tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63613001490584917162024-03-13T00:35:32.876+00:00mummy in the bakingADOPTING MY OWN BUN IN THE OVENmummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-41102707588133981752017-06-01T18:28:00.000+01:002018-01-29T18:38:07.514+00:00<b>We are family......</b><br />
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I have been thinking a lot about Jellytot recently. I guess it is because I watch all the other mums struggle with their siblings. While they do tend to entertain each other, from a parent's perspective, it can't be easy. Juggling time. Juggling energy. Juggling focus between more than one child. But more importantly, it is because LBM has been talking quite a bit about her recently. They have a sort of Postman Pat like relationship. Exchanging birthday and Christmas gifts and letters. More like pen-pals than siblings and this makes me sad. His little voice sings when he says her name and he proudly tells his friends that he has a sister but that she doesn't live with us. Thankfully, they are too young to question why. Sometimes he tells them she stays at home to look after the dogs. This freaked me out a bit until I realised there is a photo of her on the sideboard, stealthily watching what the furry mutts are up to all day. Occasionally when he's helping me lay the table, he sets a place for her. This makes me cry but I bite my lip and stand tall. I don't want him to see this. See our sadness. Or feel our sadness.<br />
<br />
It took time but we eventually accepted their decision and I thought we were ok with it. I know she is happy and settled with her new family but the emotions are still raw. No matter how you look at it, it still feels like yet another loss of a child. So, I bite the bullet and send Mr and Mrs Jellytot another message asking if we could please meet up. I have tried before to arrange a meeting but they have always felt it wasn't the right time. They have an older birth son who already has the role of the 'big brother' in the family and they are cautious of introducing LBM to the picture. They have actually met once before when they were both in foster care and he proudly has a photo in this life story book. Sadly he has her in more of a headlock than a hug but still, it remains a treasured photo. But I feel it is time. It's LBM's time. This is for him. And for me? Cake, cake. I need cake. Or maybe a <a href="https://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/1812636/portugese-custard-tarts" target="_blank">Portuguese Custard Tart.</a> Snort.mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-40023012324893823472017-04-01T11:28:00.000+01:002017-12-18T11:35:21.967+00:00<b>Dream big little one......</b><br />
<br />
We return home from yet another sublime holiday in the southern hemisphere, all of us enveloped in sun and a good dose of squishy family love. That kind of holiday when you return home and still find sand in your flip flops and you feel a lump in your throat. The house is cold and dark but I can see a single light flashing on the answerphone. Its a message from the hospital. The first batch of growth hormone injections for LBM are ready for collection. We stand by the phone slightly shell shocked. Play the message over a couple of times. The truth is, we hadn't actually decided if we were going down this route. We spent many hours under the African sun wondering if this was the best thing for him. Are we actually comfortable injecting our LBM with hormones? But it seems the doctors have made the decision for us. His tests have come back showing his pituitary gland is producing less that 50% of the growth hormones he should be and we need to act fast. So I guess we are doing this.<br />
<br />
Our lives for the next 14 years will be filled with these daily squirts of grow globules. I'll admit the first few injections didn't go well and drew some tears (from ALL involved) but a a few weeks in and LBM has embraced them. The hospital have been incredibly supportive. LBM has a DVD, a grow chart, a book all about how grow globules work, and a sticker chart. And a few months in now, he has actually grown! At first it was only his feet and his err....cough..cough...winky. But we now have an actual height increase. Yes, my friends, this grow juice is the business. Ok let's hope he will never go from being LBM to the BFG but as soon as we hit the 100cm mark, we are so having a Roald Dahl party.<br />
<br />
And speaking of party, this is a good time to tell you about that lemon drizzle cake. Golly <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/lemon_drizzle_traybake_01890" target="_blank">this</a> one is good. I didn't add the lemon verbena at the end but it was still the cats meow!mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-67962642317364427722017-03-01T17:44:00.000+00:002017-12-18T11:29:22.798+00:00<b>Silence is golden......</b><br />
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Soooo....I've been silent for a while. A long while. Truth is I didn't feel I had anything interesting to say. That no-one would be interested in what I had to write about it. But last night a friend asked me why I hadn't blogged for a while? She said that she truly missed my blog posts (and she hadn't even had any wine!) Anyhoo, it got me thinking. You know what...I've actually got a heck of a lot to say. It has been an emotional year and we have some catching up to do. So my friends, if you are prepared to listen, stay tuned. I have a lot to talk (and cry) about. Oh and I also have a fabulous new Lemon Drizzle tray bake to share with you that truly is the 'shizzle!'mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-86744576960670108582016-08-01T15:17:00.003+01:002016-08-01T15:17:55.515+01:00<b>Testing, testing....</b><br />
<br />
And so the tests continue. Despite the amount of food LBM can put away, he is just not growing. So where does it go? Ok, he poos more than me and the dog collectively but why is he just not growing? At first it didn't bother me, as both birth parents are fairly short. But now at nearly 4 years old, he is noticeably still in 12 month clothing. He is falling behind in swimming and sports, as he simply just cannot run or kick as fast as the other kids with longer legs. Something is just not quite right and we feel we need to succumb to more tests, as there is no chance they make school uniforms for 1 year olds.<br />
<br />
All symptoms point to Prader Willi Syndrome. Hey, who doesn't want a Prada Willy (!) but actually it's a genetic condition of children with short stature who never feel full and are constantly hungry. Something which has been on my mind right from the start but was perhaps just too fearful to explore. And so yet another set of tests are scheduled.<br />
<br />
The doctors and nurses are amazing and he is a little champion throughout the blood tests and examinations. He is prodded and poked and poked and prodded and we wait weeks for the results. The PW tests come back negative. I have mixed feelings about this. In some respects, I am thrilled and relieved. But on the other hand, I worry what it really could be. There is talk of further tests and the introduction of growth hormones which frightens me. I suppose it's the unknown. I don't want my little boy injected with stuff. In addition, they have found a significant heart murmur and so there more tests are on the horizon. I need time. Time to <strike>google</strike> process this and luckily with the public healthcare system, we do get time. mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-29348686943543988422016-06-01T14:23:00.000+01:002016-08-02T18:21:09.263+01:00<b>The F word.....</b><br />
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Miss Delia finally drops his Life Story book off and while he keeps himself at a safe distance, she asks how things are going on the food front. I'm honest and upfront with her and decide
to tell her the truth. It is still a major stress and a daily battle but
things are slowly improving. We have come so very far and I have to
keep reminding myself of that. So I try and look for the positives:<br />
<br />
He
will now leave the table during meal times to use the toilet (rather
than simply pee on the ever hopeful dog lurking under the table for the
scraps. Scraps, which incidentally never materialise.<br />
He will now wait in a
restaurant for his food to arrive without screaming.<br />
He will now put his
hands or fork down (albeit only for a nano second) in between mouthfuls.<br />
<br />
But there are still a number of hills to climb:<br />
Like
allowing me to leave the kitchen while cooking supper. Lord help me if I leave the room or heck, even dare to sit down.<br />
Like knowing when to stop eating and drinking. He honestly
has no 'full button.' Mealtimes last no longer than 5 min. It is a stress for me and something I have found very little support for.
