mind because I knew that a) eventually it had to happen one way or another and that b) whoever's in the delivery room with me (nurses, doctors) will know a lot more about giving birth than me, so they'll be able to advise me on what to do if needed, not the other way around. Also, giving birth to Moki was relatively straight forward and confirmed my idea that the best way to think about giving birth was just letting nature do its thing. I thought I would just be happy to hold my healthy baby, regardless of how he arrived on Earth.

That's why the emotions I felt after giving birth to our (spoiler alert: healthy and perfect) baby boy on the first day of the year - sadness, disappointment, grieving - took me by surprise. It took me almost three weeks to work through what I was feeling and to get my mind to stop rewinding what happened that night.

And what happened was a perfect birthing experience turned completely unexpectedly into the scariest birthing experience before I could even grasp what was going on.
Long story short, after only 45 minutes of painful contractions (and a couple of hours of not very painful ones), we were in the hospital and in a great mood. I was already 9 centimetres dilated, "our" midwife (who we had known for two years, liked and trusted) broke my water, I started pushing, thinking how great this was and how it was going to be the quickest birth ever and I was going to be the boss of births. Birthing queen. OK, I was also in a huge amount of pain and freaking out, completely forgetting to breathe properly, but I knew this was the last stage, the shortest one and everything was going to be over soon. And then I heard the midwife say: "Shit. The umbilical cord!" just before she pushed the emergency button.

In a second, there were six people around me. I was told they had to perform a C section right away, one of the doctors literally pushed the baby back inside me and had her fist up there while they were wheeling me into the surgery. J had to stay where he was and neither of us knew what was going on. Honestly, I was relieved at that point because I knew I was going to be knocked out. I was too scared to stay awake for whatever was going on.

What actually happened was the umbilical cord prolapse. Not to scare anyone, it happens so rarely that our midwife only knew about it in theory and hasn't experienced it once in eight years of working at the hospital - according to Wikipedia, it happens in 1% of the cases. I guess we have to consider ourselves special. It basically means that the umbilical cord comes out before the baby (in our case it probably happened because I had a lot of amniotic fluid and the baby's head wasn't completely engaged yet). If the woman continues to push the baby out, the pressure on the cord from the baby stops the oxygen flow which can cause brain damage. Or worse.

Surviving the next couple of days is a separate topic and deserve its own blog post (or doesn't).

Fast forward to me being home and, in addition to my hormones going crazy anyway, having constant flashbacks to that night. The picture that kept coming back to me was J's smiling face as he changed my shirt and dressed me in my new pyjamas with buttons which I bought specially for the occasion. That was right after we found out I was 9 centimetres dilated and right before the midwife broke my waters. It was a perfect moment in which I was completely connected to my wonderful husband and felt a strong sense of love for him, for our daughter and for our son who we were about to meet. I woke up an hour later with all the buttons on my new shirt ripped because no one had time to fiddle with them to attach me to all different sorts of machines.

It wasn't the fact that I needed a C-section that made me feel bad, it was the sudden change from happy and excited to horrified and alone that left me in a state of shock. It left me with a feeling of having been robbed of the "perfect birthing experience" even though I didn't have an idea of one to start with. Three weeks later I threw away the ripped shirt and finally managed to vocalise all the sadness I felt when I thought back to us being happy in that little room. It felt cathartic - I talked at lengths about it with J, we cried a lot and came out of it "renewed and restored".

In the end, I guess every birth that ends with a healthy and happy baby should be considered a perfect birthing experience. With some it just takes longer for that feeling to sink in...

The "Slow drop" move - or how to get the baby off you

Some of the mums with newborns and mums-to-be might find this useful when dealing with a sleepy baby:
I call this move "The slow drop" and it consists of 6 stages: 
Stage 1 (preparatory stage): make yourself comfortable on the bed but make sure there's lots of space on one side of you (if you're right handed, free up the space on the right hand side) 
Stage 2 (comfortable stage): let the clingy baby fall asleep on top of you because that's the only way you can get him to sleep
Stage 3 (lowering stage): when you're sure he's asleep, start the descend. Lower him towards the bed, half a centimetre each minute, so that he doesn't feel that he's being moved
Stage 4 (the riskiest stage): put him down on the bed next to you. Stop breathing so that nothing disturbs his sleep. Don't move! And make sure at least one part of your body's still in touch with his.
Stage 5 (waiting stage): start moving away from the baby. If you notice any change in his breathing pattern, stop moving and get back into the previous position.
Stage 6 (freedom stage): slowly get out of the bed. Try to remember why you got up. Get back into bed and take a power nap because the baby's about to wake up in 10 minutes. If you're lucky.

Sleep when the baby sleeps

I'm following the advice of sleeping when the baby sleeps, so I'm not sleeping at all.

Night-noise-training

The joys of being a mum to a newborn: when he's loud at night, I wish he'd just be quiet so I could sleep; when he's quiet, I can't sleep because I'm constantly checking if he's breathing. I should come up with a scale for the perfect loudness of breathing and, instead of sleep training, start night-noise-training him.

Watch your feet!

Only two years later, I have already forgotten so much about newborns! I'm experiencing it all over again now: The way babies open and close their tiny fists, their random reflexive shakes, the wonderful smell of their warm necks, their confused stares and how they inevitably always dip their (so far) useless feet in poo while you're changing their nappy.

The first night at home with two kids

The first night at home with two kids was so easy! After I put the ear plugs in, both of them were completely silent! The only thing that bothered me was J constantly getting up during the night for some reason. But I guess you can't have it all...