A wobbly over the wellies

Five things I learned last week:

1) Big hair can be a big asset.

Number of gifts given to my child by random strangers on the train from Manchester because they liked her locks - four (two packets of biscuits, a bag of crisps and a beaded key ring in the shape of a jester). I am wondering whether our next trip should be to the local Apple store.

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So who's the cry baby in our house?

I wouldn't say that I have ever considered myself to be a heartless person. But it would be accurate to admit that in years gone by sentimentality was an alien concept and that even the most mawkish of movies would fail to move me.

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Let that be a lesson to me

With the child's third birthday fast approaching, it is time to take stock. To look back over the past 12 months and see what I have learned. Namely:

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Caught napping by my girl's sleep strike

To sleep perchance to dream… chance would be a fine thing.

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After months of struggle I've given birth… to a book

When I look back over the past three years I see that my life has changed in ways I had hardly dared to hope it would.

Yes, yes, I may have walked away from a well-paid and successful career and gained a dress size, a few grey hairs and a panoply of wrinkles, but I have also achieved my two greatest ambitions: to become a mum… and to write a book.

I was overjoyed to discover I was expecting. And despite a few scares early on it was a pretty textbook pregnancy, a heady mix of nausea, elasticated-waist trousers and industrial-sized bottles of Gaviscon.

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Here's a wee problem that's driving me potty

If I have grown 20 years older in the space of the last fortnight then I can attribute it to only one thing: potty training.

My desire to outsource this rite of passage was thwarted by the fact my husband is snowed under at work. So I am left with no option but to get on with it myself.

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Wake up, it's time to trampoline

It is 6am on a weekend morning.

This is an hour I have not cared to acquaint myself with since… well, ever really. And since the child was a new-born, to be fair, I have not really had to.

With very little instruction she has adhered rather nicely to the seven till seven rule - and on the occasions that she does wake early she will happily chat to her toys, the curtains and the towel hanging on the back of the door until her mother staggers in to bid her good morning.

But today, for reasons I have not been able to fathom, it's all gone wrong.

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My girl's in pain. Keeping calm is not an option

It is a regular Tuesday afternoon and we are rolling up our sleeves to wash our hands before tea (although by "tea" perhaps I should clarify that the repast to which I refer may be better known to you as "supper" or "dinner" depending on what part of the country you hail from. This has been a source of some confusion, not to mention embarrassment on more than one occasion since I forsook the north in order to search out fame and fortune in the south).

But anyway… there we are, rolling up our sleeves for the umpteenth time that day, when suddenly the child starts to shriek.

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Driving me mad

We are in the car, heading north. We have no sooner turned out of our road when the child starts demanding snacks. It is 8 o' clock in the morning. There are still 200 miles to go and I have already sat on the one box of bread sticks I have packed and I can't for the life of me find the raisins.

I am wrestling with my conscience - give up all the principles I have held dear for the last two years, or stop at the nearest garage to buy a large bag of sweets to keep her quiet?

The scruples win. Although my nerves soon come to regret the blanket ban on junk food.

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Obsession with illness isn't healthy

I had never really understood the phrase "enjoying ill health" until the child turned two - and became a raving hypochondriac.

Nor had I realised quite how bad things had become until 3 o' clock one morning when I rushed (well, staggered) to her aid after hearing her sobbing: "Ring the doctor, ring the doctor."

As it happens on this occasion, her call for medical assistance was based solely on the fact that Squeak Squeak (her toy mouse) had fallen out of bed. However, this is but one example of her ever-growing preoccupation with matters of health.

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My baby don't cry (in-flight)

The combination of an aversion to aviation (mine) and a toddler who is unable to sit still for longer than 25 seconds (also mine) is not entirely desirable when it comes to undertaking an excursion overseas. And yet it would appear that the lure of sunshine and abundant patisserie must have momentarily clouded any semblance of judgement that I might otherwise have displayed, had I not emerged pallid from an icy winter with an overwhelming craving for carbs and flaky pastry.

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Exams for three-year-olds?

Now that our offspring are turning two, at any gathering of parents and small fry there seems to be a single topic of conversation. Suddenly the only thing that anyone wants to talk about is school.

Despite the fact that (for those of us reliant on the state system) it is still well over a year until we are even allowed to apply for reception places, the very mention of the phrase "catchment area" causes instant mass hysteria, arm waving and fainting - it's a bit like being at a Beatles gig but with slightly more modern haircuts and no one called Ringo.

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Birthdays? A piece of cake

The baby's second birthday is approaching. She is very excited by the fact and most nights can be heard singing Happy Birthday to herself in her cot. I am planning cakes and she is practising candle blowing and has told us that as her gift she would like "yellow big-girl knickers and some Play-Doh".

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The bear facts about tales and rhymes

Once upon a time there were three bears. Not, as the story would have it, a mummy bear, a daddy bear and a baby bear, but three identical bears. And they lived, not in a cottage in the woods, but in a cot or a wardrobe, depending on which point of the rotational cycle they were at.

When one bear was beginning to look a little past his prime he would be whisked off to rehab and replaced, in the dead of night when small people were snoring, by another bear, slightly fresher perhaps, but in all other ways indistinguishable from his cohort.

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Fun is such hard work

It’s winter. It’s cold, it’s wet and pushing the buggy through the freezing rain and snow has lost its appeal.

In days gone by, I revelled in days like these, believing it was nature’s way of telling me to curl up on the sofa with a good book and a duvet. Turn up the heating, pull on the covers — and relax.

When the baby was small, inclement weather wasn’t such an issue. After all, play-mats are play-mats, come rain or shine. Add a chorus of Baa Baa Black Sheep, a quick jiggle of Minnie Mouse and a couple of “coochie coos” and, frankly, everyone’s happy.

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The 10 rules of baby care

The baby is 18 months old. There have been many lessons learned.

1) Do not expect a sensible answer to a sensible question

For example…

Q: “Darling, why are you lying in the mud in the middle of the park?”
A: “Sleeping.”
Q: “OK — and may I ask why you are sleeping?”
A: “Dreaming.”

2) Do not ask rhetorical questions

My “and what shall we wear today?” (which was academic given I already had her jeans and top in my hand) was met by a decisive “spotty jim-jams, two pink plates and an umbrella”.

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Shoe shopping… it's sole destroying

Women, I am told, love to buy shoes. There must be something wrong with my genetic make-up: I do not love to buy shoes. And now that I have to buy them for the baby too, my pleasure in this task has dissipated still further.

Contrary to footwear forays in the past, I had actually been looking forward to the purchase of her very first pair of shoes. Forget the sandals, the lightweight canvas of summer. Proper shoes. A proper milestone.

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Why parks are no walk in the park

It would be fair to say that we have already established that motherhood is one steep learning curve. So how is it that I am continually surprised when I discover yet another new thing I never realised I needed to know?

For the majority of my 40-something years a park has been… well, a park. Nice green space; a few dogs; the odd tree; a swing or two. In my younger days I would have been delighted by a tennis court; now a cafe will do me just fine. But basically nothing too far off the standard dictionary definition.

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