Every other mum I know has the opposite problem. Wishing their kids
would be like LBM and just "hurry up and eat everything on their plate!" Of course I want him
to eat. Just not all the time. And not at that speed. I have tried
continuously providing mountains of food to perhaps take away the
novelty factor. Let's just say it didn't end well. Perhaps I should have persevered
but I honestly just could not sit back and witness it. It was
frightening.<br />
<br />
I
so don't want to make a big issue of food and always try and remain as
calm as possible, whatever the situation. I come from a very sociable family who love food and the joy of meal times. Sadly now, parties and
buffets are my nemesis and take a varying degree of anxiety management.
He gets extremely anxious around mealtimes and it's a long
ongoing battle to try and calm him.<br />
<br />
We try and cook together so he can start to understand that food takes
time and love to prepare. This does help somewhat and if anything, I
really hope we have the next MasterChef champion here. <br />
<br />
He is unbelievably motivated
and comforted by food. Food makes him feel safe. But we are battling on
and just having to go with our gut instincts. We have come such a long way and I am so very proud of him. There really is just no
support out there. Well, perhaps there is. And I just haven't found it. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-6646784910225721382015-07-18T13:49:00.005+01:002015-07-18T13:55:26.169+01:00<b>Go with the flow.....</b><br />
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Need I state the obvious? It's been ages since I last wrote. Why is it that sometimes in my little world the words flow faster than a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and other times I look at this blog and feel fear. I guess it's an underlying worry of not being good enough or my words not coming out right. But I have to remember why I started this blog in the first place. These words only need to be right for me and LBM. This is our story. And if it helps others along the way, then hurrah, that's a bonus. <br />
<br />
Our holiday feels a lifetime away. LBM's speech has come on leaps and bounds since we got back. They always say holidays spark a developmental spurt...hey, any excuse to book my next ticket now! Not only are there real words, there are a couple of real sentences. "More cake please mummy" of course being his favourite. However, as he was helping me put my jeans on the other day, he quite
blatantly said, "Ooh tight Mummy" I can honestly say I nearly decked
him! We are continuing with the speech therapy for a little longer, even if it does regularly empty the bank account. Incidentally he is still on the waiting list for the NHS funded therapy and has been since October last year. I am so pleased we decided to go private, as it is certainly helping. If anything, it helps LRUN and I with advice on how to help him and that's a big plus. Sure You-tube could teach me too but this feels right and he loves his therapist, which helps with his confidence and social anxieties, which I'm afraid are still lurking.<br />
<br />
Spring time found me drafting the first contact letter to Tummy Mummy. A strange concept and a difficult one to get your head around. On the one hand I want to gloat and tell her how amazing he is but I wonder if this is appropriate. I come to the decision that no matter what I write, it will be difficult for her to process, so I simply tell the truth. I talk about his developmental delay and the challenges it presents. LRUN questions why I tell her but I feel she needs to know. At the same time, I talk about the good stuff. He is in a big boy bed now and is also in the midst of potty training (Feck! No-one warned me how stressful this potty training is. Trips to the supermarket now find me nervously pushing all the shopping in trolley to the back, creating a void beneath all his orifices whilst simultaneously calculating the number of steps to the nearest loo! Poo did you say? You need a poo? No, just a pop-pop?? Thank feck for that. And breathe....!) I tell her he loves nursery, enjoys a good chatter and is obsessed with cake. I have to read and re-read to ensure I don't give away any tell tale details of location. She lives so close and according to the book of faces (yes, yes, I still stalk her..hangs head in shame) now works in my favourite take-away joint. Well, that should at least help with my impending 'tight jeans situation!' We sign the letter with our names rather than mummy and daddy and drop it in the post box. As of today, we are sadly still awaiting a reply. This is so hard, I really want her to reply as I feel LBM deserves it but then is it more because I don't want to have to have the conversation with him one day of explaining why she never replies? This is tough folks. <br />
<br />
Despite the tight jeans, (can you tell yet I am truly panicking?) I am in search of a summer cake. Strawberries and cream are sooooo last year. Is there such a thing as a <a href="http://www.sainsburysmagazine.co.uk/traybake" target="_blank">Pimms cake</a>, I wonder? Oh my word, google tells me there is! Pop-pop? No, that's just my jeans button......<br />
<br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-23028075388288027792015-03-30T15:14:00.000+01:002015-04-03T15:30:34.543+01:00<b>Unpacking with long faces.....</b><br />
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And so we face another twelve hours in the air. I am desperately trying to stay relaxed and focused. LRUN is wandering around with multiple muslins hanging out of his pockets, flinching every time LBM even coughs. I have squeezed every change of clothing possible into our hand luggage as well as a roll or two of paper towel.<br />
<br />
The flight is a dream. While a neighbouring child is throwing a tantrum in the aisle on take off, we are sitting calmly in our seats, all buckled up and doing airport sticker book number one.<br />
LBM eventually goes to sleep and sleeps for several hours. Although I can't face eating, I actually get some sleep, albeit with one eye open on him. Even the landing is a success. Not a tear, not a whimper, not a dribble of vomit. Just pure excitement. An elderly couple in the next aisle lean over to tell me what an angel child we have. How impressed they are with him. The air stewardess joins in and says the same. I tell her about her our flight over. She says she hopes this doesn't sound rude but is so very glad she was not on duty! <br />
<br />
Back home and although sad, I am feeling cake inspired. Move over red velvet cake....<a href="http://www.10thkitchen.com/2014/05/purple-velvet-cupcakes-whipped-cream-cheese-frosting/" target="_blank">.</a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" target="_blank">Purple Velvet Cake</a> is all the rage in Africa. I can't wait to try it. I honestly don't think our dogs are happy to see us. They have had two weeks of toddler free bliss. LBM is a bit lost and keeps wanting to go outside. It's five degrees! He is babbling and signing about everyone from the holiday and I have to explain that they live in Africa and we live here. He is wearing the cutest top he got as a gift with a picture of Africa on it in a heart and we point to it and list all the people that live there but are still with him in his heart. He shouts 'airpane' and then 'bleurgh.' <br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-36634483979566586052015-03-29T15:14:00.000+01:002015-04-03T15:29:55.346+01:00<b>An African Summer......</b><br />
