What the…….

If there’s one thing I wasn’t prepared for in Motherhood (just one thing I hear you laugh out loud) it was the noise. Now I was aware of the cry of a new born, the ear shattering pierce of a cry they make. My worst experience of this was in IKEA when Flynn was just a few days old. Yes I was dragged around IKEA from as little as two days post partum. Walking around like, well like I had just had a baby. Why on earth I hear you ask, I mean most people don’t want to go to IKEA at the best of times let alone barely hours after you’ve been discharged from a hospital after pushing a baby out of you. But we had just moved into our new house four days prior to that and I had started my nesting period (this is a pre labour ritual that helps you prepare your home ready for baby) when we moved in so I was on catch up. So If there’s ever any advice I can give to mums… Don’t do that. Move house two days before your due date that is (and don’t go to IKEA two days after giving birth but that’s probably obvious to most non nesting, sane people). So I was walking or should I say hobbling through the lighting section and Flynn kicked off. And I mean kicked off. He really couldn’t have done it in a less lit more secluded area. All mums (and probably non mums and even half the dads) in IKEA would have been lactating to the sounds of this cry as this cry was one of hunger. But I was breastfeeding and after living in the Middle East for 12 years I was a little bit of a prude. I mean I couldn’t get my boobs out in the middle of IKEA could I?? Well trust me that’s all changed now my prudishness dropped about a week after having Flynn and I was breast feeding anywhere and everywhere (including the Middle East) as I soon learnt that when this boy was hungry he was hungry, and if a little bit of boob exposure in public helped then I was happy to expose.

But as babies grow older that cry goes away. It doesn’t disappear for good, oh no, but you start to learn what each cry means. There’s a ‘mum I really need a nap’ cry. Normally just as you’re about to take them swimming or to a sensory class. There’s a ‘mum where’s my lunch it’s five minutes late’ cry. This one’s normally just as your up to your eyes in milk and flour as you are trying to make cauliflower cheese and your cheese sauce has glued itself to the bottom of the saucepan and is even inedible to the dog. There’s even the ‘mum I’m at it’ cry when, well they are just at it.

But this isn’t even what I’m talking about. I’m talking about the general NOISE. It’s so loud I don’t even know what it is half the time. But there’s a constant ‘shapes are in my cookie jar, triangle, heart and star’. You will know that one of your the proud owner of the Fisher-Price Laugh and Learn Cookie Surprise. Half the noise is coming from me as I too sing this all day as it’s unfortunately been engrained into my long term memory. The majority of the noise though is definitely from Flynn. Now he’s got one set of lungs on him and this boy is dying to talk, or scream in a high pitched voice. I haven’t decided which yet.  Or maybe I’m trying to hide the fact its actually the latter from myself for the time being. When Flynn was born and I used to meet up with all the antenatal girls and their new babies Flynn was the oldest so it was no surprise that he was first to make a noise what seemed different to a new born cry. It was such a loud noise that came from his mouth though that everyone laughed (because it wasn’t their baby). Then when it came to their babies turn to start making these noises they all called it ‘doing a Flynn’. Geez he already had a reputation for being so loud so young. I do have to say though when your little one starts to say the word muma it is something other than amazing and your heart just melts. Whatever tone it’s said or shouted in. Even when it’s muma, muma, muma as they stare at the monitor in the early hours of the morning. Even when it’s muma when there’s a definite smell of a dirty nappy. Oh no thats when we like to hear dada. But there does get to a point for me and it’s that daytime witching hour between about 4-5pm. You know the one where they seem to want everything but nothing really makes them happy and you stand by the front door willing your husband to come home early from work with baby in your arms ready to thrust at him as he steps over the front door mat. But why on earth would he I’m sure he would just turn the car around when all he heard was mum, mum, mumm, mumm, MUMMMMMMM as he drove down the road. Er that’s not me I’m off.

So whilst the shapes are in (or rather out and all over the the floor, under the sofa and in the ball pit) the cookie jar, the jumperoo is bouncing so much it sounds like someone’s actually doing a bungee jump into an icy cold lake, the dog now is also ‘doing a Flynn’ and Flynn well is just doing a Flynn, I feel like my head is about to explode and we haven’t even got to the 5pm dinner madness yet.