Three in the bed - and the little one said "get out mummy!"

We have broken the golden rule this past weekend – well, to be precise when I say “we”, I actually mean The Husband – by letting our boy partake in a sleepover in our bed.

Ok, to be fair to The Husband, we had little choice Sunday night gone, when the taboo event transpired. It was a particularly cold Autumn evening, and we were staying in the cottage at Sheree & Grants. Whether Harrison was cold, frightened, unaware of his surroundings, or all of the above, he put in such a repeat performance of tears and jeers that it was deemed necessary by The Husband to bring the boy into our bed. Our DOUBLE bed. So, yes, quite the cosy little arrangement, especially when one considers how my son likes to sprawl. And when he discovered I was in the bed too, and not just his beloved father (who is the only person he seems to have eyes for at present), well, there was much kicking in Mummy’s back and howls of protest. Often I was rewarded with an unconscious cuddle, but mostly I feel I was the third wheel in the bedding arrangement. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact I was sporting an unfriendly head cold so often had the break the silence with sniffles, sneezes and coughs that I became a target to be taken out!

As dawn rose, and four hours of broken sleep later, we gave up and got the day underway. However, some little seed had sure enough been planted and, come morning sleep time for Harrison, and his porta cot again morphed into some cage from hell and this time he demanded to be cuddled to sleep in his cousin’s big boy bed. Being the weary and unwell Mummy I was that day, I duly complied with lying down, just even to get myself 15 minutes rest. But Harrison, still sporting a snotty nose himself, was snoring so loudly I was kidding myself if I thought I might sneak in a nanna nap in his midst. Okay, so I was satisfied with the level of enthusiasm shown this time by Harrison at having to share some personal bed space, but I gather it was more to do with the fact there was no Daddy present so I made a fair second choice…

So then, to the early hours of this morn…once more the Husband went forth and returned with an unsettled son to our cosy bed abode. All was blissfully still for the first 15 minutes, however I was silently bracing myself for the onslaught when Harrison discovered my existence in this little arrangement. Eventually I had to cough, and upon doing so, my cover was blown. Cue kicks in the back, and wandering hands poking at my nose, ears and even hooking up my upper lip, dentist style, and I knew sleep would be a forgone conclusion.

So that you don’t deem me unnecessarily cruel and unkind as to not want to share a bed with the baby boy I so adore, I concede at times I secretly relished the snuggle aspect (on the occasions I was granted such cuddles) or when you inhale their intoxicatingly fresh smell, and find little fingers curling around yours in search of comfort. But teaching a child to sleep (and on his own!) is one of parenthood’s greatest challenges so to take a backwards step now would be foolish on our part. But you do what you have to at the time…

Come 6am this morning, however, it was time to play tough mummy and put a stop to this unintentionally instated sleeping arrangement. Naturally met with howling frustration and resentment, I eventually won the battle and got the boy back in his own bed. And you know what, he then slept til 8am!!!!!! Job well done Mummy, I’d say…. Now all that remains to be seen after tonight is if I have also won the war…

Baby Bootcamp

Sometimes it feels like a simple activity such a playing a harmless game with my son is turning into some form of boot camp, with Harrison wielding the imaginary Whistle as Sergeant Major Webeck.

You see, he is not content for his Mummy to sit idly by and watch him play. Instead, a typical play drill goes something along the lines of this:

Harrison: “Fall Down!” (To which I dutifully oblige and lay sprawled across floor). He will then race to my side and place his little hands near my head and order “Push! Puu-uuu-sss-hhh!!” until I am at sitting position. Not appeased he them demands “Up a day, UP A DAY!” until I am on my feet. Then he’ll order “kicking, KICKING!” which means running around with a ball like a crazy person and kicking to him. Throw in a game of catch, and of “tackle and roll away” (his version of footy), it will continue on over and over again until I fall exhausted into a heap. Unfortunately this then unconsciously signals the commencement of a new game – “Nigh Nigh” which warrants jumping all over me. Cue ducking and weaving to avoid being clocked in the head by a wayward kiddie knee.

Of course I am a content contributor to the fun and games to a certain point – its just after the 50th repetition of the active and energetic entertainment, I become a little weary… and unwilling to participate any further…! How then does one extract themselves from this? You get grandparents in to stay – hey presto and you have swapped your combat boots for ugh boots!

In all reality, its probably not a bad thing that my son insists on me being such a ready participant in his games. Finding the time to exercise is proving trickier than scoring a car park at the local Westfield’s on Easter Saturday… Incidental exercise has become the catchphrase of the year. When time (or the overly curious son) does not allow for Wii-Fit, then one must make do via improvisation. And perhaps then the key to keeping the chocolate indulgence at bay is baby boot-camp!

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

“Work Like You Don’t Need The Money, Love Like you Have Never Been Hurt and Dance Like Nobody’s Watching” – one of the great sayings of our time, if you ask me. And if last Friday night’s antics were anything to go by, I’d say for sure my son is heeding this wise advice – at least where the last part of the proverb is concerned!


Harrison has always been a bit of a groover, there is no denying that. But never before have we witnessed his uninhibited behaviour in the spectacle that is the public arena! And honestly, if I were only allowed to treasure one memory from his short life so far, it would have to be this night. It was a moment in time where you felt that unmistakeable parental pride overwhelm you and you think your heart might just burst forth from your body! And that’s merely from watching him dance in public – imagine if he one day discovers a cure for cancer!

We were out to dinner, our extended family visiting for the Easter break.. Good Friday was to become “Great Friday”, as the band began to play. I should have realised it would be an extra special night, seeing as though the first song played was Adam’s song (and coincidentally it was the anniversary of the night I would say goodbye to him not knowing I would never see him again). Harrison, suddenly was itching to get out of his highchair. After unsuccessfully trying to dissuade him of this idea (so I could finish my own meal in peace), I eventually succumbed to his insistent demands. Lured like an addicted shopper storming the boxing day sales, off he sped towards the dancefloor, taking up prime position in its middle, bopping away to the beat with all the rhythm of an experienced dancer and the joy only an uninhibited child can conjure into reality.

Harrison would have been quite happy to have continued with his solo boogie, but no, instead he was pursued by an ardent admirer in a pretty lemon coloured frock and she saw to it that his hand was clasped in his and a duo dance was had. He was decidedly blasé about her obvious affections for him – dragging his Poppy on to the dance floor appeared to have more appeal to Harrison!

Ask any adult to bust a move on the dance floor (sober, AND with the lights on) and you will most likely be met with a firm NO THANKS. Yet, with Harrison (and, I’d warrant, many other kids) there was no tremulous hesitation on his part, no time for awkward indecision… In fact, I’d imagine there was no single thought at all except for “that looks like fun!” and oh, if only we could all live life that way. To have such freedom of inhibitions, would be utterly liberating… As a parent you can but just hope your child will never feel the constraints of popular opinion or be weighed down by insecurities. May he feel as at ease in his own skin as he was at this age, forever more, and continually live life by one of my all time favourite mantra’s: “Dance Like Nobody’s Watching”