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LBM wakes up after an hour and we manage to change him into some clean clothes. I still can't find those plastic bags. How many nappy bags does it take to stash changes of clothes and blankets in. Many, I tell you. Many. LRUN is looking anxious. In fact he has built a wall out of blankets around himself to shield from the spew. LBM goes back to sleep. We order drinks but I cannot bring myself to eat anything. Perhaps it's just the smell of fermenting cheese and cucumber sandwiches but I am feeling queasy. I can't sleep as every few minutes I check that LBM is ok. He is in a deep slumber. He wakes up at breakfast time and is looking slightly more perky. A little more colour other than green in his cheeks too. He nibbles on a roll but is very thirsty and just wants water. Lesson learnt here. Always ration the water. Just as we are landing, he blows again. And so we are down to his last change of clothes in the arrivals hall. Gramps is so over the moon and overwhelmed with emotion to finally meet his first grandson that he happily accepts the fact that we all stink of spew. <br />
<br />
I am so happy to be home. It's sunny and warm. We are surrounded by family, friends, incredible food (Oumi is an amazing cook) and tons of fabulous wine. And let's not forget the cake. In the corner of our garden is my step sister's cake emporium. Here she rustles up wedding and celebration cakes on a daily basis with exceptional grace and skill. What better way to spend the day, swimming in the pool with delicious smells floating above. It's not long before LBM discovers this world of cake. He is not keen on swimming and we try and bribe *hangs head in shame* him with a biscuit if he gets in the pool. He does so reluctantly but it's purely to get the biscuit and I can see he really doesn't want to. The next time I try, he sighs and wanders off. Returning with the biggest piece of chocolate cake ever. I can just see his thought process here. Why swim for a lousy biscuit, when cake lady at the bottom of the garden gives me mountains of cake for...well....just being me. Too right. <br />
<br />
We had an amazing holiday. It felt so good to be outside all the time. LBM had a blast and coped really well all things considering. He bonded well in time with everyone. Doing a photo book beforehand with photos of everyone and the dogs really helped. I was a bit apprehensive at first as this is what he got when we were being introduced as his new family. So I was bit mindful as to how this would pan out. But I kept re-iterating who they were and that they were friends and family and it worked a treat. Everyone was so impressed with his signing and how we had managed to establish a form of communication with him over the last year. Gramps and Oumi soon learned the signs for cheese and cake. I had some very special time with my sister. I think LBM really absorbed my love for her as he bonded with her big time. Saying goodbye was very hard and I had to hold back the tears in front of LBM. I will always be a child of Africa and it's where my heart belongs.<br />
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mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-40772063367445134092015-03-16T15:12:00.000+00:002015-04-03T15:30:17.613+01:00<b>Up...up...and away</b><br />
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I don't think I've ever been this organised for a holiday. The spare room looks like a section of baggage control at Heathrow. Everything is packed and stacked. Ready. I even high five myself for having thought of packing a few supermarket bags in case we get a bad nappy leak and need to stash some dirty clothes somewhere convenient. We have covered every possible issue, especially LBM's anxiety. For weeks we have been reading books on airports and spent hours looking at photos of Gramps and Oumi and their dogs, the house and the pool and even pictures of the inside of aeroplanes. I think we literally have bought the entire stock of sticker books from the Range. Relaxed parents, relaxed child is our motto and it is certainly working. LBM is in a smashing mood and everything is running like clockwork. Twelve hours on an overnight flight to Africa. What could possibly wrong?<br />
<br />
LRUN is feeling pretty smug, that we now get priority boarding. You know the scenario....hundreds of impatient tourists queueing in an "orderly" manner, all fighting to get on board first. And then 'ding', they call the parents with children first and everyone huffs and puffs and shuffles out the way as a bunch of buggy laden parents scutter forward looking holier than thou. However, in our case, we seem to have just got ushered into a corner where they announced the flight would now be delayed while they fix some seats. So here we are, all seven families squashed into a corner with increasingly tired and irritated toddlers. Apart from LBM...he is still in the best of spirits, running about in his jim-jams, shouting "airpane" on top of his voice. Until.....my friends, until.....he then projectile vomits all over LRUN and most of the families in this now 'not so priority' corner. And then...again.<br />
<br />
I grab him and dash off to the toilets, by-passing the stewardesses shouting " I hope you have your boarding pass" to which I shout "yes" but to be honest, that was about all I had. I look in my perfectly packed handbag, which contains absolutely nothing useful for a vomit festival. Back in the priority corner of love, I find LRUN alone mopping up vomit with a bunch of baby wipes lent to him by thoughtful fellow parents. Priority boarding has already commenced and as the last family left, we are directed into a lift. After a few minutes, I fear this lift is not moving. Nervously I press those all too familiar double arrows to open the door and yup, there we are, still in fricking priority corner. Witnessing all the other now <i>smug</i> looking passengers boarding. And so we board in amongst them with a vomit covered husband and stressed out toddler. We find our seats, which is about all I can find. Where the hell are those bloody plastic bags I packed?? LBM is looking pretty green and just as we start travelling down the runway, he blows again. Big time. I jump up to grab some paper towel from the kitchen station. Paper towel? Paper fricking towel? Why didn't I pack that? The stewardess sternly yells at me to sit down. Until she sees the sea of vomit. She brings us blankets to cover the seats and ourselves and insist he sits in his own seat. By this point LBM is a mess. Both physically and emotionally. He falls asleep in his cocoon of spew and I look over to the dear old lady in the next aisle. She is looking at us pitifully. I have to laugh. I did not, I repeat....I did not factor this into the equation. mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-42983477994919911662015-02-08T18:16:00.001+00:002015-02-11T19:04:09.365+00:00<b>A time for thoughts......</b><br />
