In other words I actually have a chance to blog.

There is so much to catch upon, so much to tell you but as I am currently caught up in a wee bit of anxious state, fuelled of course by broken sleep, the joys of silent reflux and my own wierd fear/loathing of the settling newborns to sleep groundhog day gig I think it’s best to let some pictures do the talking.

First up…my biggest girl, the gorgeous miss A. Five years old, a new bike, a pool party and starting school.  Nothing to it!

Then the ever cheeky miss E.  Enjoying swimming classes at last…but now refusing to participate at Physie even though she is excited and terribly cute.  A cheeky little ham for the camera and scarily grown up now.

Two big sisters who dote on their littlest sister.

Speaking of the little’un….she is growing so quickly in so many ways.  Here she is in a gown that was mine as a bub.

Silent reflux with difficulties settling both day and night   (it is not nice to hear your baby vomit in their sleep) and the dreaded catnapping are not making life as enjoyable as it could be. However we’ve pulled out the big guns of co sleeping, baby wearing and the swing /hammock/car capsule as well to boob as both food supply and dummy.  In addition to mr hissychick’s strangely appealing unkempt father of three beard, the dirty hippy approach is what is getting us through for now.

But enough of that.  Here are some more beautiful pics of my gorgeous last bub, little double chinned chunky thighed boombah that she is:

I can’t believe that it has taken me half a week to get this post finalised, and Immyjim has changed even more in the interim but there you go.  One day I will capture her crinkly smile for you all so that you don’t notice the fact that my prose has gone the way of my sleep, energy levels and sanity!  So much to capture, so little time.

I hear someone waking, so the other photos will have to wait.

Until next post folks….be that tomorrow or in three months time…

A two and a half year old who has completely toilet trained herself and starts Physie classes next week.

A five week old who already rolls from her back to her side for sleep and who smiled at me for the first time today.

Who needs amphetamines when life is speeding by this quickly even in the midst of a sleep deprived stupor?

Or seeing your own look of proud joy reflected in the face of your four year old, the same wise big sister who excitedly located her sister’s beating heart on the ulltrasound screen?

Pardon me while I fall down into a great big hormonally charged Mummy swoon.  The very same happy hormones that reign triumphant over varicose veins in unspeakable places and the exhaustion that makes an unwelcome return in the third trimester. It’s gone so fast peoples.  Next thing I know I will have to deal with the whole labour and birth thing.

(Oh yeah, we’ve moved and survived too).

FRENZY!!!

Before I go, I wanted to tell you where we are at with A.  But Julie has summed it up better than I have either the time or the writing ability to encapsulate. Enjoy.

The very same two year old who has collapsed in an exhausted heap on my lap and is sleeping.  Now. At dinnertime.  One handed typing is the least of my concerns.

Oh well. Guess it gives me something else to do other than deal with nausea and insomnia (WTF?) and the clever sassy comebacks from miss four ( eg “And I hope your shower is cold Mummy!” as shouted through the door when I was ignoring her fit of pique).

They know that I want to blog about them don’t they?!

It might not sound like it but I am fiercely in love with my determined little buggers.  Just hope #3 is a bit more easygoing.

(Pausing to take a gulp of wine)

My four year old…she….oh…she….

(Another swig of sweet alcoholic relief)

…ok let me brace myself and paint the scene for you.

My stubborn little miss was determined to wear a singlet dress while shopping today, even though it was rather chilly and rather than entering into yet another argument I simply popped a long sleeved top into my handbag before we left home, knowing full well it would be requested at some stage during our outing.

(Yet another slug from my refilled glass).

Sure enough, a decidedly cold young miss determined that she needed an additional layer of warmth, just as I was heading back to pick up a bottle of forgotten juice while mr hissychick and little miss E started unloading groceries at the checkout.

(Shiraz cab me baby).

Big deal I hear you say.  Ummm no.  Or rather, I mean yes.

A decided that said top had to go under her dress, and proceeded to pull her dress down to her ankles in the middle of the damn aisle, revealing a bare chest and loads of bum crack peeking out from the decidedly too small undies that she had insisted on wearing.  She then calmly redressed herself, totally unselfconsciously and oblivious to the somewhat horrified mummy bemused shoppers nearby

(Surely I can’t be halfway through a bottle of red already?).

