Let’s put this in perspective:  miss tallest in her class  and large craniumed thanks to mummy’s genes A did not reach this weight until six months and the length and head circumference until at least four and a half months.

The former buddha bub title holder miss E was only this chunky by around four and a half months and only reached the same length and head circumference measurements by five months.

It would appear silent reflux is a mere annoyance to my giant baby Immyjim (and me).

She’s gorgeous, she’s healthy, she’s meeting all the appropriate milestones for her age. Hooray for boobies!

Buddha bubs aside I wonder what the ECHN made of Evie’s bold and conversation interrupting “I’ve got a wedgie…no..wait..I’ve picked it out” during Immyjim’s weigh in today?

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?

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 one who is currently enjoying your 6am starts to the day, nap fighting and insistence that I lie next to your de-sided cot big girl bed while you fall asleep, never mind that that can take an hour and a wierd form of cuddling that will become rather difficult as my belly expands.  And that’s before you join us in bed before the night is out.

Happy belated birthday my darling one, my five word sentence speaking, colour recognising, counting to ten-ing,  velcroed to Mummy cuddle adoring, fully fledged “I don’t want it don’t like it” tantrum throwing, ownership obsessed, almost weaned, sister adoring, pretty dress and garbage truck/digger loving and newly minted owner of lower jaw two year old molars little big girl.

Our lives are so much the richer for you being here.  Love you to the moon and back.

And of course the obligatory photos..in colour for a change..

Blowing out the candles on Mummy’s slack preggo chick cake effort number one:

And a week later, A’s carefully decorated lolly cake for our mother’s group party:

And a silly shot.  Just because:

(Should have thought to get you some Spiderman accoutrement just like your big sister. Instead you’ve settled for  a Wiggles wiggly guitar amd the world’s most freakishly realistic baby doll. You’re a funny one.)

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.

And follows up with a “Hello Molly!!*” to a kangaroo at a wildlife park a few days later?

While it is clear that miss E loves all creatures great and small I’m guessing that zoology is not going to be her calling.

*Name of MIL’s decidedly un kangaroo like dog.

Thank you my darling girl.

For the giggles and milky snuggles that we enjoy first thing in the morning and last thing at night, inching ever closer to the amazing goal of two whole years of breastfeeding.

For the love you have for your big sister and the way you sing her name in invitation to play and make mischief together.

For your monkey like acrobatics and the way in which you make my heart leap into my mouth even as I proudly watch your show your older sister how to navigate play equipment that should be well beyond your size and abilities.

For the adorable way in which you play baby, crawling and gaaing and demanding a bottle of water as we cuddle on the couch just like the little babies at daycare, and especially the way you have no idea how to suck on a teat.

For the delight you have for your Daddy and the joyous way you announce “Daddy’s home!!” before propelling yourself headfirst into his arms at the end of a long and tiring work day.

For your burgeoning and fierce independence, demanding “pretty dresses” to wear no matter how inconvenient and how poorly colour coordinated your selection may be.

For the way in which you must always point out when and where you are “sore“.  Especially the fact that you will give fair warning that you have a “sore tummy“, allowing me the chance to prepare for the nappy or spew from hell. Or at the very least a chance to publicly deny that the sound of flatulence certainly isn’t emananting from me.

For your stunning vocabulary for one so small, singing all of the words for many a popular nursery rhyme and happily engaing friends and family in your running commentary of the day.  It is simply gorgeous to ask you about your day at daycare and to be told who gave you a cuddle and that “E do drawing…see?” as you thurst a masterpiece of colourful squiggles in my face.

For your sense of humour and comedic timing, and the way you will end a large belly laugh with a procalmation of “Funny!”, when it most certainly is.

For your quirky obessional toddler behavour, announcing “I want Dorothy!” the nanosecond your early morning boobie is “all fishy-ed Mummy” as you race to the telly, leaving your bleary eyed Mama in your wake.

For your love (and mine) of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, eagerly pointing out the egg, moon, sun and attempting to count the fruits.  Your delight when the butterfly emerges, even when it is the seventh time we have read this classic story in a row.

For your love of twirling, especially in a butterfly print dress, and the uninhibited way in which you will dance wherever and whenever the mood takes you, much to the amusement of all and sundry in the supermarket this morning.

My darling girl, my whirling dervish, my butterfly beauty, my little sunlight soul who makes me pause and delight in all the hithero ignored little things that make this life the joyous mystery that it is.

My heart is full.

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…