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A friend who has recently been approved as an adoptive parent (you know who you are Mrs Any Excuse for Bubbles) asked what was the biggest shock and adjustment when adopting
and it got me thinking. While trying to be encouraging but at the same
respecting her need for honesty, these are my thoughts:<br />
<br />
a) Going from
zero to hero in one day. Literally being handed a moving little person
who is already past their first birthday and is well on the way to
toddler-hood and who you are now totally responsible for. And let's not forget, a toddler that
is heavily grieving for the loss of his foster carers. I didn't get to experience the early development of the birth child who alternates between crying and feeding and if you're lucky, some sleep. Add into the mix, I didn't have a clue what I was
doing half the time. Sure, we did loads of prep on our adoption course
but it was all emotional stuff. A far cry from your average ante-natal
class. What's the normal amount to feed a toddler? How much milk should
they drink and what type? Is <i>that</i> a normal poo? The first nappy I ever changed was during
introductions. Shock horror. <br />
<br />
b) Parenting a child who is nothing
like you or your partner in personality. We are strong, confident,
happy, creative and sociable people. To be matched with what turned out to be a shy and
socially anxious little boy made for very hard times. I have always struggled to understand shy people and found this the hardest. I would welcome
friends into my home with open arms and by the time I had boiled the
kettle and gone to cut a wedge of cake, I would find my child hiding in a
corner. So when in tough times, you need all the support you can get in terms of friends and social activities and groups, it turns out, this very concept is what unsettles your little one. It can be very lonely. Make sure you have friends who will always be at the end of a text/email/phone for you. Mrs AAA I could not have done this without you. Hugs xx<br />
<br />
c) Books versus instinct. I love books and the house is
literally filled with them. I have read a zillion parenting books (to be fair, there was a ridiculous amount of time to kill just <i>waiting</i> during the 2 year adoption process!) but half the
time, they really are not written for my little boy. "Read your child,
not the books" is my motto. Saying that, my guilty secret is I still read
them. Knowledge is power.<br />
<br />
d) Finding your groove. I love all
things creative. LBM not so much. Having to take that creativity and box it up and put it
on a shelf for later is very hard. It's like removing part of your
personality. I can honestly say I am not the same person. I had to find a
new groove. One that worked for both of us. My husband and I love swimming. I can spend hours floating on a dam in the wild. LBM is terrified of water. I'll let you think about that for a while.<br />
<br />
e) The jar of love. My jar of love was
pretty full. There was my husband, my dogs, my family, my very
special friends and let's not forget my love of cake. I now had to make room for a new person. I didn't
know this person at all but yet was expected to squeeze him into this
jar immediately. Let's just say we left the lid open for a while. But he now
fits snuggly in there. Snug as a star in a jar.<br />
<br />
f) Parenting after
infertility: There is this hidden guilt amongst new mums. No-one likes to moan. I see
it amongst my friends all with their own birth children. They've had a rough
couple of days but when asked how things are going, they muster up a
smile and say all is well but I can see them fighting back the tears.
It's tough. Its really tough but we daren't moan amount it. The guilt is
monumental. And believe me, this guilt amongst adoptive mums is even
stronger. We have wanted this for so long, and everybody knows that, we
daren't whinge at all about the monkey who was refusing point blank to
get in the car yesterday when you were already running late for an
appointment thanks to the last minute unexpected nappy change. The same
monkey who screamed the place down in the supermarket because....well
just because.<br />
<br />
g) Being assessed, grilled, prodded and poked by what feels like every social worker that ever existed and then finally approved as an prospective adoptive parent and then realising that sometimes, you really suck at it. That!mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-23969295660700517592015-02-02T13:34:00.000+00:002015-02-02T13:44:16.673+00:00<b>And breathe.....</b><br />
<br />
And so the winter solstice has past and the new year awakens. Its back to routine. Back to work and nursery schedules. LBM is confused by the break and struggles to settle in again. There are tears...many many tears....but we are assured that 10 min in, he is calm and and back in the zone. I ask them if he 'plays' at nursery and they admit to me they have been talking about this for a while. In essence, he doesn't. He just kind of wanders from activity to activity. I know every child is different and they all learn in different ways but LBM is just not your average toddler. He would much rather feed the dog, sort the laundry, unload the dishwasher or play card games than simply play. Every book I read relinquishes in the amazing fact that you don't have to show children how to play, it's a wonderful trait that 'just comes naturally.' Errrr...really?<br />
<br />
LRUN and I have put in a lot of time and effort literally showing LBM just how to play. To let his imagination take over and to just explore. Rolling cars and tractors around the floor, building towers, jumping off sofas, drawing pictures on a sketchy etc. Why you ask? Surely any help with housework is a bonus. Well, although the pediatricians say this 'mimicry of housework' is a form of play, I had to stress he was not 'mimicking' in an imaginative way. He is literally pushing me out the way and doing the actual tasks himself. When we visit friends and family, I fear he will want to unpack their shopping for them and then sort through Grandad's pants! But the hours are paying off and I can see tiny improvements. The joy I get when I see him pick up a car and push it along, is immense. Even if it is over my leg and onto my head!<br />
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We are off to visit my family next month and this my friends involves an 11 hour flight. "You'll be fine" everyone says. Just let him watch movies and take loads of toys to play with. Umm..he doesn't like TV or toys. "Oh dear" is all they all say, whilst giving me that 'look' of "Geesh, good luck with that!" This may well be the longest 11 hours of my life. LRUN is suggesting we have a practice run. Now, practice to run to me means booking a short break somewhere warm and sunny and trying out the flight and holiday experience. Well, what LRUN actually had in mind was me sitting still for 11 hours on the sofa with LBM strapped in next to me with the other sofa pushed up in front us. You know...to mimic the aeroplane experience. Tempting, I thought...especially if I could get LRUN to be our stewardess and demand he whipped up a batch of this <a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/salted-caramel-frosting" target="_blank">Salted Caramel Frosting</a> and we could literally eat it by the spoonful when things get tough. <br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-81031704702749536052014-12-30T19:05:00.000+00:002015-02-01T19:09:16.225+00:00<b>Dear Santa......</b><br />