Oh come off it hissychick you snort, kids do that kind of thing all the time, surely you just gave her a quiet talk about keeping nudity to the privacy of one’s own home and went on your merry way?

(May as well finish it off, it’s quite a nice drop)

Well that’s what I started to do, until I was interrupted by miss A, who loudly reminded me

“DON’T FORGET TO GET THE SPECIAL CHOCOLATE MEDICINE BEFORE WE GO HOME MUMMY TO KILL THE WORMS THAT ARE MAKING MY BOTTOM ITCHY”

You may never hear from me again.

I’m with you sweetie.  On the listening bit that is. Ahem.

Promise to be back with a proper post this weekend folks, am so slack that my 21 month milestone post for E will be a 22 month one.  That’s provided no one else in my circle of close friends shocks me with any news more devastating and scandalous than what I have faced in the last week, the first of which I alluded to in a post last Friday and the latter which I cannot divulge due to legal reasons.

Now where’s my damn chocolate?

I don’t care about the whole tradition of giving the kids some magic through a long standing custom of make believe, nor the whole you shouldn’t lie to your kids line of thought. I’m doing this because it is behavioural currency gold, pure and simple.

There are only two nights a year that you can get a spirited four year old into bed by 7:30 pm, and this is one of them.

I hope the Tooth Fairy gets a look in before A’s precocious sense of logic wins out. Although I am not holding my breath.

Either way I am looking forward to tomorrow morning, the delighted surprise of A and the gleeful hollers of “Tchocky!!” from E.

Happy Easter everyone.

And wasn’t she just beside herself with excitement over finally getting her big girl noodles.

Fearing hysterical tears in the face of the reality of the situation I gently suggested that it was going to hurt for a little bit but that if she was brave she would enjoy a box of Smarties as a treat afterwards.

Armed with that enticement, in we went to see the nurse at the clinic. And….

Not a single tear. Not one. No struggles, no tensed up arms, no widening of the eyes, nada, zip zilch.

I was so proud, as I can actually remember my four year old booster shot, and I cried like a baby. Then again times have moved on and you no longer get the numb arm from  the tetanus shot that we all remember. Still, for once I can safely say that A did not act just like her mother.

Then again, maybe not. Upon coming home my big miss has milked it for all it is worth, telling all and sundry about how her arms hurt “ow ow ow!!” and demanding paracetamol. To be fair she might be feeling a little uncomfortable but she most certainly is following the exact script the nurse gave us about side effects, which she’d naturally listened to in rapt attention as she does when it comes to anything and everything medical (becoming a doctor being her current lifelong ambition).

E was less than impressed.  As A tried to tell her little sister about her arm pain my cheeky little monkey started exclaiming “Ebie sore arm too!” and when told “No, you didn’t get noodles, you’re not sore” merely sighed, exclaimed “Move” (as is her wont nowadays) while shoving past her sister to resume playing, happily singing “Merrily merrily merrily dream!” to the tune of “Row row row your boat” as A started wailing to me that “E hitted me in my sore arm Mummy!”.

One sensitive soul, one future firestarter. Sibling rivarly at its finest.

Anyway it is my turn for a needle next week. In light of the current whooping cough epidemic and tragic death of a four week old mr hissychick and I are getting booster shots so that we can do our bit to protect babies in our community  who are too young to get immunised themselves.  Something I wish the poor misguided souls in the anti vaccination camp would have a good hard think about.  But for once I will grit my teeth and not go there.

Wonder if I’ll get a sticker and a lolly for being brave too?

* And rightly so, given that too many people have been too lax to follow the schedule through to completion.  In my defense I wasn’t expecting to be read the riot act a mere four weeks after A’s birthday, having been told previously that the aim was to have your child vaccinated prior to commencing school.  But as someone who is completely pro vaccination…oh the shame…

That’s right, my four year old was changing over the empty toilet roll for a new one. And it was facing out correctly. And she was carefully undoing the new edge, ready for the next user.

See oh mere males of the species? It’s as simple as that.