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Mince pies, mistletoe and mulled wine. Christmas! One of my all time favourite times of the year. With all our family a million miles away, it usually involves some sort of mega road trip. Seeing as last Christmas was cancelled (due to LBM's major regression, escalating anxiety and prime rejection of LRUN peaking just before Santa was due to squeeze his chubby little bottom down the chimney) this year, we decided we could no longer hide. We had to face reality. And so a road trip was planned, visiting three separate families over the course of six nights. Crazy? I know! But we felt we just had to do it or we would once again be facing a grim, dismal festive period on our own, searching for the elusive coin in Christmas Pud and dancing around the kitchen to the Pogues. (The same Pogues, which, now in hindsight, are sounding pretty appealing) We knew it wouldn't be easy but in my heart, I hoped that maybe...just maybe... LBM would be ok. Who was I kidding? Turns out, it was pretty ghastly. But we were determined to persevere and soldier on. If we gave in halfway and came home, we would never go away again. All I can say is thank heavens for Santa. He brought me chocolate and mulled wine.<br />
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Despite LBM's inability to sleep in the car, the 2-4 hour car journeys themselves were manageable (hint, there was a lot of singing involved!) But at each house, LBM began showing very interesting behavior. Big, emotional meltdowns when arriving at each destination. Bursting into tears if anyone spoke to him. Refusing to get out the car, take his shoes, coat, hat etc off. Obviously because this meant we were staying. And on cue, the same behaviour again when leaving. Obviously because this meant we were leaving. He refused to interact with anyone who tried to talk to him, unless it was his idea, of course. Then they were his best friend. Actually, generally, whoever was in the kitchen became his best friend. And then there was the no sleeping. For a little dude who loves his sleep and is particularly grumpy when he doesn't have enough, this, my friends does not make an ideal situation. But we soldiered on and ..somebody...somebody (!) pass me a gin...we survived. We arrived back home emotionally and mentally exhausted but knowing in my heart it was all worth it. And as if we didn't eat enough custard over Christmas, whose up for trying out this baby....<a href="http://hugsandcookiesxoxo.com/2014/04/magic-custard-cake.html#sthash.CBj0EEfd.qjtu" target="_blank">Magic Custard Cake</a><br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-33939998742700386382014-11-20T20:38:00.001+00:002014-11-20T20:42:58.470+00:00<b>One year on.....</b><br />
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Wowzers, my trousers. Has it really been a year since we brought LBM home? 365 days of big squishy love. Looking back through this blog, I realised just how tough things have been. I'm the kind of girl (girl? who am I kidding here...ok, let's try again) I'm the type of <i>woman</i> that doesn't really acknowledge stress at the time. Until I look back on things and think...geesh...how <u>did</u> I get through that?<br />
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Admittedly things have not been easy. And reading back over this blog, I can feel the stress oozing out in each post. His social anxieties, his comfort eating and his rejection of LRUN were all pretty tough going. We received so much advice about how we should tackle it all, suggestions of sticking to just one parent being the main carer to be sensitive to his anxieties and needs but in my heart this didn't feel right. I trusted my instinct alot of the time and we simply persevered through the tears and traumas as dual carer parents. And I can honestly say, we have come out the other side, shining. Not gleaming...we are still a long way off that but we are shining. Things really have got a whole heap better over the last few months. Watching him and LRUN roll around on the floor, playing, giggling hysterically just melts my heart. How he now squeals with delight when he hears that diesel engine pull up on the drive, it's just too precious. When he asks for food in time of stress and I calmly tell him it's not lunch time etc, he just accepts it and moves on. When he stole the show on the karaoke machine at mini Triple A's party, his confidence was blooming. Even if he did sound like an embarrassingly drunk uncle at your cousin's wedding.<br />
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But we still have a long way to go. The developmental delays are progressively more and more evident, especially on the speech front. But when he shouts "cheese" on top of his voice as we enter the dairy aisle in the supermarket, I know we will get there. In his time of course. So on our one year anniversary today, he spent the day at nursery and ironically, in true mummy in the baking style, they made chocolate cake. I'll be honest, I was a little bit gutted to discover there was none left for me. Heartless.mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-8604343103188750132014-10-13T12:49:00.001+01:002014-10-13T12:49:15.459+01:00<b>Meet the parents.....</b><br />
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The meeting went well. I think I did most of the talking but that's normal. I love a bit of babbling. Especially if I'm nervous. We couldn't have asked for a nicer set of parents for Jelly-Tot. On one hand, we are all very different but Mrs Jelly-tot and I have a little in common. She bakes and she sews. Instant friends. LRUN and I were keen to meet up again with them, this time with the kiddie winks. But they have their own birth son, who has proudly labelled himself as her 'big brother' for a while now. We need to tread very carefully here introducing LBM as the new brother. So we're going to give it some time. As long as their little boy needs. We gave them some photos of LBM to put up at home and I could see them oohing over him. She is so different to LBM. They have the same cheeks but she is completely opposite to him. How do I feel after the meeting? I'm honestly ok with it. I looked at photos of her with interest, like you do when looking at friends babies. There was no sadness. Maybe its because LBM tops her on the cuteness front. Big time. It did feel strange seeing Miss Delia again. I looked at her in a totally different light this time. Probably as she was no longer 'assessing' us and we certainly weren't watching what we were saying. She did prepare us for the latest news that tummy mummy has been locked up for a minor offence. Sad and distressing to hear but at the same time, it really emphasises that they made the right choice in granting the adoption order. I wonder where he would be today if not. Mrs Curly Wurly and family looked after him for the morning and he had an absolute blast with them. There were no tears, he made rice crispie cakes with them and charmed them beyond belief. They kept telling me what a wonderful little soul he is. Hashtag proud mummy.<br />
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Needless to say, LRUN hoovered all the rice crispie cakes but I need to be careful on the cake front. Back at a desk three days a week is not doing my waistline any favours. Especially as I stumbled across this bombshell. <a href="http://www.kidspot.com.au/best-recipes/Dessert+6/Microwave-brownie-recipe+4887.htm" target="_blank">Brownie in a mug</a> in under 2 minutes? You're not serious? Oh, I'm afraid I am. I added vanilla and sea salt. In the time it takes to go and get a scoop of ice cream to add....Ping...It's ready. Poor heaven but oh so dangerous. <br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-69630854451160308372014-10-06T13:44:00.000+01:002014-10-06T13:44:23.053+01:00<b>You say what....?</b><br />
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It feels good to be back at work. Well, in some ways anyway. I do find my mind still wonders. Looking at the time, wondering what LBM is up to at nursery. He's already made best friends with the chef, so I know the little guy will be just fine. There are still a few tears on drop off but they assure me he settles pretty quickly after we've gone. "Ooh look, tractor!" Certainly when I pick him up, I can hear him babbling away and laughing from the hallway. They have a great window you can view the little ones from without them realising and its fascinating stuff to watch him play. Engaging with others. Just being him. He is such a little champion and really has settled in well and I know we have made the right decision here...until we got the bill that is. Holy macaroni!<br />
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The last few weeks have seen him turn the big two. He was so excited about it being his birthday. Nothing to do with me singing Will-I-Am's new single at full pelt to him in the week run up to his big day. Honest. Presents and cards flowed through the door and for once, it was his turn to join in the birthday celebrations on Cbeebies. We made the decision to forego the party this year but we had a great day all together, just our little family, jumping in muddy puddles and of course, lots of cake.<br />
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On the developmental front, his speech is still delayed and they have now clocked him as six months behind. This was always my fear. The older he gets, the more behind he is getting as there is so much to catch up on. But the speech therapists are on-board (albeit intermittently) and things are progressing. He is talking, in fact he has long conversations with us, the dog, whoever will listen really. It's just not English. Portuguese maybe but not English. Not even close.<br />
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Tomorrow is the big meet up with Jelly-tot's new parents. I'm not even thinking about how awkward it's going to be. That's a waste of energy. I'd rather channel that energy into just being me and making a new set of friends that I hope we can continue to meet up with, so LBM and Jelly-tot can be together as often as possible. It will be interesting to see Miss Delia again. So much has changed.<br />
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Ooh...ooh...I must share: I was given some perfectly ripe pears the other day and stumbled upon this recipe for <a href="http://juliasalbum.com/2014/02/chocolate-pear-cake/" target="_blank">Chocolate Pear Cake.</a> It was outrageously good. In fact, I'm on the scrounge for some more pears just so I can make it again. I may even add a scoop of vanilla ice cream. Dynamite!<br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-39768137726258271452014-09-08T17:45:00.000+01:002014-09-08T18:02:49.580+01:00<b>Hi Ho...Hi Ho.....</b><br />
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I walked past a poster in the park last week. A bright, colorful ad. Luring you in. "Get back your pre-baby body now!" it shouted. This made me smile and illustrates the real irony of adoption. The last thing I want back is my 'pre-baby body.' In fact, since LBM came to share our lives, I have never been thinner and fitter. (Ok... apart from during my travels in Africa with LRUN... but that was more due to dysentery and lack of food, than happiness)<br />
I had lunch with some pregnant friends last week and listening to the woes of their pregnancies, it really hit home how lucky I am. I have the most precious little boy for the rest of my life but have managed to escape the weight gain, the indigestion, the discomfort, the itchy skin, the multiple midnight wee stops and of course, the nausea. <br />
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Last month welcomed our final day in court. It's what they call an 'Adoption Celebration Day' but what I call the 'Closing the Front Door on Social Services Celebration Day.' But if I'm honest with you, I found it all a little disappointing. I hope this doesn't make me sound ungrateful, as I am not altogether sure what I was expecting but we literally spent longer going through security that the actual time 'celebrating' in the court. However, it was made memorable by an extra special family member joining us. You know who you are. A big squishy thank you to you. <br />
As we were leaving, the judge asked if I would be returning to work at Christmas. "Errr....no....actually next week" I blurted out. I could feel Miss Delia's eyes burrowing into me. Once outside, I admitted to her that there had been few changes. I confessed that I hadn't told her for fear of things being delayed yet again and anyway, they were all positive changes. "I knew you were up to something" she said "but just wasn't sure what." Just shows you what a rubbish liar I am. Sadly, just as I feel we have closed the door on these 'powers that be', she asks if she can contact us again next week. The new adoptive parents of Jelly-tot would like to set up a meeting with us. Now, that is going to be an awkward meeting. Brace yourself Bridget!<br />
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On the baking front, how yummy do these <a href="http://www.classyclutter.net/2012/12/carmelitas-the-best-cookie-bars-ever.html#at_pco=smlwn-1.0&at_si=540c52e6e1e5d016&at_ab=per-2&at_pos=0&at_tot=1" target="_blank">Carmelita</a>s look. Can't wait to try them. Caramel, Chocolate and Oats. Pure heaven for me. Calories? What the heck. I always have the excuse of 'having' a baby. <br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-21375050211179167702014-08-21T18:30:00.000+01:002014-08-21T18:32:09.398+01:00<b>Let the truth be told......</b><br />
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Ok, here's the deal: I haven't been totally honest with you over the last few weeks. For reasons mainly that I worry that the SW's may be reading this. There have been some major changes in the LBM household that the SW's would only deem as unstable. Risky. I mean, you and I both know how they feel about change. In addition, it meant Miss Delia would have to update our report and that would only have delayed things even further. So for once in this process, we kept quiet. We weren't lying as such. Just not divulging the exact truth. However, now that the adoption order is granted and we have full parental responsibility for LBM, I guess I can spill the beans: <br />
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To start with, LRUN has a new job. He has formed a company with some old colleagues and finds himself self employed and much closer to home. No more endless commutes. No more early mornings and late nights. Just some extra special LBM time in the mornings and evenings now. This was easy to keep quiet until Miss Delia wanted to pop round after work one night and LRUN had to park around the corner in stealth mode waiting for her to leave, as he shouldn't have been home at that time. <br />
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Secondly, my job was being moved north too but since LRUN had resigned, I have opted for redundancy. I have a new part time job starting in September.<br />
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Lastly...and it's a biggie.....LBM is going to nursery three days a week. Eek. mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-6495558102229316672014-07-30T14:33:00.002+01:002014-07-30T14:33:34.473+01:00<b>Roll up...Roll up</b><br />
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Adoption. Order. Granted.<br />
That is all :-)mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-70553961798946309462014-07-29T17:01:00.000+01:002014-07-29T17:01:08.125+01:00<b>On the eve again....</b><br />
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So here we sit again, folks. On the eve of the adoption order being granted. Personally, I'm not holding my breath. Miss Delia calls me to double check if the DBS form has arrived. In actual fact, we have two forms. She makes some random joke about London buses but then says she needs to come round after work and visually see them. LBM is not happy to see her. In fact, his behaviour is beyond worrying. He scurries to the furthermost corner of the house, whimpering. I eventually manage to entice him out with a phone charger (anything with a cable these days is a hit. Geek!) and he begrudgingly comes and sits with us. He is not happy about it and I just want her to go so my little boy can relax. I admit to her that I simply don't think he likes her and immediately regret this. I can see she is a little bit hurt. She tries to engage with him a little but he remains cautious. As soon as she is gone, he perks up and we carry on with bed time. He chooses a different story tonight and stares deep into my eyes as we cuddle goodnight. <br />
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On other spectrum's he is coming on leaps and bounds. He is babbling away in full sentences all day but alas just not in English. We have come so far on the food front and I have to look back and remind myself of this on a daily basis. It's not always hunger and we have to be so careful how we approach food. It's such a complex situation as its not something I want him to stop doing. I do want him to eat. Just not all the time. And not for comfort.<br />
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We do still have major issues on the play front. Toddler groups, play dates and soft play are my nemesis. But I have to keep persevering to keep him socialising and if I go in with zero expectations, then anything past the front door becomes an achievement. I have learnt so much about him and I know that sometimes, it's just not worth trying to force him to stay somewhere. It's detrimental for everyone involved. We just come back and try again another day. It's can be particularly lonely at times but I know, deep in my soul that things can only get better. Either that or I am opening up a play group with only electrical household equipment as toys. No trampolines, slides or toy cars. Just phone chargers, vacuum cleaners and mountains of computer accessories. I can see it now........neon lights and all.........Geek City. mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-74734854541050295852014-07-24T10:40:00.003+01:002014-07-24T10:40:39.641+01:00<b>Postman Pat......Postman Pat</b><br />
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Hurrah! The infamous DBS form has arrived. We have a new court date for the end of the month. However, Miss Delia is still on holiday and they are unsure whether she can make that date. I wonder if Delia Smith has anything planned for the day and fancies a stand in?mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-42820370469701288182014-07-08T19:07:00.001+01:002014-07-08T19:07:25.670+01:00<b>Adoption Day take two.....? </b><br />
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Sadly not. And so my friends, another court date passes, as we are still missing the infamous paperwork. "Sighs"mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-50873491343203148532014-06-30T11:58:00.000+01:002014-06-30T12:00:55.493+01:00<b>You couldn't make this "sponge" up......</b><br />
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In the hope of encouraging LBM into baking, I bought a Betty Crocker Red
Velvet cake mix. Shock-horror, I hear all you die hard baker followers tut. But I
wanted something nice and easy that didn't matter if it all went a bit
wrong. LBM didn't actually give a flying noodle that we were making a
cake....until I turned the mixer on of course. The whirr of the beaters
is very intriguing for a toddler, you know. But the fascination soon wore off and he headed back to playing with his buggy. His pink toy buggy. It's the only one they had, I find myself explaining to LRUN. Honest. The cake rises well but I will admit, I was a bit dubious about tasting it. But you know what...add a couple of thick sumptuous layers of my
own vanilla cream cheese icing and it was actually pretty yummy.<br />
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I wait patiently each day for the postman to come hoping he will deliver one very much needed police check. But sadly nothing. Endless spare parts for LRUN's money pit on our driveway but sadly no DBS form. Time is ticking on and so with the risk of offending, I email Miss Delia asking politely if I should be chasing this form or is she 'on it'. I get an instant reply but it's an out of office one as usual. A few more days pass with no surprises from the postman or emails from Miss Delia and I begin to worry. I eventually call Miss Scarlett, LBM's social worker and she tells me to phone up and chase it. "Do you have the number?" she asks. So....at what point has this paperwork malarkey become my problem? I call but am told they will not pass the information on to me. They need to speak to LRUN himself or direct to social services. The DBS man asks when the hearing is and as I tell him, he takes a sharp intake of breath saying we really don't have much time, confirming my fears. LRUN is in meetings all day and I am severely tempted to call back putting on my deepest manly voice possible but quickly pass that off as a stupid idea. It will have to wait until Monday. So, it seems this has now become our problem. Nice.<br />
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But to sparkle things up a little, I thought I'd share some good news with you for a change. I'm in print! My ChoccyNuttyNana recipe has been featured in the Adoption UK cookery book, which you can purchase <a href="http://www.adoptionuk.org/sites/default/files/Celebrities%20share%20their%20favourite%20nibbles%20for%20Adoption%20UK%20cook%20book.pdf" target="_blank">here</a>. It's only a teeny achievement but it's an achievement none-the-less and it feels ace.<br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-14638935627101883042014-06-18T13:57:00.000+01:002014-06-18T13:57:01.428+01:00<b> "Happy" Adoption Day?</b><br />
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So here we sit on the eve of LBM's court date for the adoption order. The champers is in the fridge chilling. Ready. I wish I could say we had a celebratory restaurant booked but with no grandparents nearby, meals out are a thing of the past. I think back to the last 2 years. How long and often agonising this process has been. I can't quite believe that that little champion asleep upstairs will tomorrow finally be legally ours. Here's hoping of course it will be as straightforward and sure a thing as a vanilla cupcake. Surely Tummy Mummy won't appeal. Surely the birth father won't suddenly decide he does want to be a part of this. Surely? I talk myself out of worrying and go back to browsing tray bakes on Pinterest. Miss Delia says she will call me as soon as she has news. I make a mental note to keep busy tomorrow. And another to actually turn my phone on. <br />
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My phone rings early. I am driving and have to pull over to call her back. Her voice sounds trembly and I sense a problem. There is. She asks if we have received our police check forms back. "The ones we had to do last year but because your process takes so long, they have expired and we now, like everyone else, have to renew them. Those ones?" I want to say sarcastically but resist. No, LRUN is still waiting on his, I explain. And then my friends, she drops yet another bomb on us explaining that they cannot grant the Adoption order without it. I am speechless. At no point was the importance of this form mentioned. She makes me feel like it was my fault for not alerting her to it but I honestly believed we just received copies and that they held the originals. She is the paper pusher and I am the parent, right? Right? I curse myself for actually allowing myself to relax and take a back seat with this last hurdle, presuming they had everything under control. And so once again, we face another delay and the order has been delayed another 3 weeks. Hashtag irritated. Forget the champagne... Pass the gin. mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-43617574954199238662014-06-13T13:35:00.000+01:002014-06-18T13:37:35.728+01:00<b>Six packs and strangers.....</b><br />
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What a difference a couple of months make. We make another trip to the
zoo, this time to meet up with my saviour, Triple A and her little one. LBM is literally running around and loving every minute of it. Ok, so he is still far more fascinated by the local pet chicken making a nest under our lunch bench than the exotic Sun Bears but he is happy. I even manage to get him to fall asleep in the car, admittedly only for 15 min but this is a huge step for us. It appears that power naps work just as well for him as his usual marathon afternoon sessions. He has just learnt to walk backwards and is incredibly proud of his new
found moon walking skills. This together with staring at himself in the mirror,
lifting his ever so slightly 'Jilly Cooper Horsie' polo shirt and patting his tummy as if it's a six pack, are
his new found loves. It frustrates me when strangers ask how old he is. I
want to say, "Oh somewhere between 1 and 2" but feel perhaps this is
perhaps a bit tasteless. But the truth is, I want to parent him for who he is and
where he is right now. And not what is expected of him. Over the last few weeks, I have been channeling all my woken energy into keeping this little guy happy. Most new mums are physically shattered. I am taking a hit on a more emotional and mental level. It's tough and LRUN senses it. Our evenings are quiet. As long as you ignore the tinkle tinkle of the ice cubes in the G&T's.<br />
Tummy Mummy has returned to the nearby seaside town. Thankfully social services actually remember to update me this time. But I have a date to meet up there with Miss Shaka Zulu and we go anyway. I will admit, while wandering around the aisles of the pound shop, I do realise I am seriously tempting fate here. It's the Adoption Court Order in a couple of days. I can't help but wonder how she is feeling. mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6361300149058491716.post-75436984034800298702014-06-06T14:30:00.003+01:002014-06-08T19:20:32.075+01:00<b>Parenting is not for sissies...</b><br />
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In the words of a very wise friend, parenting is not for sissies. We are into crisis management here. The last few months, LBM has been so miserable and I have found this pretty disheartening. Right now, we need to work on improving our relationship and just get the little guy happy again before I actually end up buying shares in Bombay Sapphire. A lot of it is frustration, as he is not talking and gets annoyed when we simply just don't 'get it.' Routine, routine, routine I hear the gurus chant. But it's a tough call, as I felt strict routine was only making things worse as boy do you pay if you accidentally change something. And I am not talking biggies here. So I throw in a few gentle curve balls and hope for the best. It seems to help. This week I have also been letting LBM do all the things he knows and loves. He is happiest out and about with us and the dogs, jumping in mud puddles. Or at home with food and familiarity. Any sort of social situation at someones house where he decides he no longer wants to be (usually after 20min) turns him into something
out of Monsters Inc. This is hard to manage. He's got to get used to it but at the same time, we just want him to be happy. When things are getting a bit too <i>'Is it too early for a gin?</i>' I have to
keep reminding myself how far we've come. Watching him reach out to
LRUN for a cuddle on the weekend, I had a huge lump in my throat. Baby
steps I whisper to myself. Baby steps. It really helps when I just try and view things from his little world. He is still not hugely interested in his toys. In fact, his best friend is currently, Miele, the
hoover. Following a close second are the car keys, MY toothbrush and Iphone. Oh and hours of
entertainment with my sock as a puppet. <br />
<br />
His adoption court order is coming up in the middle of this month. We don't
attend, only the birth parents do. I have faith they will grant us the parental
order but you cannot be too sure in this crazy adoption world. Miss Delia is doing the prep and
calls to asks me for my height for the report. Is this
important? Blimey, are they monitoring our centiles too now? She explains they no longer put photos in the report, only descriptions. In that case, I tell her
I have lost weight since she last saw me. She laughs. She says she
had described me as slim build. Well I never. Now that really is a first! I must make room for more cake. Or maybe a Rhubarb Trifle. Bloody love trifle. <br />
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<br />mummy in the bakinghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09967813975062364974noreply@blogger.com1